Category: English

The day Lexi left for college, she posted on Instagram: [Does it count as growing up if I finally stop relying on my big sister?] In the photo, she wore the Jordans I bought her, held the designer bag I paid for, and beamed at the campus gates. Half an hour earlier, she’d texted: “Hey, transfer another thousand.” “Mom and Dad said I need to treat my new roommates to dinner. You’re footing the bill.” I stared at the screen and let out a dry laugh. Growing up, when she broke something, I paid for it. When she cheated on a test, I went to the principal’s office to apologize. When she lost a classmate’s phone, my parents forced me to replace it with my scholarship money. Their excuse was always the same: “You’re the older sister. If you don’t look out for her, who will?” I had looked out for her for eighteen years. When I checked her post, my parents were already flooding the comments: [Our little girl is finally independent.] I closed the banking app, opened Instagram, and replied: [Since you’re all grown up now, starting today, you can pay your own tuition, earn your own spending money, and clean up your own messes.] A minute later, Lexi called. “Sloane, what the hell is your problem?” “It means your big sister is finally growing up, too,” I said calmly. 1 “Seriously, what is your problem?” Lexi’s voice hissed through the speaker, competing with a chaotic background noise. I could hear the clinking of expensive glassware, the hushed giggles of her roommates, and a waiter politely reminding them about the bill. I glanced at the automated text message that had just popped up on my screen. “Your supplementary credit card ending in 0716 has been frozen.” I swiped the notification away. “The first step to me growing up is securing my own financial independence.” A few seconds of dead silence passed before Lexi let out a forced, venomous laugh. “Are you mentally ill?” “I am sitting at The Grand Regent. My three roommates are staring right at me. Are you seriously going to humiliate me right now?” I raised an eyebrow even though she could not see me. “Didn’t you just announce to the world that you were done relying on me?” Lexi lowered her voice, completely dripping with disgust. “That was just for social media clout, you idiot. Did you actually take it seriously?” “I am your flesh and blood. What is the big deal if I spend a little of your money?” “You don’t even have a boyfriend. Who else are you hoarding all that cash for?” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. It wasn’t that I never wanted to date. I just couldn’t afford a decent dress, and I could never justify spending twenty bucks on a movie ticket. Every single time my paycheck hit my account, it immediately went toward Lexi’s tuition, her new iPhones, and filling the endless financial sinkholes she created. My entire existence had been reduced to discount ramen, dollar menus, and clipping digital coupons. Meanwhile, her social media feed looked like a luxury influencer’s mood board. “Figure out how to pay for your own dinner,” I said softly. I heard the harsh scrape of a chair pushing back against a marble floor on her end. “Sloane, don’t you dare!” I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of her tantrum. I just hung up. Less than thirty seconds later, my mother called. Since the day she was born, Lexi never had to solve a single problem on her own. All she had to do was shed a single tear, and my parents would violently bulldoze anyone in her path. Especially me. “You ungrateful brat! Are you bullying your sister again?!” my mother shrieked. “It is her first day of college. What is wrong with her treating her roommates to a nice meal?” “Transfer the money right now. Actually, send her an extra two thousand so she can take them out to a club afterward.” I looked down at the soggy, overcooked instant noodles in my cheap plastic bowl. “My entire paycheck this month went to her tuition. I am broke.” “If you don’t have cash, put it on credit!” my mother snapped without skipping a beat. “Max out your cards! Take out a cash advance! Just do it!” I let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. “Her social status is priceless, but my actual survival means nothing to you?” I heard my father’s heavy, aggressive breathing take over the receiver. “If we hadn’t given you life and fed you, you would have starved in the gutter years ago.” I had heard that exact phrase my entire life. They gave birth to me, which meant I owed them a blood debt until the day I died. Whatever Lexi wanted, I had to provide. And the justification was always the same. You are the older sister. But there was exactly one person in this world who never saw me that way. My Grams. Before she passed away, she transferred the deed of her house entirely into my name. “Sloane, this is the only safe harbor I can leave you,” she had told me, holding my hands in her frail ones. “From now on, if anyone tries to force your hand, if anyone tries to bully you, you come back here and lock the door.” That same afternoon, she looked me dead in the eye and said the words that saved my sanity. “You are a person, Sloane. Not a walking ATM.” Because of her, this small house was the only real home I had. I hung up on my parents and permanently blocked both of their numbers. A warm, furry head nudged against my knee. Biscuit, my golden retriever, looked up at me with huge, soulful eyes. I knelt down and buried my face in his soft fur. “It’s just going to be the two of us from now on, buddy.” Half an hour later, a violent pounding shook my front door. My father was outside, roaring at the top of his lungs. “Sloane! You worthless animal, get your ass out here right now!” 2 Biscuit crawled out from behind the sofa, planted himself in front of my legs, and started barking aggressively at the door. I gently pushed him behind me. “Whatever you want to say, say it tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?!” my father bellowed through the heavy wood. “Your sister is being held by hotel security because she can’t pay the bill, and you are hiding in there playing dead?!” I looked through the peephole. His face was twisted into a vicious, ugly snarl. My mother was standing right behind him. “Fine, you don’t have to open the door today,” her voice cut through the wood, entirely devoid of warmth. “But that house your grandmother left behind was never supposed to go to you in the first place.” My fingertips slowly slid off the deadbolt. “What are you talking about?” My mother completely dropped the act. “That old woman was always horribly biased toward you.” “Lexi is the one who needs to finish college, establish her career, and marry into a good family. You are a washed-up spinster who is never getting married. What right do you have to hoard a whole house to yourself?” I didn’t answer. A split second later, I heard the metallic click of a key turning in the lock. I stumbled back. The door swung open. My mother was holding a shiny spare key, a cold, triumphant smirk plastered across her face. It hit me like a physical blow. Last month, she had visited, claiming she just wanted to see if I was living comfortably. She had wandered into my bedroom alone. That was when she stole my emergency spare key. My father stormed into the living room and immediately backhanded me across the face. The slap echoed like a gunshot. A high-pitched ringing pierced my eardrums. The left side of my face instantly ignited in blistering heat, and the sharp, metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. He pointed a thick finger at my face. “You think you have the right to lock me out?!” Biscuit lunged forward, baring his teeth and barking fiercely to protect me. My father spun around, grabbing a heavy glass ashtray off the coffee table. “Shut up, you useless mutt!” I lunged to stop him, but I was a second too late. The solid glass smashed directly into Biscuit’s hind leg. The dog let out an agonizing, piercing yelp. His claws frantically scraped against the hardwood floor, but his back leg completely gave out. He couldn’t stand up. “Biscuit!” I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around his trembling body. My father just marched over to my work desk and swept his arm across the surface. My company laptop crashed onto the floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of dead pixels. It held the final, unsaved draft of a massive project I had spent the last three months agonizing over. I reached out to salvage the pieces, but my fingertip grazed the broken glass, slicing open a deep, bleeding gash. My mother just stood in the doorway, watching me bleed with absolute indifference. “Don’t blame us for this, Sloane.” “If you had just listened and behaved, Lexi wouldn’t have been humiliated at that hotel tonight.” I looked up at her, my vision blurry with tears of pure rage. “So you smash up my home, break my dog’s leg, and then demand I behave?” “Your home?” My father stomped his heavy boot directly onto the shattered laptop screen. The plastic casing let out a sickening crunch. “You have my blood in your veins. Everything you own belongs to me.” “Bring your ID and the deed to the county clerk’s office tomorrow at ten in the morning. We are transferring the title to Lexi.” My mother had already walked into my bedroom. I heard drawers being yanked open and the annoyed clicking of her tongue as she rummaged through my things. A few minutes later, she walked out holding my old iPad. She shoved it roughly into her designer tote bag. “You care so much about your pride, right?” she sneered. “Let’s see what your coworkers think of you tomorrow when I show them what kind of monster you really are.” Before stepping out into the hallway, my father slipped the stolen house key into his jacket pocket. “Ten o’clock tomorrow. If you don’t show up, I am going to your office building with a megaphone and a protest banner.” The front door slammed shut. The only sound left in the ruined apartment was Biscuit’s suppressed, agonizing whimpers. I gently scooped him into my arms and walked out the door. Grams had told me to lock the door when people tried to bully me. But this time, closing the door wasn’t going to be enough. I was going to throw them out of my life entirely. 3 I sat in the sterile waiting room of the emergency veterinary clinic until three in the morning. “He has a severe fracture in his hind leg, along with deep soft tissue contusions.” Biscuit was lying flat on the stainless steel examination table. The anesthesia hadn’t fully worn off, and his eyes were only half-open. When he saw me, his tail gave a weak, pathetic thump against the metal table. I stroked his golden head, my tears dropping silently onto his fur. After bringing a heavily medicated Biscuit back to the apartment, I walked into my office building the next morning with the left side of my face still visibly swollen. The second I stepped into the bullpen, every single pair of eyes locked onto me. I walked to my cubicle. Sarah, the senior analyst sitting across from me, quietly slid her phone across the desk. “Sloane, your mother is dragging your name through the mud in the company Slack channel.” I tapped the screen. The messages were coming from my own account. Technically, it was my mother typing on my stolen iPad. [To all management and colleagues. I am Sloane’s mother.] [I am reaching out here because I am completely out of options and desperate for help.] [Sloane refuses to support her elderly parents, financially abuses her little sister by cutting off her food money, and is trying to illegally embezzle a house left behind by her grandmother.] [Her personal life is completely degenerate, and as her parents, we simply cannot control her anymore.] She attached several photos to the diatribe. The first photo was my completely trashed living room. Caption: [Sloane threw a violent tantrum and destroyed our home.] The second was a photo of Lexi crying outside The Grand Regent hotel. Caption: [My youngest daughter’s first day of college, humiliated because her cruel sister refused to pay for a simple meal.] The third was a cropped snapshot of the official property deed. Caption: [An inheritance meant for the whole family, hoarded entirely by her.] I stared at that third photo for a very long time. Before Grams died, she was absolutely terrified that I wouldn’t be able to protect the house from my parents. Even though she could barely walk, she forced herself to go down to the notary office. The clerk had asked her, “Ma’am, are you absolutely certain this property is to be transferred solely to your granddaughter, Sloane?” Grams was sitting in a wheelchair. Her voice was incredibly slow, but every single syllable was forged in steel. “I am certain.” “This child has never known a day of real love in that house. This property is her armor. No one is allowed to take it from her.” That was the last time she ever left the house. On the cab ride home, she leaned against the window, looked at me with a soft smile, and asked, “Sloane, are you happy you finally have a home of your own?” I had cried so hard I could only nod. Now, my mother had taken that sacred gift and publicly labeled it as ’embezzlement.’ The HR assistant walked up to my desk, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Sloane, Greg wants to see you in his office.” Inside the glass-walled office, an official suspension notice was already sitting on Greg’s desk. “Your personal drama has severely impacted the company’s professional image,” my manager said coldly. “We are reassigning your current project to Justin.” I stared at the piece of paper. That project was the result of three months of agonizing overtime. I had rewritten the core proposal seventeen times. Now, he was just handing it over to a junior employee. “Greg, this is a coordinated smear campaign,” I kept my voice steady. “I can provide full documentation to prove it.” He clicked his expensive pen and tossed it onto the desk. “I have zero interest in playing referee for your toxic family disputes. Please leave my office.” I grabbed the suspension notice and walked out of the building. Standing right outside the lobby’s revolving doors was Lexi. She was wearing a pristine white sundress, expensive strappy heels, and carrying the newest season Chanel bag I had paid for. The second she saw me, she jogged over, her eyes perfectly rimmed with red like she had been weeping. “Sloane, please don’t be mad at Mom and Dad anymore.” A few of my coworkers purposely slowed their pace as they walked past us, eavesdropping. Lexi grabbed my sleeve, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you just go to the clerk’s office and transfer the deed to my name today, I will make Mom go into your company chat and clear everything up.” “She’ll just say it was all a big misunderstanding.” I looked down at her completely flawless makeup. “That is Grams’ house. She left it to me.” Lexi furrowed her brow, looking genuinely annoyed. “You live alone. Keeping a house that big is a complete waste of space.” “Mom and Dad said that house is much better suited for me.” I calmly pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit record on the voice memo app. “So, what you just said is… as long as I sign my house over to you, you will clear my name at work. Is that correct?” Lexi’s eye twitched. She lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone out of my hand. “You’re recording me?! Sloane, you are literally psychotic!” I sidestepped her easily. “Go back and tell Mom and Dad.” “I am not giving up a single square inch of that property.” “And none of you will ever see another dime of my money as long as you live.” Lexi stood frozen in front of the glass lobby doors, her voice rising to a hysterical screech. “You are going to regret this! Mom and Dad are going to ruin you!” I didn’t even look back. But when I finally got back to my apartment complex that evening and slid my key into the deadbolt, it wouldn’t turn. I looked closer. The entire lock cylinder was brand new. I could hear the television blaring inside my living room, mixed with the loud, abrasive laughter of my parents. I pounded my fists against the door. The apartment went dead silent for two seconds. Then, my father’s smug voice drifted through the heavy wood. “Ready to go sign the transfer papers?” 4 I stood in the cold hallway, my fingers gripping the original key Grams had given me until the metal teeth dug into my palm. “This is my property,” I yelled through the door. “What right do you have to change the locks?!” My father just laughed from the other side. “You have my blood in your veins. Everything you own is mine by right.” My mother chimed in immediately. “Sloane, stop being so incredibly stubborn.” “Just give the house to Lexi, and we’ll let you move back into the guest room. You are the older sister. Fighting your baby sister over real estate is absolutely humiliating for everyone.” I closed my eyes, forcing down the panic rising in my chest. “Where is Biscuit?” No one answered. I kicked the door as hard as I could. “Where is my dog?!” My mother let out an annoyed sigh. “That useless mutt? Your father threw him downstairs hours ago.” I spun around and sprinted down the stairwell. I checked the landscaping bushes by the lobby. I ran down the ramp into the underground parking garage. I screamed Biscuit’s name until my throat was raw. Nothing. Finally, I ran to the far edge of the complex, where the massive industrial dumpsters were kept. I found him. He had been violently stuffed into a soggy cardboard box next to a pile of rotting garbage. His beautiful golden fur was matted into dark, filthy clumps. Fresh blood was caked around his muzzle. His broken hind leg was twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle. The only sign he was even alive was the incredibly shallow rise and fall of his chest. I dropped to my knees in the puddles of filthy rainwater. When I reached out to touch him, my hands were shaking so violently I was terrified of hurting him worse. “Biscuit…” He didn’t open his eyes. Only the very tip of his black nose twitched faintly. I scooped him into my arms, ignoring the blood and garbage water soaking through my clothes, and sprinted for the street. “Don’t go to sleep. Biscuit, please, stay awake.” When I finally reached the emergency vet, the technicians took one look and rushed him straight into the trauma bay. When those double doors swung shut, my legs completely gave out. I slid down the waiting room wall and buried my face in my hands. My phone started vibrating endlessly in my pocket. I pulled it out. Lexi had just posted a new viral video on social media. [My older sister cut off my food money, stole my house, and kicked our elderly parents out onto the street—all because I wanted to be independent. I guess growing up really does come with a price.] She uploaded a carousel of photos with the video. A selfie showing her violently sobbing with red eyes outside the hotel. Screenshots of my mother’s smear campaign in my company’s Slack channel. And a photo of my trashed living room, entirely devoid of context. The comment section was an absolute bloodbath. [What a psychotic control freak. The second her sister stops obeying her, she cuts off her money.] [Kicking her own parents out onto the street? What a total sociopath.] Even people from my graduating class were blowing up my direct messages. [Sloane, is that video real?] [Your sister is a freshman. You don’t need to be so aggressive with her.] Even an old college roommate, someone I used to consider a close friend, sent a single text: [Whatever happened, she is still your flesh and blood, Sloane.] I stared at the flashing cursor in the text box. I typed out half a sentence explaining the truth, then slowly deleted it, letter by letter. I closed the app and didn’t reply to a single person. The doors to the trauma bay finally opened. The vet pulled down his surgical mask, his expression incredibly grim. “It doesn’t look good. We’re going to have to monitor him through the night.” When I signed the authorization forms, my hands were trembling so badly my signature was completely illegible. The receptionist handed me the invoice. Four thousand, eight hundred dollars. My debit account had exactly two hundred bucks in it, because I had drained it paying for Lexi’s tuition a week ago. I stood in front of the billing counter, pulled out my last remaining credit card, and handed it over. When the transaction approved, a dark, hollow laugh escaped my chest. I left the clinic and walked straight to my apartment complex’s property management office. The young girl working the front desk took one look at me and her entire demeanor shifted. She quickly placed her phone face down on the desk. The screen had been paused on Lexi’s crying video. “I need you to pull the security footage for my floor,” I demanded. Her voice was instantly dripping with icy judgment. “We do not release security footage to anyone who isn’t a verified property owner.” I pulled up a high-res photo of the deed on my phone and shoved it in her face. “I am the owner.” She barely glanced at it before pushing my phone away. “You still have to file a formal request through the proper channels.” The security guard lingering by the water cooler decided to chime in. “Look, lady, just drop it. Your parents raised you. So what if they crash at your place for a few days?” “Calling the cops and demanding security tapes? Do you know how psychotic that makes you look?” I stared at the two of them. The sheer ignorance was suffocating. I couldn’t even force words past my teeth. I left the office and drove straight to the county clerk’s public records division. The clerk handed me a freshly stamped, certified copy of the deed and the notarized will. Grams’ signature was a little shaky, but it was the ultimate shield she had forged just for me. I sat on a bench in the government building lobby for a very long time, clutching the paperwork to my chest. My phone buzzed. A new friend request from Lexi. [Transfer the house, and I’ll delete the videos.] I tucked the certified documents into my bag and drove back to my complex. Looking up from the street, I could see the lights blazing in my living room windows. My parents were probably sitting on my couch, watching my television, completely unbothered. I stood in the freezing wind, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911. “Hello? I need to report a home invasion.”

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1 The private thermal spa party was in full swing, but my fiancé was nowhere to be found. I headed toward the VIP wing to look for him. Suddenly, glowing lines of text flashed across my vision. [Why is the tacky side character at the sauna? The male lead is busy making out with the fake heiress in there!] [Watching her use her own money to book a luxury sauna, only for it to become a love nest for our main couple, is just so satisfying!] [Hehe! That is what she gets for hogging the fiancée title. Let her choke on it!] Simon, my fiancé’s assistant, stepped into my path, blocking the hallway. “Miss Harrington, Mr. Davenport said he went to fetch your fresh towels. He asked you to wait back in the private cabana.” [Look at the assistant being an absolute bro, covering for them!] [Our sweet, beautiful Cassey belongs with the male lead. If I were there, I would help trick this trailer trash too.] [Jim is so wild. He slammed the door so hard he jammed the safety lock. They literally cannot open it from the inside!] I glanced at the blistering wave of heat visibly seeping through the cracks of the heavy glass door. Then, I looked at the yellow “Out of Order” sign hanging on the handle. I pulled out my phone and dialed the local resort town locksmith. “Hi, the sauna door lock is jammed. Just take your time driving the golf cart up the mountain. Anytime within the next hour is fine. I will be waiting right outside the door.” [No way! If they wait an hour, the main couple will be boiled alive!] … “Tara, what are you just standing around here for?” A group of Jim’s trust-fund friends strolled down the corridor. Leading the pack were Madison and Carter. They were part of Jim and Cassey’s inner circle, the kind of old-money snobs who never hid their absolute disdain for me, the biological daughter who was only brought back to the Harrington estate a year ago. Madison rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with mockery. “Didn’t Jim tell you to wait in the cabana?” “Are you scared of getting lost? Never seen a luxury alpine resort before?” Carter chimed in with a cruel smirk. “Tara, even if you technically hold the title of fiancée, try not to be so clingy. Jim deals with enough corporate stress as it is. He finally gets a weekend to unwind, and you are sticking to him like a leech. It is pathetic.” [Exactly! This side character is so gross. Tell her to get lost!] [Do not interrupt the main couple making babies in there!] [The temperature inside is spiking. The side character needs to leave so the assistant can figure out a way to break the door and save them!] I ignored their taunts. Instead, I turned my attention to a passing resort attendant. “You. Bring a velvet lounger over here.” “And two heavy-duty electric fans. Point them directly at me.” “I also want iced watermelon, frozen grapes, and the most expensive gelato you have in the kitchen. Bring it all right here.” The attendant blinked in surprise but quickly hurried off to follow my orders. Madison scowled. “Tara, what kind of psychotic break is this?” “This is the VIP corridor. What are you doing setting up a picnic here?” I paid her no mind, settling comfortably onto the plush lounger the staff had just wheeled over, and scooped a spoonful of rich vanilla gelato into my mouth. “I bought out this entire wing for the night. I will eat wherever I please.” “If my face offends you, the exit is right behind you. Feel free to roll your way out.” “You!” Madison gasped, her face turning a blotchy red. Simon was visibly panicking now. His eyes kept darting toward that tightly sealed sauna door. The heat leaking from the seams was already making the hallway unbearably stuffy. “Miss Harrington, it is incredibly humid out here. Resting in this heat is terrible for your skin.” “How about I escort you to the facial spa downstairs?” I took my time, speaking in a slow, deliberate drawl. “No need. I just noticed the lock on this sauna is broken.” “What if someone is trapped inside?” “I am a good Samaritan at heart. I simply must stay right here and stand guard until the locksmith arrives.” All the color drained from Simon’s face. He knew exactly who was inside. His boss and his boss’s precious little secret. [Ahhh I am so mad! This toxic bitch is doing this on purpose!] [Wait, does she know something?] [No way, she is just a brainless cannon fodder. How could she know?] [We are doomed. Cassey has a fragile constitution, and it has to be over 120 degrees in there by now! If they do not get out, someone is going to die!] Madison stomped over, pointing a manicured finger right at my face. “Tara, stop being such an attention whore!” “There is an ‘Out of Order’ sign on the door. Why would anyone be inside?” “You are just throwing a tantrum to get Jim’s attention, aren’t you?” “Newsflash. Even if you pull these pathetic stunts, Jim will never look at you twice!” Carter nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Look at how vulgar you are acting. You do not even compare to a single hair on Cassey’s head.” “The Harringtons only took you in out of pity. Do not start thinking you actually matter.” I shot them a freezing glare. I was the biological Harrington heiress, lost to the foster system for twenty years. I was brought home barely a year ago. But my biological parents and my older brother had already poured all their love into Cassey, the imposter they raised in my place. They hated that I spoke bluntly. They hated that I did not know how to play the sweet, submissive debutante. Even my fiancé, Jim, a man I was betrothed to since childhood, was completely obsessed with Cassey. I had tried so hard to fit in, to please them all. All I got in return was endless cold shoulders and vicious mockery. So, I was done playing nice. I tossed the leftover watermelon rind onto the silver tray. The sharp clatter echoed in the hallway. Madison and Carter bristled, their pride wounded. “Who do you think you are throwing an attitude at?” Madison crossed her arms, glaring down at me. “Do you think just because you have the Harrington last name, we are scared of you?” “In our circle, Cassey is the only Harrington girl we recognize!” “You are just a piece of trash who showed up halfway to steal her life!” I let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Steal her life? Madison, did your daddy buy your high school diploma? You really lack basic comprehension skills.” “Cassey stole my identity and spent twenty years burning through my parents’ bank accounts.” “How exactly did I steal anything from her?” [The side character is so stubborn! Blood means nothing, emotional bonds are what truly matter!] [Cassey is so kind-hearted. If she was not worried about protecting this bitch’s fragile ego, she would have gone public with Jim ages ago!] [Someone figure out how to save them! The temperature is hitting 140 degrees!] [Jim stripped all his clothes off, and Cassey is getting delirious! Any longer and they will severely dehydrate!] Simon was sweating bullets, gripping his two-way radio but terrified to openly call for backup. “Miss Harrington, I am begging you. Please just leave. I will handle things here.” “If Mr. Davenport comes back and sees you acting like this, he will be furious with you again.” I leaned back into the velvet cushions, entirely unbothered. “Furious? What do I care if he throws a fit?” “Nobody touches that door today without my permission.” Realizing playing nice would not work, Carter’s face darkened into a nasty scowl. “Tara, you are already a laughingstock in high society, and now you have the nerve to act arrogant?” “If you do not get up and leave right now, you can forget about ever being invited to our parties again!” “Yeah! We will completely blackball you!” Madison shrieked in agreement. I looked at them, finding the whole situation utterly hilarious. The old me would have swallowed her pride and taken the abuse just to squeeze into their elite little bubble. I used to force a smile through their sneers. I paid for all their lavish tabs just for an excuse to spend a few extra minutes with Jim. But now? Why the hell should I? “Deal.” The word slipped effortlessly from my lips. Madison and Carter exchanged confused glances, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. “What did you just say?” Madison’s eyes widened. “I said deal. I was getting sick of dealing with you freeloading parasites anyway.” “I already closed the tab for today. If you want to keep partying, open your own wallets.” “Oh, and do not forget to Venmo me for the fans and the drinks. We are splitting the cost.” [Is the side character insane? How dare she speak to the male lead’s friends like that!] [Wasn’t she terrified of being isolated?] [Forget about her! Cassey just collapsed into Jim’s arms in there! SOS!] [Jim tried to ram the door, but he has no strength left! It is heavy-duty reinforced glass, he cannot break it!] Simon finally snapped. He gritted his teeth and lunged forward. “Forgive me for this, Miss Harrington!” He reached out to physically shove my lounger out of the way. I locked eyes with him, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Touch me, and see what happens.” “You are nothing but Jim’s lapdog. You really think you can put your hands on me?” Simon froze mid-step. Right at that moment, a deeply displeased voice boomed from the end of the hallway. “Tara, what kind of ridiculous scene are you causing now!” I looked up. It was my biological brother, Blake Harrington, flanked by a detail of private security. Seeing her savior arrive, Madison instantly morphed into a weeping victim, running up to him. “Blake, thank god you are here!” “Look at Tara! She is blocking the hallway like a maniac, insulting us, and even screaming at Jim’s assistant.” Blake’s brow furrowed in disgust. He marched right up to me, demanding answers. “Where is Cassey?” “We have been looking everywhere for her. And here you are, hiding out and stuffing your face?” Looking at his blatantly biased, angry face, I forced down the familiar sting of betrayal. “She is a grown woman. How would I know where she wandered off to?” Blake stood over me, his tone dripping with condescension. “Watch your attitude! Cassey has a delicate constitution. If something happens to her, can you bear the consequences?” “Get off your ass right now and go find her!” I took a slow sip of my iced fruit juice, perfectly composed. “Not going. I am waiting here for the locksmith.” “What damn locksmith? Are you out of your mind!” Blake violently swiped his hand across my table, knocking over my glass. The crystal shattered against the marble floor, splashing sticky, freezing juice all over my dress. He didn’t show a shred of guilt. Instead, he stared at me with pure revulsion. “Tara, when will you stop this?” “Every time we go out, you have to ruin the mood for everyone.” “Do you have any idea how cheap and pathetic you look when you act like this!” [Tell her, brother! He has such good taste!] [This toxic bitch needs to be kicked out of the Harrington family!] [Make him drag her away! It is 160 degrees in there! Cassey is losing consciousness!] [Jim is gasping for air, his skin is completely red! Get that door open!] “Blake, that was the absolute last time I ever let you physically touch me.” I glared at him with dead eyes, standing up to brush the sticky fruit pulp off my designer dress. “If you do not want to wait for the locksmith, then smash the door down yourself.” “If you actually have the guts to do it, I might actually respect you as a brother.” Blake laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Tara, you are a completely unreasonable lunatic!” “Guards, drag her out of here. Do not let her embarrass us any further!” Two burly security guards immediately stepped up, grabbing me forcefully by both shoulders. [Yes! Amazing job, brother! Throw this annoying woman out!] [Once she is gone, the assistant can finally break the door and save them!] [Hold on, my precious Cassey! You will be out soon!] [Jim is getting heat spasms! Oh my god, my heart is breaking for him!] “Let me go!” I thrashed violently, digging my fingernails desperately into the decorative wooden pillar beside me. Blake waved his hand impatiently. “Pry her fingers off!” The guard aggressively twisted my knuckles, pulling a sharp hiss of pain from my lips. Reacting on pure adrenaline, I ducked my head and sank my teeth deeply into the guard’s hand. “Argh!” The guard howled in pain, instinctively dropping his grip. Thick drops of blood splattered onto the pristine marble floor. [What the fuck! Is this crazy woman part dog? She bites!] [Zero class! Who cares if she has biological ties, she is absolute trailer trash to her core!] [Call the cops on her! Do not let her delay the rescue any longer!] Seeing the blood, Blake roared in fury. “Tara, you dare assault someone!” “I am going to teach you a lesson today. You are going to learn your place!” Madison shrieked from the sidelines. “Call security! Call the police!” “She committed assault! Let the cops lock her up!” Within minutes, two local resort police officers arrived on the scene. Blake pointed a rigid finger at me, his voice strictly authoritarian. “Officers, my sister is mentally unstable. She has been causing a massive disturbance and just violently bit my security guard.” “Please take her down to the station. Process her however you see fit.” Madison and Carter eagerly nodded along. “Yes! We saw the whole thing!” “She is violently unhinged. Keeping her here is a public safety hazard!” The two officers looked at the guard’s bleeding hand and frowned heavily. “Ma’am, you are suspected of physical assault. Please come with us.” Cold metal handcuffs snapped around my wrists. I let out a low, chilling laugh. “Alright, officers. I will go with you.” “But I highly recommend you do not wander too far. Because the biggest scandal of the century is about to blow wide open right here.” “What kind of garbage are you spewing now!” Blake yelled. Right at that moment, the elevator doors down the hall chimed open. “Blake! Did you find Cassey yet?” An elegantly dressed older woman in stilettos practically sprinted out of the elevator. It was my biological mother, Beatrice Harrington, her face tight with panic. Trailing behind her were several high-society wives from her country club. Blake hurried over to steady her. “Mom, why are you up here?” “How could I not be? Cassey said she was going to change her swimsuit, and it has been half an hour! No one has seen her!” Beatrice was frantic, but then her eyes landed on me in handcuffs. She froze for a second before her face twisted into pure, unadulterated rage. “Tara, you absolute disgrace! What kind of mess are you making now!” “Your sister is missing, and you are sitting here stuffing your face and fighting with the police?” “I should have never brought you back! You are a stain on the Harrington name!” [Yes, Mom, tell her! This evil side character does not deserve the Harrington name!] [Only our sweet Cassey is worthy of being the heiress!] [Take her away! Officers, drag her out of here!] [The metal door handle is literally scorching hot! Cassey and Jim are dying!] The officer tried to de-escalate. “Mrs. Harrington, your daughter bit someone. We need to take her in for questioning.” Beatrice curled her lip in disgust. “Take her! Get her out of my sight!” “Lock this uneducated savage up for a few days so she learns some manners!” “Do not let her stand here and distract me from finding Cassey!” I looked at the woman who gave birth to me, watching how desperately she wanted me to vanish, and I just laughed out loud. “Mom, aren’t you looking for your precious Cassey?” “You can stop searching. She is right behind that door.” I gestured with my chin toward the heavy glass door with the “Out of Order” sign. Beatrice followed my gaze, her expression faltering. Blake immediately snapped back. “Bullshit! There is a maintenance sign on it. Why the hell would Cassey be in there?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do not believe me? Just ask Jim’s assistant.” “He has been standing guard outside this door since the very beginning. He hasn’t moved an inch.” Every single pair of eyes in the corridor snapped toward Simon. Simon stammered, his entire body trembling. “N-No… Boss and Miss Cassey… they aren’t in there…” I smirked coldly. “Oh? Then who cranked the sauna dial to the absolute maximum?” “And who jammed the safety lock from the inside?” “Mom, your precious little Cassey is in there right now, rolling around naked with my fiancé…” Smack! Beatrice lunged forward and slapped me across the face with all her strength. Half my face went numb before burning hot. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “You filthy-mouthed little whore!” Beatrice was shaking with rage, pointing a trembling finger at my nose. “Knowing what kind of trash you are, you dare spread malicious rumors about your sister and Jim?” “Cassey is pure and innocent! She would never do something so shameless!” “You are just jealous that she is better than you, that everyone loves her! You are just trying to ruin her reputation!” The country club wives behind her shook their heads in disapproval. “Tara, this really crosses the line. What kind of sister makes up lies like this?” “Exactly. We watched Jim grow up. He is a gentleman. He would never do such a thing.” I touched my burning cheek, my eyes turning completely devoid of warmth. Smack! A second, infinitely louder slap echoed through the hall as my handcuffed hands swung up and cracked fiercely across Beatrice’s face. The entire corridor gasped in horror. Blake’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. “Tara! You hit Mom!” Beatrice clutched her cheek, screaming as she tried to claw at me. “You animal! I gave birth to you, and you dare strike me!” The officers quickly stepped in, shoving themselves between us. “Mrs. Harrington, contain yourself. No physical violence.” Shielded by the police, I watched her act like a rabid dog. “You gave birth to me, but you never spent a single day raising me.” “If you are so convinced I am lying, then open the damn door and look for yourself!” “Look and see if your perfect little daughter is in there stealing another woman’s man!” Pushed to the brink of insanity by my words, Beatrice completely lost it. “Fine! Open it! Let’s see how you talk your way out of this when it’s empty!” “If nobody is in there, I will beat you to death with my bare hands today!” She stormed up to the sauna and aggressively grabbed the metal handle. “Ah!” She violently recoiled, clutching her hand. The metal was scalding hot. Right at that moment, the resort locksmith came jogging up the hallway with his heavy tool bag. “Excuse me, coming through! Make way!” The locksmith worked fast. He pulled out an industrial drill, and within seconds, he shredded the jammed lock cylinder. Click. The heavy tempered glass door finally pulled open.

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1 After two months of complete silence, Rain on a Sunny Day suddenly claimed the number one trending spot online. It began when a close friend of the author posted a brief statement on social media. “This book is a young woman’s private diary. Before she passed, she asked me to publish it, leaving me with only one request.” “She said, ‘I hope if he ever reads this, he’ll finally stop hating me.’” Will sat at the dining table, casually scrolling past the trending post. He didn’t even tap it, setting his phone aside face down. Across from him, Renee was meticulously studying the menu, her brow slightly furrowed as if she were solving a complex equation. “Is the wild mushroom soup good here?” “It is.” Renee nodded, satisfied, and looked up to smile at him. He closed the menu for her and smoothly reached out to slide her chair an inch closer to the table. Renee had her head down, arranging her napkin, so she didn’t notice. But I did. He used to do that exact same thing for me. Except back then, I was still alive. My name is Mamie. I have been dead for eight years. Before I died, I spent two years in prison. Not long after I was released, I slipped away. Leukemia, a damp, drafty cell, a scratchy wool blanket: a fever burned for three months before it finally consumed me. I have been tethered to Will’s side, a silent ghost, for eight long years. Will and I met in high school. That winter, the city was hit by the heaviest blizzard of the year. The school’s heating broke, and we could see our own breath inside the classroom. He sat directly behind me. During a break, he swiped the small metal hand warmer from my desk. When I turned around to demand it back, he said with utter seriousness, “Your hands aren’t cold. Mine are.” “How do you know my hands aren’t cold?” I asked. He reached out, squeezed my hand briefly, and let go. “See? Warmer than mine.” He handed the hand warmer back to me, but then rested his own hands on top of it to steal some heat. “You don’t mind, do you?” By the time he asked, he was already soaking up the warmth. “What’s the point of asking now?” I grumbled. He smiled, a quiet, boyish grin. “No point. Just polite.” Later, I realized he was just that kind of person. He would do things first and only ask if you minded afterward. He would barge into your life and then ask if he was welcome. Eventually, he left a folded slip of paper on my desk. It had only six words: I like you. Do you? I took my pen and wrote beneath it: I do too. He folded the paper carefully, slipping it into his chest pocket. For the rest of the afternoon, he sat incredibly straight, as if he were trying desperately to keep a burst of joy from bubbling out of him. Sitting in front of him, I couldn’t stop smiling. He had this habit: he always drank his soup incredibly slowly. Whenever I tried to rush him, he would say there was no hurry, and that burning your tongue was no fun. “It tastes terrible once it’s cold,” I would argue. And he would reply, “If it’s cold, I’ll drink it. If it’s hot, you drink it. It’s a perfect match.” He had an old injury on his left shoulder. Every time the weather turned damp and rainy, it would ache, though he never complained. I only found out one rainy day when I caught him secretly massaging his shoulder. I went to the pharmacy and bought medicated heat patches, but he refused to use them, calling it dramatic. “Are you going to put it on, or do I have to force you?” I demanded. He looked at me, then quietly submitted. “Put it on.” From that day on, whenever rain was in the forecast, I made sure to buy the patches in advance. One day, he asked, “How do you always remember?” “Because you never do,” I answered. He finished applying the patch, and after a quiet moment, he murmured, “Mamie.” “Yeah?” “Always remember.” I thought he was talking about the patches. It was only after I ended up in prison that I realized he wasn’t talking about the patches at all. He meant he wanted me to always be there. But I couldn’t stay. All I could do, as I lay burning with fever in that damp, dark cell, was hold onto every memory of him, keeping them safe before I had to leave this world ahead of him. The waiter served the mushroom soup. Renee leaned in to inhale the aroma, her eyes crinkling. “It smells absolutely amazing.” Will ladled a bowl for her, sliding it gently across the table. “Careful. It’s hot.” I stood by the table, watching them, and felt a dull, familiar ache swell in my chest. The restaurant was quiet. Outside, the streetlights stretched their shadows long across the floor. Renee suddenly spoke up. “Will, I’ve been reading this book lately called Rain on a Sunny Day. It’s a young woman’s diary, and it’s beautifully written. Would you like to read it too?” Will placed some food onto her plate, his voice completely flat. “You’re pregnant, sweetie. You shouldn’t read things like that. Emotional rollercoasters aren’t good for the baby.” Renee nodded and dropped the subject. I stared at his lowered eyelashes for a long time. He hadn’t even grasped the significance of the title. As their dinner neared its end, the voices of two women at the neighboring table drifted over. “Did you read Rain on a Sunny Day? That poor girl’s story is heartbreaking.” “I know, I cried so much. She was locked up for two years, and after she got out, she passed away before she could even see him one last time.” Will picked up his water glass and took a slow sip. I saw his knuckles whiten slightly against the glass. It was there for only a split second, then gone. After dinner, Will went to settle the bill, leaving Renee waiting alone at the table. She looked down at her phone, the trending post still open on her screen. In the photo, the girl’s smile was soft and faint. Renee stared at the picture, her brow furrowing slightly. She felt as if she had seen this girl somewhere before. Was it an illustration from the book, or was it something else? “All set. Let’s go.” Will returned from the register, snapping Renee out of her thoughts. She stood up, took his arm, and walked out. As she passed the spot where I stood, she suddenly turned her head, casting one final, lingering glance toward the photo on her screen. Then she pulled her gaze away, stepping with him into the cool night air. I watched her retreating back, a heavy dread settling in my chest. She had recognized me. 2 The next morning, Will accompanied Renee to her prenatal checkup. He held her hand the entire time, listening intently as the doctor explained every detail of the ultrasound. When the checkup ended, Will went to the front desk to handle the paperwork, leaving Renee to wait in the lounge area. The television in the waiting room was playing a morning show about literature. “The book we’re discussing today, Rain on a Sunny Day, is a diary written in prison by a young woman who served two years for someone else before passing away shortly after her release.” “The most heartbreaking part is that the person she saved still has no idea she went to prison in his place.” “She wrote in her diary that on the day she was released, she stood at the gates for a long time, debating whether to find him. Ultimately, she chose not to.” “She said: ‘He doesn’t know what happened. Telling him would only bring him pain, so it’s better to just leave it like this.’” I stood in the corner of the waiting room, not looking at Renee. Instead, my mind drifted back to the days before those two years. It happened eleven days after my leukemia diagnosis. Will’s company ran into severe legal trouble. It wasn’t his fault; his business partner had fled, leaving Will’s signature on a fraudulent document. He called me that night, his voice dangerously calm. “Mamie, I might have to go away for a while. The lawyer says it could be two years.” I sat in the hospital corridor for hours. The diagnosis was still tucked in my bag: Leukemia. Confirmed. Prognosis highly uncertain. I sat there thinking until the sun went down. Two years. If he went to prison for two years, his career and his company would be ruined, and he would come out only to face a girlfriend who was already dying. So I called his lawyer. “I have some information I want to discuss regarding the case.” I had a way to take the blame. The price was two years. The lawyer had asked me, “Does Will know about this?” “No,” I replied. “And he never will.” When Will called me later, saying there was a sudden turn of events and asking if I knew anything, I lied. “I don’t know. Maybe there was a problem with the evidence. Don’t worry about it, just wait for the outcome.” Hanging up, I stared at my medical report. In two years, I would likely be dead anyway. So he would never have to find out. I thought disappearing quietly was the kindest way to end it. I never realized that to him, my disappearance would be a wound that never healed. “I hope he knows she didn’t just run away,” the TV host said. I stood there, a heavy lump forming in my throat. Will. I didn’t run away. I just didn’t know how to tell you where I was going. Renee sat with her head lowered, her phone screen glowing, though she wasn’t looking at it. Will returned after finishing the paperwork, and they walked out together. As they passed the television, Will’s pace slowed. He turned his head, casting a brief glance at the screen. “I hope he knows she didn’t just run away.” He pulled his gaze back, pushing open the heavy glass doors of the clinic. His steps were steady. But I saw his hand linger on the door handle for a full second before he finally pushed it open. After lunch, Will drove Renee home, explaining that he had some urgent documents to handle at the office and would return by evening. Renee stood on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, then headed inside. He waited until the elevator doors closed before turning toward the parking garage. But halfway there, he stopped. He stood in the empty corridor for a very long time. Then he pulled out his phone, opening the search bar. I held my breath, watching his fingers hover over the keyboard. They stayed there, trembling slightly, for a long time. Ultimately, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and kept walking. That night, Will sat alone in the study. Renee was already asleep, and the house was dead silent. He reached into the very back of his desk drawer, pulling out a worn manila envelope. The edges were frayed, and the seal had a thin rip, as if it had been opened and then hastily pressed back down. He placed the envelope on the desk, staring at it. In the bottom right corner, my name was written in tiny, elegant script. It was my handwriting. Will reached out, his fingertips stopping just short of the envelope’s edge. Standing beside the desk, my heart hammered in my chest. Will, open it. It says I didn’t do those things. It says I didn’t run away. His hand hovered there for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he pulled his hand back. He placed the envelope back into the drawer, pushed it shut, and locked it. That letter was something I had written before going to prison, intending to mail it to him, but I never did. I didn’t know how he had gotten hold of it. I had written: Will, I didn’t do those things, but I can’t explain it. Don’t wait for me. I thought that by not sending it, he would never have to know. Yet he had kept that letter locked in his drawer for eight long years. He had never thrown it away. 3 Will had a close friend from high school named Jared. That afternoon, Jared came to visit, immediately sliding his phone across the desk the moment he sat down. “Have you seen this?” Will glanced down. It was the trending page for Rain on a Sunny Day. He pushed the phone back. “Not interested.” Jared frowned. “Will, don’t you want to know what actually happened back then?” “We are not discussing this.” The room fell quiet. The television on the wall was playing the news, reporting the weekly bestseller list. “In first place, Rain on a Sunny Day, a poignant memoir about…” Will picked up the remote and shut the television off. They drank in silence for a while, but Jared ultimately couldn’t hold back. “She didn’t leave you the way you think she did, Will. It’s all written in the book. If you just read it, you’ll understand.” “Understand what?” Will’s voice was entirely flat. “I waited for her for three months, Jared. She didn’t leave me a single word.” “But the story you believe is a lie.” “That’s enough.” He stood up, grabbing his coat. “She left, and that’s all that matters to me.” With that, he walked out. The night wind was howling, and he walked quickly, as if trying to outrun the thoughts chasing him. Reaching the parking lot, he leaned against the car door, looking up at the dark sky. Back when he was waiting for me, I was burning with fever in that damp cell, constantly dreaming of him standing in the cold, waiting. In those dreams, I tried to run to him, but my legs wouldn’t move. Only later did I realize those weren’t just dreams. He pulled his car keys from his pocket, holding them tightly, but didn’t open the door. He just stood there under the dim parking lot light, staring blankly into the distance. Finally, he lowered his head, whispering a single sentence into the dark. “Mamie, where did you go?” It wasn’t an angry accusation. It was just a lonely man asking a question to a ghost who couldn’t answer. I stood right beside him, my throat tight. Will. I’m right here. I’ve always been here. He got into the car and drove out of the lot. Passing a bookstore, he saw a display of Rain on a Sunny Day in the illuminated window. The car slowed down for a brief second. Only a second, before he accelerated again. When he got home, Renee was waiting on the sofa. She hung up his coat and led him to the kitchen. “I warmed up some soup for you. Drink it before you go to sleep.” Will sat down, watching her busy profile. Renee turned around with the bowl, freezing when she caught his gaze. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He lowered his head and took a sip. Renee sat across from him, hesitating. “Will, about that book…” “Let’s not talk about it,” he said softly. “Finish your soup and get some sleep.” Renee closed her mouth. Will walked into the bedroom. Renee remained at the table, motionless. Only after a long time did she pick up her phone, dialing a number and keeping her voice hushed. “Mom, he still doesn’t know about the book, but I’m afraid we can’t hide it much longer.” 4 The next day, Will went to his office to handle some paperwork. His assistant walked in to deliver coffee, placing a book on the corner of the desk. “Mr. Collins asked me to give this to you. He said it’s incredibly popular right now and highly recommended it.” It was Rain on a Sunny Day. He didn’t touch it. Throughout the entire morning, the book remained on the corner of the desk. He signed documents, held meetings, and made phone calls, never once letting his gaze drift toward it. As midday approached, he finally spoke. “Take this book away.” “But Mr. Collins said…” “Take it away.” After the afternoon meeting, two colleagues were chatting in the hallway. “The saddest part is when she wrote about standing outside the gates on her release day, wondering if she should find him, but ultimately deciding not to.” “Why didn’t she go?” “She said he had no idea what had happened to her. Telling him would only bring him pain, so she decided to let it go.” Will walked out of the conference room, passing right by them. His pace faltered for a fraction of a second. But he didn’t stop, continuing back to his office. Sitting in his chair, he didn’t immediately return to work. He just sat there, staring out the window. After a long time, he opened his drawer and pulled out the worn manila envelope. He placed it on the desk, staring at it. This time, his fingers touched the seal. He paused. I held my breath. Will, open it. His fingers slowly moved down, grasping the edge of the seal. Just then, his phone vibrated. It was a text from Renee. “Will, what do you want for dinner? I can come pick you up after work.” He stared at the screen for a long time. Finally, he placed the envelope back into the drawer and locked it. He picked up his phone to reply: “No need, I’ll drive home myself.” I watched the locked drawer, a heavy despair settling deep in my chest. So close. Every single time, it was so close. That evening, Will went to the grocery store alone. Renee had been craving strawberries, so he spent a long time carefully selecting two of the best cartons. While waiting in the checkout line, his eyes drifted to a display of bestsellers near the register. Rain on a Sunny Day was stacked in the most prominent spot, its cover facing out. Will reached over, picked up a copy, and flipped it open to the first page. “Today is my first day here. The cell is damp, and the blankets are stiff. I didn’t tell him where I am, and I don’t plan to. But I don’t know why, every time I close my eyes, I see him waiting for me.” Will’s finger trembled. The line moved forward. But he didn’t move. He kept reading. “Day 17. I heard it’s snowing outside. I wonder if anyone reminded him to use his heat patches. His old injury always flares up when it snows.” “Day 41. I have a fever. I was delirious and called his name out loud. My cellmates teased me for a long time.” His breathing slowed as he flipped the page. “Day 63. Someone visited me today and brought oranges. I ate one, but it wasn’t very sweet, which made me think of him. He hates oranges because they’re too sour, always lecturing me whenever I bought them. I wonder if anyone is eating dinner with him now.” The cashier called out, “Sir, you’re next.” Will didn’t hear. He kept flipping the pages. “Day 90. I’m out. The wind is freezing today. I stood at the gates for a long time, wondering if I should find him. Ultimately, I didn’t. He doesn’t know what happened these past two years, and I don’t plan on telling him. Let’s just leave it at this.” “Sir?” He ignored the cashier entirely, flipping to the final pages. The handwriting there was shaky and uneven, written with a trembling hand. “My health is failing; I don’t think I have much time left. I still don’t plan on telling him the truth. Not because I don’t want to, but because it’s pointless now. It would only make him miserable.” “Let it be.” “Will, I didn’t abandon you.” “I just couldn’t tell you where I was going.” Will stared at that final line. For a long time, he didn’t turn the page. Slowly, he flipped to the back cover. In the bottom left corner, the publisher had printed a tiny biography. “Author: Mamie Lin. Born… Died eight years ago in the spring, at the age of twenty-three.” The grocery store’s intercom continued to blare advertisements. Will stood there, completely frozen. I hovered beside him, watching him stare at those words for what felt like an eternity. Then, he raised his head. His gaze swept past the registers, past the bookshelves, locking directly onto the empty space where I was standing. I gasped. His eyes were entirely bloodshot. We were separated by eight years, by a truth he had never known, by all the words I had never gotten to say. Yet, he looked straight at me, his eyes locking with mine.

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1 I have a secret. Whenever I touch someone, I can see the face of the person they love most in their heart. Ever since Petter moved next door when I was seven, his heart held only me. At eighteen, when he first took my hand, it was me. At twenty-two, when he proposed, it was me. On our wedding night, when he kissed me, it was still me. On the morning of our third anniversary, I was adjusting his collar. As my fingers brushed his Adam’s apple, I habitually closed my eyes. I saw two faces. One was mine. The other belonged to a complete stranger. That night, Petter’s phone screen lit up on the nightstand: Thanks for spending the day with me, Petter. Twenty-one years. One hundred thousand touches. This was the first time my gift had ever shown me another face. … For our anniversary, I had booked a table at a quiet restaurant a month in advance. I wore the red dress he had once praised, and the pearl earrings he had given me. At six in the evening, just as I was putting on the second earring, my phone rang. “Last-minute business trip, Valerie. I won’t make it back tonight,” his voice was rushed, and he hung up before I could reply. It was the first time in our entire relationship that he had ever hung up on me first. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. One earring was in, the other hung loosely between my fingers. My best friend, Serena, called a few minutes later, offering to keep me company. She drove over, picked me up, and took me to a steakhouse downtown. But as she pulled into the parking lot, my hand froze on the car door handle. Through the large glass window of the restaurant, I saw Petter. He was sitting at a table by the window. Opposite him sat a young woman, perhaps twenty-five, with deep dimples when she laughed. Petter reached across the table, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of cream from the corner of her mouth. It was a gesture he had done for me since we were eighteen. Serena saw them too, her grip tightening on the steering wheel as she prepared to storm inside. I held her back. “Don’t,” I said softly. “Who is she, Valerie?” “I don’t know.” At eleven that night, Petter came home. He brought a bouquet of red roses, just as he did every year. After his shower, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry about today, Valerie. I promise I’ll make it up to you soon.” I closed my eyes. Two faces flickered back and forth in my mind: mine and that other woman’s. Fifty-fifty. For the first time in twenty-one years, I saw someone else in his heart. Once he fell asleep, I picked up his phone. The password was still my birthday. A contact named Sienna was pinned to the top of his chat list. The messages began six months ago, slowly shifting from formal work updates to daily banter, from simple acknowledgments to quiet “goodnight” texts. I’m in a bad mood today, I want something sweet, she had written in one message. I’ll bring you a Napoleon pastry from the bakery downstairs, he replied. Another message from her read: The restaurant you recommended wasn’t very good when I went alone. Next time, you have to come with me. The latest text was the one from that evening: Thanks for spending the day with me, Petter. I put the phone back and lay down in the dark. Petter rolled over, instinctively pulling me into his chest, murmuring something half-asleep. “Who did you spend the day with?” I whispered into the quiet room. “A client,” he mumbled, tightening his grip around me. I didn’t ask anything else. The next morning, he kissed my forehead before leaving for work. “I really couldn’t get away yesterday, sweetheart. I’ll take you to the hot springs this weekend.” He smiled, looking exactly like the man I had always known. I watched him for a moment before replying, “Okay.” After he left, I folded the red dress and placed it at the very bottom of my closet. Serena called me at noon to check on me. The line was quiet for several seconds before she spoke. “Valerie, you’ve only ever looked at him since you were seven.” “I know.” “What are you going to do now?” I looked out the window. The autumn sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. “I don’t know.” 2 Later that afternoon, I went to his office. In the elevator, I ran into Sienna. She recognized me instantly, offering a polite, easy smile as she extended her hand. “Hi, Mrs. Petter. I’m Sienna, Mr. Petter’s assistant.” She was poised and entirely natural. She pressed the button for our floor, stepping back to stand beside me. Her phone rang, and she answered it with a quiet laugh. “Petter? Oh, he rarely eats lunch. Just coffee, usually. It’s a habit of his.” After hanging up, she smiled at me. “Are you here to have lunch with him?” The elevator doors slid open, and I didn’t answer. In his office, Petter was buried in paperwork, his head bowed. I placed the thermal lunchbox on his desk. “Do you really skip lunch?” “Sometimes, when it gets busy,” he said, not looking up. Sienna knocked and walked in with a folder. Glancing at the lunchbox, she smiled. “You’re so thoughtful, Mrs. Petter. He mentioned wanting braised ribs last week, and you made them.” My hand froze as I was serving him the food. Petter kept eating, his head still down. Once Sienna left, the office fell quiet. “She seems to know you very well,” I observed. “Who?” “Your assistant. She knows you skip lunch, and she knows you only drink coffee.” He set his chopsticks down. “Valerie, she’s my assistant. Knowing my daily habits is literally her job.” “Is it?” “What is going on with you lately?” he sighed, looking tired. “You’re the only one in my heart.” He picked up his chopsticks and went back to his meal. That night, he worked late in his study. When I brought him a glass of milk at ten, his phone screen was glowing with a selfie Sienna had just sent him. The moment he noticed me, he flipped the phone face down on the desk. “Just work stuff,” he said. “I didn’t ask,” I replied, setting the glass down and walking out. My hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment, but he didn’t call after me. On Sunday, he tried to make up for our missed anniversary. When we arrived at the restaurant, the hostess smiled warmly. “Mr. Petter, your usual table?” It was the second booth by the window, the exact spot I had seen him with Sienna. As we sat down, I stared at the empty chair across from me. “Do you bring other people here?” His hand tensed as he poured my water. “Just clients. Why do you ask?” “Nothing. It’s a nice view.” When he returned from the restroom, he placed a piece of food on my plate. “Petter, do you ever feel like there’s another person standing between us?” His hand paused mid-air as he was peeling a shrimp, but he quickly recovered. “Who would be between us? Why are you saying things like this?” “No reason. Just a thought.” After dinner, his phone buzzed. I caught a glimpse of the screen as he tilted it away. See you tomorrow, Petter, Sienna had written. He sent a quick emoji in response, locked the screen, and took my hand. “Let’s go home.” I let him lead me down the street, looking down at our joined hands. The streetlights cast our long, overlapping shadows on the pavement. I remembered when he first held my hand at eighteen. Back then, if I closed my eyes, my mind was filled with nothing but his face. I closed my eyes and lightly touched his wrist. The two faces were still there, mine and Sienna’s, perfectly equal. He turned to look at me, noticing I had stopped walking. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I said, catching up to his pace. He squeezed my hand, a gesture that felt entirely natural, exactly as it always had. But I knew everything had changed. 3 At eleven that night, I went to his study with another glass of milk. The door was slightly ajar. I could hear him on the phone, his voice carrying a soft, tender tone I hadn’t heard in a very long time. “Yeah, go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow. I miss you too.” He hung up, looking startled when he saw me standing in the doorway. “Why are you still awake?” “Do you always speak to your staff so gently?” “It was just a normal conversation, Valerie. Don’t let your imagination run wild.” Without a word, I turned and walked away. A moment later, I heard the heavy click of his study door closing. He had never closed that door before. I waited in our room for twenty minutes. When he finally walked in and saw me sitting up, I looked at him. “Petter, there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve had a secret since I was a child. Whenever I touch someone, I can see the face of the person they love most in their heart.” He froze, his jacket half-off. “When I touched you at seven, I saw myself. When you held my hand at eighteen, it was me. When you proposed, it was me.” “But on our anniversary, when I adjusted your collar, I saw two faces: mine and Sienna’s.” The silence in the bedroom was deafening. Then, he let out a dry, nervous laugh. “You have quite the imagination, Valerie. Have you been spending too much time alone lately?” “I am telling you the absolute truth.” The smile vanished from his face. “Are you feeling alright? Maybe we should schedule an appointment with a doctor.” I stood up and reached for his hand. “Let me touch you right now. Close your eyes and think of the person you love, and I’ll tell you who it is.” He snatched his hand back. It wasn’t a violent gesture, but it was incredibly deliberate. “Valerie, enough! If you have a problem with Sienna, talk to me. She has a boyfriend, and this kind of baseless suspicion is incredibly unfair to her.” He grabbed his jacket and walked out of the house. I stood in the center of the room, my hand still empty in the air. He didn’t return until two in the morning, smelling of cold wind and cigarette smoke. I pretended to be asleep as he quietly climbed into bed and pulled me into his arms. I closed my eyes. Only one face remained. It was Sienna’s. My face was completely gone. His arm was draped over my waist, his warm breath brushing against my neck, but for the first time in twenty-one years, I couldn’t find myself in his heart. I gently slipped out of his embrace. He murmured something in his sleep, but didn’t wake. Once his breathing evened out, I packed a small bag and moved into the guest room. At breakfast the next morning, he noticed my slippers by the guest room door. “Why did you sleep in there?” “I had insomnia, and I didn’t want to keep you awake.” “Oh,” he murmured, his eyes already returning to his phone screen. He didn’t ask anything else. 4 Three days after moving into the guest room, I stared at the two pink lines on a pregnancy test. A blood test at the clinic confirmed I was six weeks pregnant. I slid the ultrasound photo into the pages of my journal, writing a single sentence on the blank page: By the time you arrived, your father’s heart was already empty of your mother. Later that afternoon, I went to his office building. Just as I arrived, I saw his car parked near the entrance. Petter was opening the passenger door for Sienna, holding his hand over her head to protect her from the low frame as she climbed inside. That seat had always been mine. That gentle gesture had once belonged only to me. “Let’s go back,” I told the taxi driver. I clutched my bag, the ultrasound report inside pressing against my fingers, but I didn’t call him. When he came home that evening, I was waiting in the living room. “I went to your office today.” He didn’t stop untying his shoes. “Why didn’t you come up?” “If I had, what would I have said?” He looked up at me, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “What is it now, Valerie?” “I saw you open the passenger door for her. I saw you protect her head. You used to only do that for me.” He let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “She’s my assistant, Valerie. Opening the door is basic courtesy. You never used to be like this. You used to be so understanding, so mature.” “Understanding? So the things you did for me can be handed to anyone, and if I care, I’m being immature? Is that what you mean?” He rubbed his temples. “I’ve had a long, exhausting day. I don’t want to fight about this.” He walked into his study and shut the door. The next day, I sent him a text asking him to make time to accompany me to a doctor’s appointment. Sure, he replied. But at seven the following morning, a message popped up on my phone: An urgent business trip came up, I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Have the driver take you if you’re not feeling well. Love you, Petter. I tried calling him, but his phone was switched off. When I called his secretary, the young woman sounded confused. “Mr. Petter doesn’t have any travel scheduled for today, Mrs. Petter.” I took a cab to the hospital alone. Sitting in the corridor, I watched the couples around me: a husband kneeling to tie his wife’s shoes, another supporting his wife as they walked slowly down the hall. I sat in my seat, utterly alone. The doctor reviewed my charts with a frown. “Your progesterone levels are dangerously low, and there’s a significant risk of miscarriage. Is your husband here?” “He’s out of town on business,” I said quietly. She didn’t press further, handing me the consent forms to sign myself. While waiting for my hormone injections, I scrolled through social media and saw Sienna’s latest post: a series of photos of a sunset on a beach. The caption read: Someone said he wanted to see the ocean when he was stressed, so he dragged me along. It’s so nice to be pampered by the boss. In the corner of the last photo, there was a man’s hand resting on the table. On his ring finger was the white-gold band that matched the one on my left hand. That night, the severe cramping began. I took a cab to the emergency room alone, and the nurses rushed me straight into the operating room. “Is it gone?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “The pregnancy has terminated, we need to perform a quick procedure to clear the tissue. Is your husband on his way?” “I’ll sign the forms myself.” By the time the surgery was over, it was three in the morning. I sat in the cold hallway, calling his number repeatedly, but it went straight to voicemail. Finally, I sent him a text: Petter, something happened. Please come back. He didn’t call back until the following afternoon. Through the receiver, I could hear the sound of crashing waves and a car engine starting. “I just landed, Valerie. What’s going on?” Ignoring the sharp ache in my body, I kept my voice flat. “It’s already been taken care of.” “Oh, good. I’ll be home tonight, and I’ll bring back some fresh seafood.” He arrived later that evening, placing a bag of crabs on the kitchen counter. “I got these for you. I’ll steam them tomorrow.” I didn’t say a word. Noticing my pale face, he stepped closer, reaching out to touch my forehead. I stepped back, evading his hand. “I have something to tell you. I was preg—” Before I could finish, his phone rang, playing the custom ringtone he had set for Sienna. His expression softened instantly, a look I knew all too well. He held up a finger, asking me to wait, and quickly answered. “Sienna? What’s wrong?” Even though his phone wasn’t on speaker, the quiet room allowed me to hear her trembling voice clearly. “Petter, I think I have a fever. My whole body aches, and I don’t think I can…” “Have you taken your temperature? What is it?” “101.3.” He was already walking toward the door, reaching for his keys. “Stay there. I’m coming over.” Only as he reached the door did he remember I was standing there. “Valerie, Sienna has a severe fever and she’s entirely alone. I need to go check on her, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. We’ll talk about whatever you wanted to say when I get back.” The words died in my throat. The front door clicked shut, and his footsteps faded down the hall. The apartment was dead silent. On the counter, the bag of crabs sat in its plastic wrapping. The very last spark of love I had for him finally went out.

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1 As my due date drew closer, I kept having the exact same dream over and over. In the dream, a little girl was crying, begging me not to bring her into the world. “Please, Mom, just let me go.” “He cheated on you with his intern the moment you got pregnant. This family isn’t worth breaking yourself over!” “Without me, without him, you’ll finally be free!” I bolted upright in a cold sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beside me, my husband immediately wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, sweetie, are you okay?” Nolan’s eyes were filled with pure worry. We had grown up together, knowing each other’s deepest secrets. Since our marriage, he had been the neighborhood’s poster child for the perfect husband. Him? Cheating? While he was in the kitchen pouring me a glass of warm water, I reached over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The passcode used to be my birthday. Now, it had been changed. Before I could process the cold dread settling in my chest, the doorbell rang. Late at night, a heavily intoxicated woman was standing outside our door, slurring his name repeatedly. When she saw me, her smile grew even more unhinged. “Hey there. I’m just here to grab something from Nolan.” “Do me a favor and check under his pillow. Is there a pair of black lace stockings there?” I didn’t say a word, but my stomach suddenly tightened in a sharp, sudden spasm. It was her. Charlene, the intern from my nightmares. Charlene wanted to cause more of a scene, but Nolan had already hailed a cab and bundled her into it. By the time he came back into the bedroom, I was already tossing the covers aside, searching. “What are you looking for?” “You don’t seriously believe a drunk girl’s rambling, do you?” Nolan let out a casual, disbelieving chuckle and took the initiative to lift his pillow. “See? Nothing here.” He reached out to pull me into his arms, but I quietly stepped out of his reach. “A woman gets drunk in the middle of the night, calls you repeatedly, and then shows up at our doorstep.” “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” I stared at him, trying to find even a sliver of guilt on his face. But he only sighed, his expression a mix of gentle exhaustion and forced patience. “I get it. You’re pregnant, and your hormones are making you hyper-sensitive.” “Young people get drunk and do stupid, reckless things. It happens.” “Paige, let’s not let silly paranoia get between us, okay?” That night was the first time we slept in separate rooms. The next morning, I didn’t wake up early to make him breakfast as I always did. The atmosphere in our home slowly froze over. By the fourth day of our cold war, Nolan didn’t return home even after midnight. Restless and frustrated, I dialed his number over and over. When the call finally connected, it wasn’t his voice that answered. “Paige? Is something wrong?” I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. “I’m calling my own husband. Do I need to report to you?” “You sound so hostile, Paige. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “It’s just that Nolan is completely wasted. Since you have such a big belly, are you sure you want to come pick him up?” The line went dead. I threw on a coat, ordered a cab, and rode to a private lounge downtown. Before I even pushed the heavy double doors of the VIP suite open, the raucous cheering from inside hit my ears. “Chug! Chug!” Through the glass panel, I saw Charlene coyly holding a shot glass, leaning close to Nolan. His tall frame hovered over her. He cupped her face, tilted her head back, and shared a mouthful of wine, pressing his lips against hers in a sloppy, alcohol-fueled kiss. I kicked the door open with a resounding bang. The laughter died instantly. “Paige?” Nolan frowned, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. “What are you doing here?” I gestured toward the trembling woman beside him. “She already threw down the gauntlet. Did you really think I wouldn’t show up?” Charlene scrambled to defend herself. “Nolan, when you went to the restroom, she kept calling. I was just worried she’d be anxious, so I told her we were here for business networking.” Instead of getting angry at her, Nolan gently patted the back of her hand. “It’s not your fault.” He stood up, walking past her to face me. “Are you happy now that you’ve made us the laughingstock of the room?” Without waiting for my response, he pushed past me and stormed out of the suite. I wanted to chase after him, but a sudden, violent spasm racked my abdomen. I slid down against the wall, clutching my belly. “Nolan, it hurts…” I was admitted to the hospital that night for emergency observation to prevent preterm labor. Nolan ran around handling the paperwork and medical supplies, finally collapsing into the chair beside my bed just as the horizon began to turn gray. Exhausted, he tucked my hand back under the blanket. “Just listen to the doctor. Everything will be fine.” “Look at you, making such a mountain out of a molehill.” His dismissive tone set off a spark of pure rage in my chest. “A molehill?” “Nolan, if I hadn’t shown up tonight, would the two of you have ended up in bed?!” “Paige!” He roared, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, bloodshot anger. “Do you have any idea what business networking is?!” “I swear, you’ve got too much free time on your hands. Do you have any idea how exhausting my job actually is?!” Silence fell over the room. During my first trimester, the morning sickness had been brutal. I had spent weeks practically living on the bathroom floor, losing twenty pounds in a single month. He was the one who had begged me to quit. “Just stay home and let me take care of you. I can easily support us.” “Earning money is a man’s job. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” The sweet promises of yesterday had become the sharpest daggers of today. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to reach for my hand. “Sweetie, I didn’t mean it like that.” “What do you want to eat? I’ll go buy it.” I stared at him, extending an open palm. “Your phone.” He froze for a second, offering a strained laugh. “What? You don’t trust me?” I didn’t blink. “Your phone.” “Why did you change the passcode?” “What is on there that I’m not allowed to see?” Nolan shoved his hand into his pocket, his fingers tightly gripping the device. He glared at me, his jaw clenching. Suddenly, he pulled it out and smashed it onto the linoleum floor. The screen shattered into a million glittering pieces right before my eyes. “Are you happy now?” “Are you done throwing tantrums?” He turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving me entirely alone in the sterile white room. I stayed in the hospital for seven days, and Nolan never showed his face again. The nurses watched me with pity. Compared to the other pregnant women whose husbands hovered over them with endless warmth, I looked pathetic. When it was time to handle the discharge paperwork, a young nurse finally couldn’t help but ask, “Do you want me to call your emergency contact? There are a lot of post-discharge care instructions.” I remained quiet, which she took as a yes. Deep down, a small, foolish part of me still hoped. Unfortunately, after she tried calling him five times, Nolan still didn’t pick up. She looked at me awkwardly. “Maybe he’s in a meeting?” I forced a smile, thanked her, and called a cab myself. As the taxi pulled up to our building, I noticed the lights in our apartment were on. Nolan was home. So why hadn’t he answered the phone? Was he still playing his petty silent game? Anger flared in my chest. I marched upstairs, determined to demand answers. But the moment I unlocked the door, I froze. There was a pair of high heels sitting on the shoe rack. Loud music was pulsing through the apartment, so loud that neither of them had heard the door open. “Nolan, grab the bowls! Dinner is ready!” “Want a glass? I bought red wine today!” Charlene’s voice drifted from the kitchen. I walked forward like a zombie, only to see Nolan wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as she stood there in her apron. “Smells amazing.” “But honestly, I’d rather eat you first.” I stood there in a daze, watching them. They looked like a loving, happily married couple. I was the intruder. Charlene giggled, turning her head to kiss him, and that was when their eyes landed on me. I slowly walked toward them. Nolan instinctively stepped in front of Charlene, shielding her. Tears spilled over my cheeks, and when I spoke, my voice was raw and broken. “Nolan…” “Why?” My mind flashed back to a dusty afternoon during my childhood. I had come home early from school, eager to show my parents my report card. Instead, I found my father and another woman in the bedroom, behaving like animals. My mother had come home early that day too. She had been carrying two heavy bags of groceries, smiling warmly as she told me, “Go do your homework, sweetie. I’m making pork chops tonight!” We never got to eat those pork chops, because she spent the evening chasing my father with a kitchen knife while he scrambled to pull up his pants. I didn’t grab a knife. I just stood there like a statue, watching Charlene scramble to gather her things and flee. Shortly after she left, Nolan tried to slip past me carrying a heavy black trash bag. “Sweetie, I’m just going to take the trash out. I’ll be right back.” I snatched the bag from his hands. Before he could stop me, I ripped it open and dumped the contents onto the floor. Stockings, handcuffs, lipstick, a toothbrush, lace lingerie, remote-controlled toys… The air in the room turned ice-cold. Trembling, I locked the front door and took the key. “Starting today, you’re not going anywhere.” “If you dare cross that threshold, I’ll take both of us down.” On the first day of our confinement, Nolan acted completely normal. He knelt before me, weeping and begging for forgiveness, claiming it was just a temporary lapse in judgment. “You’ve been pregnant and we couldn’t do anything. Charlene just happened to be assigned to my team.” “I’m a man, Paige. I have needs!” “I promise it will never happen again, okay?” He repented like a devout sinner, hovering around me, cleaning every corner of the house, and cooking elaborate meals to appease me. On the third day, his phone rang incessantly. Finally, he looked at me with a strained, pleading expression. “There’s so much going on at the office.” “Let me go out just for a bit, sweetie. You can set a timer, track my location. You can monitor the office security cameras if you want!” I gripped his hand tightly, refusing to let go. “Charlene is at the office, isn’t she?” “You’re just going to see her!” Nolan sighed with exhaustion, running a hand over my hair. “Fine, fine. I won’t go.” “Stop overthinking. I’ll stay right here with you.” We managed to survive another day in fragile peace, until the early hours of the fifth morning. A soft rustling woke me. I got out of bed to find Nolan quietly trying to pick the lock on the front door. “What are you doing?” He jumped, startled, then rubbed his temples in sheer frustration. “Paige, you are seriously ruining my career.” “I promise you, the moment I finish this meeting, I’ll come straight back.” I lunged forward, grabbing his arm and shaking my head violently. “I won’t let you leave.” “You’re going to her, aren’t you? No!” Fear and hysteria consumed me. I blocked the door with my entire body, completely losing my mind. “Paige! You’re acting like a complete psycho!” Nolan shoved me, and when I kept fighting, his patience finally snapped. He raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The sting on my cheek was burning. His harsh, mocking words rang in my ears. “Now I see why your dad walked out on your family.” “Your mother was a psycho, and so are you!” “Why don’t you just go join her in the grave!” The front door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the dark. My mother had indeed gone mad. She had refused to get a divorce, spending her days screaming and crying, her face covered in saliva and tears. She would hit me and yell at me, and I had been too terrified to even cry out loud. Back then, Nolan would always find excuses to drag me to his house. He would share his snacks and let me read his comic books. “Don’t worry, Paige!” “I’ll protect you!” Later, when my mother committed suicide, he was the one who stayed by my side to handle the funeral, bowing to every guest who came to offer condolences. “Paige, from now on, I’m your family.” He had been the only light in my dark childhood, healing my deepest scars. Yet now, he was the one ripping those scars open and pouring salt into them. Nolan refused to answer my calls, and I didn’t sleep a wink. His friend was the one who finally called me. “Paige, you’ve gone way too far this time.” “What man doesn’t make a mistake? Did you really have to leak their private photos online? How is Nolan supposed to show his face again?” Confused, I hung up and opened my browser. I quickly found a trending post featuring explicit photos of Nolan and Charlene. The title was vicious: A Trashy Whore and a Dog Belong Together. There were uncensored photos and videos of them in the office, the bedroom, the car, the park. Nolan was pouring his desire into her, his eyes, which had once belonged only to me, filled with lust for another woman. But I hadn’t posted any of that. I frantically dialed Nolan’s number. When he still didn’t pick up, I left a voice message: “Tonight at eight. The Ferris wheel where you proposed. I’ll be waiting.” After a long time, he sent a short reply: “Fine. Eight o’clock.” Those few words calmed my racing heart. I even put on lipstick, something I hadn’t touched during my entire pregnancy. I arrived two hours early, sitting beneath the Ferris wheel. Watching the couples walking past, a deep, hollow ache settled in my chest. Many years ago, we had been one of them. When the Ferris wheel was first built, Nolan had dragged me there. “Paige, legend says that if a couple kisses at the very top of the Ferris wheel, they’ll stay together forever.” Blushing, he had gotten down on one knee in the high-altitude cabin, pulling out a diamond ring. “Will you marry me? I swear I’ll cherish you for the rest of my life!” The memory was so warm that by the time I snapped out of it, Nolan was already sitting silently beside me. “Nolan…” “Let’s go.” His voice was dead flat. I followed him, trying to reach for his hand, but he pointedly evaded my touch. We stepped into the cabin, and even then, he refused to look at me. After a long, agonizing silence, I finally spoke. “About the photos, I swear I didn’t do it…” “You didn’t?” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, finally turning to glare at me. “Paige, stop acting.” “You wanted to ruin my life, didn’t you?” “Well, congratulations! You got exactly what you wanted!” “But let me tell you something. You ruined her reputation, so now I have to take responsibility for her!” His voice escalated, screaming in the very place where he had once promised to love me forever, telling me he had to take responsibility for another woman. It felt like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. I shook my head frantically. “It wasn’t me! I swear it wasn’t me!” “You said you only loved me, Nolan!” His face was contorted with anger as he violently shoved my hand away. “I absolutely despise you right now.” “Paige, you disgust me.” His words froze the blood in my veins. As the Ferris wheel cabin touched the ground, he quickly leaped out, slammed the door shut, and locked it from the outside. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Charlene. “Don’t you love the Ferris wheel?” “Then stay up there and enjoy it!” I looked toward the control booth; it was completely empty. Through the glass, I watched Nolan wrap his arm around Charlene’s waist as they walked away. Suddenly, a warm gush of fluid pooled between my thighs. I pounded frantically on the glass, screaming in sheer terror. “Help!” “Stop the wheel! I’m in labor!” By the time the ambulance arrived, I had already given birth to my daughter inside the cabin. With severe tearing and blood staining the floor, I used the last ounce of my strength to hand the baby to the paramedics. “Where is the father? What is his number?!” I weakly signaled that I would sign the forms myself, offering a faint, weary smile. “I don’t have any family. They’re all dead.”

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1 Five years after my biological mother finally brought me home, a text message suddenly popped up on my phone. Now that you have the family you’ve longed for, are you very happy? The sender was me, five years ago. Back then, I was still lying in a narrow bed at the orphanage, completely consumed by the sudden, overwhelming joy of finally having a family. I remember holding the little welcome gift my mother had given me, carefully typing out my hopes for the future, word by word. But right now, my mother was busy punishing my younger sister for her dropping grades. In front of my sobbing sister, she slapped my face until my skin turned a bruised purple and my eardrum ruptured. Then, she forced me to the floor, grinding the heel of her boot over my fingers, crushing them against the cold hardwood. She stared down at my sister, her voice cutting through the room like ice: “I can’t bring myself to hurt you, Hailey, so I am using her as your example. If you don’t study hard, this is the pathetic, trampled life you will live. Anyone will be able to step on you.” Terrified by the violence, Hailey wept hysterically, begging and swearing that she would never neglect her studies again. Only then did our mother finally lift her foot off my bleeding hand. I swallowed the copper tang of blood in my mouth, using my broken, trembling fingers to slowly type a reply. Don’t go home with her. Not all reunions are born out of love. … The blood was pooling in the back of my throat. Unable to hold it back any longer, I let out a harsh, ragged cough, splattering red across the polished floor. Hailey shrieked, clutching our mother’s sleeve in desperation. “Mom, please! I’ll study, I swear I’ll study! Stop hurting Alicia! She… she’s coughing up blood!” Margaret’s expression remained terrifyingly gentle as she pulled Hailey’s hands away. In one swift, brutal motion, she grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my swollen, distorted face up so Hailey was forced to look directly into my eyes. “If you feel sorry for her, then you had better remember this pain,” Margaret whispered, her voice smooth and venomous. “The next time you fail an exam, the punishment your sister receives won’t be as simple as a few slaps.” Hailey nodded frantically, her eyes darting away from me in sheer guilt. Seeing that her message had been properly beaten into her younger daughter, Margaret’s face softened into a satisfied smile. I kept my head bowed, fighting back the choking bitterness in my chest, and pressed send on the message I had just written. Five years ago, Margaret had walked into the orphanage, weeping as she wrapped her arms around me. She told me she had spent years searching for me, that she wanted to bring me home and make up for every single day we had lost. But by then, Hailey had already been spoiled into a rebellious, untouchable terror. She skipped classes, talked back, and caused chaos wherever she went. No one could control her. Until the day Hailey was caught shoplifting at a local grocery store and refused to apologize. Faced with her daughter’s stubborn defiance, Margaret had forced me to wear a cardboard sign that read “THIEF” around my neck, making me kneel outside the store entrance to apologize in Hailey’s place. It was only when Hailey saw me humiliated in public that she panicked, crying as she finally begged the store owner for forgiveness. Having tasted the success of this twisted method, Margaret began to use me as a tool to train my sister. Whenever Hailey talked back or lied, Margaret would pierce my lip with a sewing needle. Whenever Hailey got into fights at school, Margaret would tie my hands to the school gates, making me stand there in the freezing rain to humiliate her into obeying. Slowly, Hailey became the perfect, obedient daughter. And slowly, my body became a canvas of scars. Gently wiping the tears from Hailey’s cheeks, Margaret cooed, “There, there, don’t cry anymore. Were you scared, my darling? Mom booked a table at your favorite restaurant. Let’s go have a wonderful dinner, alright?” Hailey nodded tearfully, then looked back at me, her voice trembling. “Can we bring Alicia with us?” Margaret’s face instantly hardened. She cast a cold, repulsed glance in my direction. “Alicia still has to pay for your mistakes. She will remain on her knees until tomorrow morning. From now on, whenever you do your homework, she will kneel beside your desk. She will only be allowed to stand when your grades improve.” Hailey’s head drooped, her shoulders shaking with silent guilt. I bit my lip, my nails digging into my palms until the skin broke, but I couldn’t feel the physical pain anymore. My heart was already numb. “Go on, change your clothes,” Margaret urged, her voice light again. “If we’re late, we’ll lose our reservation.” Hailey turned back, giving me one last look filled with sorrow and helplessness, before she walked out. As they opened the front door, they ran into our next-door neighbor. The neighbor smiled warmly at Hailey before turning to Margaret. “Oh, Margaret, you really know how to raise a child. Hailey used to be so wild, but look at her now, she’s so polite and disciplined.” She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a low whisper. “Is that your older girl inside? She’s incredibly tough. I could hear the blows from my living room, but she didn’t make a single sound.” Margaret didn’t show a hint of shame. Instead, her chin rose with pride. “Hailey is still young and reckless. Someone has to show her the real cost of making mistakes.” With a light laugh, the heavy front door slammed shut. Kneeling on the freezing floor, I felt as though an invisible hand was squeezing the remaining life out of my chest. Just then, my phone vibrated. A new message flashed on the screen. Why are you lying about Mom? You have no idea how much she wanted me back. She already had a daughter, but she told me I was the one she missed the most. I stared at the glowing screen, my mind spinning. I was actually speaking to my past self across time. It felt like holding the key to my own destiny. My hands shook as I frantically typed a response. I am you, five years in the future. Please, listen to me. Do not go home with her. You are not her daughter. You are just a whip she uses to keep your sister in line. 2 A few minutes later, the screen lit up again. I don’t believe you. Mom loves me. She told me so. Love? I stared at the word, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. It was true. When she first brought me home, Margaret really did seem to love me. She had wept when she saw how painfully thin I was. She cooked elaborate meals every single day, and within a few months, I had gained ten pounds. She blamed herself for losing me, trying to make up for my lost childhood by taking me to amusement parks on every holiday. She bought me pink cotton candy, took beautiful portraits of me on my birthday, and stayed by my bedside without sleeping a wink whenever I ran a fever. “Alicia, sweetie, don’t be scared,” she would whisper, stroking my hair. “Mom is here. I’m never going to leave you again.” Even Hailey, spoiled as she was, used to pout and complain that I had stolen all of our mother’s affection. That brief period of my life had felt like a beautiful, fragile dream. So when Margaret used me to punish Hailey for the first time, I was devastated, but I forced myself to believe she had no choice. I told myself she was just desperate. It was only much later that I realized her love came with a hidden price, a weapon that would eventually destroy me. My tears dripped onto the glass screen, blurring the text. I forced my shaking fingers to type one last warning. Her love is a knife. And she is going to use it to carve you to pieces. I lost track of time before the front door clicked open again. When Margaret walked in and saw me still kneeling but holding my phone, her face contorted with rage. Without a word, she lunged forward and kicked me squarely in the shoulder. My head collided violently with the sharp edge of the dining table. A blinding flash of pain tore through my skull, and a warm, thick crimson began to obscure my vision. Margaret’s screaming voice echoed in my ears. “I told you to kneel and reflect, and you’re playing on your phone?” “Because of your pathetic attitude, Hailey will never understand the weight of her actions!” My vision swam, and I reached out blindly, trying to explain. “Mom, please, I wasn’t… I was just…” Before I could finish, a resounding slap delivered with full force struck my other cheek. “So you’ve learned to talk back to me now, have you?” Margaret sneered. “Clearly, you haven’t learned your lesson. Slap yourself until both sides of your face are even. Maybe that will help you remember.” Hailey, shrinking back in the corner, grabbed Margaret’s arm, her voice trembling. “Mom, stop! I get it now, I really do! Please don’t make her do this!” Margaret shook her off, her voice cold and unyielding. “If she treats her punishment like a joke, how will you ever learn? Alicia, start. If you don’t hit yourself a hundred times, you won’t be allowed to stop.” Swallowing the bitter tears, I raised my hand and let it fall against my own face. Margaret let out a sharp scoff. “Are you starving? You hit like a coward. You’re completely useless.” She stepped forward, swung her arm wide, and delivered a blow so heavy my head spun, my left cheek instantly swelling. Rubbing her palms with a sigh of irritation, she muttered, “Keep that exact level of force.” Under her watchful eye, I raised my hand again and again, striking my own flesh until my eyes were swollen shut, my lips split and bleeding, and my face turned a sickening shade of purple. Only then did she signal me to stop. Looking down at the ruin of my face, Margaret finally seemed satisfied. She knelt down beside me. My entire body tensed, my eyes shutting tightly in anticipation of another blow. Instead, she opened a tube of ointment she had prepared beforehand and began gently dabbing it onto my bruised skin. My body shuddered at her touch. She paused, letting out a long, weary sigh. “Alicia, you have to understand why I do this. We are a family. We rise and fall together.” “You are the sensible one. You have to help me guide your sister. Only when she becomes disciplined and successful will our family finally have peace.” She took an alcohol wipe and began cleaning the cut on my forehead. The stinging pain was agonizing, but I didn’t pull away. Summoning the last shred of my courage, I looked at her through my swollen eyes and whispered, “Mom… can you please stop using me to teach Hailey?” “Every night, the pain keeps me awake. And… I can barely hear anything out of my right ear anymore.” Margaret froze for a brief second. Thinking I had finally reached her, I reached out and gently took her hand. “Mom, you brought me back because you loved me, right? So please…” Slap! Another sharp blow struck my right ear, sending a deafening, high-pitched ring through my head. “How dare you try to manipulation me?” Margaret spat, her face twisted in anger. “I thought you were the good daughter, but you’re just trying to play the victim to ruin this family!” I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was gone, drowned out by the torrent of her familiar, venomous curses. I was forced to kneel there for the entire night. When morning arrived, my phone screen flickered to life. I still don’t want to believe you. Unless… you can prove it to me. 3 I raised the phone camera, capturing a photo of my bruised, unrecognizable face. But my thumb hovered over the send button, paralyzed. My mind kept betraying me, drifting back to the early days. I remembered the warm bowls of soup she used to cook for me, the comfort of her embrace when I was sick, and the soft smile on her face when she told me I was her good girl. Those memories were fading, but I clung to them like a lifeline. I looked at the calendar on the wall. There was only one month left before Hailey’s college entrance exams. Maybe once she passed her exams, this nightmare would end. Maybe Margaret would go back to loving me the way she used to. With a heavy heart, I deleted the photo. Suddenly, my phone rang. Margaret’s voice on the line was devoid of any warmth. “Alicia, get to Hailey’s school right now.” Terrified that something had happened to my sister, I ran out of the apartment as fast as my legs could carry me. When I reached the principal’s office, I found Margaret sitting with a dark, furious expression, while Hailey stood in the corner, her eyes red from crying. My chest tightened, and I instinctively took a step back, trying to slip away. “Alicia, get in here,” Margaret’s cold voice cut through the air. The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, looked shocked when she saw my swollen face, but she quickly masked her concern and turned back to Hailey. “There is only a month left before the final exams. This is the most critical period of her high school career, and yet, Hailey was caught in a romantic relationship on school grounds.” “If this ruins her chances at college, the consequences will be devastating.” “We weren’t dating!” Hailey cried out, her voice cracking. “I just didn’t understand some of the study questions, so I asked him for help!” Mrs. Gable sighed, pulling up a photo on her phone and showing it to Margaret. “She is still lying. Look at how close they are. Their faces are practically touching. This is clearly a physical relationship, and she is using studying as an excuse.” Due to the angle of the photo, the two teenagers did indeed look as if they were kissing. “No, that’s not true!” Hailey sobbed, shaking her head wildly. “I swear we weren’t…” “Silence!” Margaret roared, her voice cutting Hailey off. “Is this the real reason your grades have been slipping?” Without warning, Margaret lunged forward, grabbed me by the hair, and began dragging me toward the door. Mrs. Gable jumped up in alarm. “Mrs. Chen, what are you doing? Please, let’s discuss this calmly!” Margaret kept her grip on my hair, her voice tight with controlled fury. “Don’t interfere, Mrs. Gable. The only way to make Hailey understand her mistake is to make an example out of her sister.” Mrs. Gable looked at my bruised face, opened her mouth to speak, but ultimately remained silent. Hailey ran after us, sobbing as she clawed at Margaret’s hands. “Mom, please! I wasn’t dating him! Just leave Alicia alone!” Ignoring her cries, Margaret dragged me all the way to the school gates, where students were walking by. In the middle of the crowded pavement, she began tearing at my clothes. I clung to her legs, begging for mercy, while Hailey fell to her knees, weeping hysterically. But Margaret remained entirely unmoved. I curled my body into a tight ball, trying desperately to cover myself, as waves of pure humiliation and despair washed over me. Pointing her finger at me, Margaret glared at Hailey, who was shaking on the ground. “Do you see this? This is what happens when you don’t value your own dignity!” “If you keep seeing that boy, this is exactly how cheap and ruined you will end up!” Hailey slowly pushed herself up from the ground, her face streaked with tears. The pressure she had carried for years finally snapped. “I hate you!” she screamed, her voice echoing across the courtyard. “Why do you always use Alicia’s body to punish me? I told you, we weren’t dating! Why do you have to ruin her to prove your point?” “This family is a living nightmare!” Without looking back, she bolted out of the school gates and ran down the street. Margaret stood frozen, staring at the empty space where her daughter had just been. “Why… why didn’t she listen this time?” she muttered to herself. “It must be because the punishment wasn’t severe enough.” She pulled out her phone and dialed a number. “Find me one of the vagrants from the streets near the old district.” 4 A few minutes later, a beat-up van pulled up beside us. Terrified, I begged Margaret not to let them take me, but she dragged me into the back of the van without a hint of remorse. The vehicle rattled down the road, eventually stopping outside an abandoned, desolate factory on the edge of the city. Margaret hauled me out of the van by my hair, throwing me onto the dirt floor before turning to the disheveled man who had climbed out after us. She held up her phone, her voice completely flat. “He’s all yours. My younger daughter is behaving like a cheap delinquent. I want her to see exactly what happens to girls who lose their way.” The man grinned, revealing a row of rotted, yellow teeth, and began stepping toward me. I scrambled backward, my voice raw from screaming. “Mom, please! Don’t do this to me! Please!” Margaret switched her phone to video mode, her face completely blank. “Alicia, if Hailey doesn’t learn her lesson today, her entire life will be ruined.” But what about my life? In the next second, rough, dirty hands tore away the last of my clothing. I screamed, fighting with every ounce of strength I had left, but I was no match for him. Every inch of my skin was bruised, subjected to a sickening violation that made it hard to breathe. A few yards away, Margaret watched through her screen, a faint, cold smile playing on her lips as she captured every single detail. Finally, she nodded. “That’s enough. Let her go, I have what I need.” The man grumbled, reluctantly pulling away, and took the cash Margaret held out before leaving the factory. I lay on the filthy floor, shivering violently, my chest hollowed out by a pain so deep it felt like a physical wound. The last lingering shred of love I had held for my mother shattered into dust. I reached out, picked up my phone from the dirt, and took a picture of my broken, ruined self. I sent it to the number from five years ago. This is the hell she will build for you. Don’t come back. Then, I dragged my broken body toward the stairs, slowly making my way up to the roof of the factory. Margaret didn’t even notice I was gone. She was busy sending the video to Hailey, typing out a message with frantic excitement. Look closely, Hailey. If you don’t want to end up like your sister, break up with that boy immediately. Your mother only wants what’s best for you. If you keep defying me, I will let him finish what he started. Be a good girl and come home to apologize. I stood at the very edge of the concrete roof, looking down at her. My heart felt completely empty. I wondered, if I had refused to go home with her five years ago, would any of this have happened? I closed my eyes and let myself fall backward into the empty air. As the wind rushed past my ears, my phone vibrated one last time in my hand. I understand now. I won’t go with her. Down below, Margaret’s phone rang. It was Hailey’s homeroom teacher, her voice filled with deep regret. “Mrs. Chen, I am so incredibly sorry. It was a misunderstanding.” “We checked the security cameras. Hailey and the boy were indeed just looking over a textbook. There was no relationship.” Margaret froze. “Really? That’s… that’s wonderful.” “It’s fine… Alicia’s punishment will just serve as a warning for the future. It will keep Hailey on the right path.” She hung up the phone and looked around, realizing the space around her was empty. “Alicia?” She ran out of the factory doors, but the yard was quiet. The only thing she found was a shattered phone lying in the dirt, its cracked screen still glowing.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “457286”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Matthew’s favorite phrase was “just wait a little longer.” Wait until his startup stabilized to get our marriage license; I waited two years. Wait until his mother’s attitude softened to have the wedding; I waited another three. In the fifth year, at Matthew’s thirtieth birthday dinner, his mother publicly slipped off the antique emerald bracelet from her wrist. Passing down the family bracelet to acknowledge the daughter-in-law was an old tradition in the Brandt family. I thought, finally, the waiting was over. “Here, give me your hand.” But Matthew’s mother bypassed my outstretched hand, sliding the heavy emerald piece firmly onto Mary’s wrist instead. The entire table went dead silent. Mrs. Brandt patted the back of Mary’s hand with a fond smile. “Mary grew up with our Matthew. We are all one family anyway.” My hands were still resting on the tablecloth, my fingertips turning icy. Someone at the table whispered, “But what about Nora?” Matthew leaned in close, lowering his voice. “My mother is sentimental, Norie. Don’t take it to heart.” “I’ll buy you a haute couture necklace on my business trip next month. Be good, just wait a little longer.” Mary held up her wrist right in front of my face, a smug smirk playing on her lips. “Be honest, Norie, isn’t it beautiful? Mrs. Brandt said this is a priceless family heirloom.” I said it was beautiful. Right then, my phone buzzed in my purse. “Have you made up your mind? When are you coming to Paris?” 2 “Why are you so quiet?” On the drive back, Matthew held the steering wheel with one hand, casting a quick glance at me. The streetlights cast flickering shadows across his handsome profile. I pulled my gaze back from the window, staring down at my bare wrist. “Nothing to say,” I murmured. Matthew sighed, braking at a red light. He reached over the console with his right hand, instinctively trying to squeeze the back of my neck. I tilted my head slightly, dodging his touch. His hand froze in midair for a second. Then he smoothly pulled it back, resting it on the steering wheel. “Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over that bracelet?” His tone carried that familiar, weary indulgence used for a spoiled child. “You know how my mother is. She’s old-fashioned.” “Mary lost her parents when she was young and grew up in our house. My mother has always felt she owes her.” “It is just an emerald bracelet. If she wants to give it away, so be it. Was it really worth making a face at dinner?” Making a face? I had not said a single word. I had simply eaten my dinner in silence. But to him, my refusal to smile and play along with Mary’s boasting made me difficult. “Matthew,” I said, my voice flat. “Yeah?” “You told me five years ago that the bracelet would be mine.” The car went dead silent. A horn blared behind us; the light had turned green. Matthew hit the gas, and the car glided forward smoothly. “We were just starting the business back then. I didn’t have the money to buy you anything nice. It was just sweet talk to make you happy, and you’ve held onto it until now?” He let out a dry laugh, his tone casual and dismissive. “Do you really think the Brandt family can’t afford a better bracelet now?” “I’m going to Europe next month on business. I’ll bring you back a couture diamond necklace. It’ll look a hundred times better than that dusty old emerald.” “Be good, Norie. Stop sweating the small stuff.” He was always like this. Using the gentlest voice to effortlessly erase every hope I had for our future. Five years ago, Matthew bought me a cheap thirty-dollar silver band at a night market stall. With bloodshot eyes, he had slipped it onto my finger. “Norie, once I make it big, I’ll have my mom personally put our family’s heirloom emerald bracelet on you.” “I’m going to make you Mrs. Brandt, with all the bells and whistles.” I was still wearing that cheap silver band on my left hand. It had already tarnished to a dull, dark gray. The car rolled into our apartment complex’s underground garage. Matthew unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at me. “Tomorrow is the weekend. Where do you want to go? I’m all yours.” In the past, I would have happily researched itineraries, filling the day with plans. But now, I only felt an exhausting emptiness. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, pushing the door open. “I need to clean up the apartment tomorrow.” Matthew got out, locked the car, and caught up to me in a few quick strides. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Are you really mad at me?” His breath brushed against my ear, carrying the faint, rich scent of red wine. “Mary was so excited about the bracelet she couldn’t sleep. She wants me to take her to get a custom vintage dress tailored tomorrow to match it.” “You know she has terrible taste and has relied on me since we were kids.” “I’ll go with her in the morning, and I’ll be back to spend the afternoon with you, okay?” “Okay,” I said softly. Matthew smiled with satisfaction, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. “I knew my Norie was the sweetest.” When we got inside, Matthew headed straight for the bathroom. I walked to the entryway, hanging my bag on the coat rack. Unzipping it, I looked at the document lying quietly inside. An acceptance letter for an advanced study program at the National School of Fine Arts in Paris. At the very bottom was my signature, penned just this afternoon. I pulled it out and slipped it into the hidden compartment of my half-packed suitcase. The sound of rushing water echoed from the bathroom. I walked out to the balcony and texted my mentor in Paris. Hey, I’ve booked my flight for early Monday morning. She replied instantly: Finally came to your senses? Good for you! Forget that five-year waste of time. Get your ass to Paris. I’ll show you what real European gentlemen look like! I stared at the screen, a quiet, faint smile touching my lips. 3 The next morning. I was woken up by Matthew’s hushed, murmuring voice. He was standing on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. “You chipped it? Is it bad?” “It’s fine if the bracelet is chipped, as long as you aren’t hurt.” “Don’t cry, it’s just a bracelet. I’m coming over right now to check on you.” His voice carried an unmasked, raw panic and tenderness. I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Five minutes later, he pushed the bedroom door open. Seeing my eyes open, he startled slightly before quickly walking over. “Did I wake you?” He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke my face. I turned my head away and sat up. “Going out?” I asked. Matthew’s hand froze, and he awkwardly pulled it back. “Mary tried on the bracelet first thing this morning and accidentally banged it against the bathroom sink. She’s terrified and won’t stop crying.” “I need to go check on her. She lives alone, and I’m worried.” As he spoke, he swiftly shed his loungewear and threw on a crisp button-down. “Don’t wait up for breakfast. Make yourself something.” I watched him expertly knot his tie. “Matthew.” “Yeah?” He didn’t even turn around, adjusting his collar in the mirror. “I wanted to go look at the Southside townhouse today.” His hands paused on his collar. The Southside townhouse was a place we had picked out six months ago. He had called it our future home, promising we would put down the deposit right after his thirtieth birthday. Matthew turned around, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “We don’t have to look at houses today of all days.” “Mary is completely hysterical right now. I need to calm her down first.” “Once this crazy week is over, I’ll take you to look at an even better neighborhood. Southside is a bit out of the way anyway.” I looked at him, my expression entirely serene. “Okay.” Matthew let out a visible sigh of relief. He walked over and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Good girl. Wait for me to come back.” The door clicked shut. Silence swallowed the apartment once more. I got up and walked into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I saw it was packed with groceries. I pulled out two eggs and a carton of milk. As I fried the eggs, memories flooded my mind, completely unbidden. Back when we lived in that cramped, drafty rental. Matthew used to wake up thirty minutes before me every single morning to whip up creative breakfasts. Once, I offhandedly mentioned wanting those hot glazed donuts from the Westside bakery. He braved a torrential downpour, riding a rusty bicycle for half an hour just to get them for me. When he returned, the donuts were still warm, but he was soaked to the bone. “If my Norie wants something, I’ll get it even if it’s raining knives outside,” he had said, grinning through the drips. And now? Even taking a single hour to look at the house he promised me was too much of a chore. I slid the fried eggs onto a plate. As I poured the milk, my hand slipped, spilling it across the counter. Reaching for a rag, I accidentally knocked over a jar next to it. It was a jar of oyster sauce. The dark, thick liquid pooled onto the counter, releasing a heavy, briny scent. Staring at the mess, my stomach violently churned. I am severely allergic to seafood. Matthew had bought that jar two days ago. Because Mary had mentioned she was craving seafood noodles. Matthew had completely forgotten that even the smell of seafood could break me out in hives. I tossed the rag into the trash can, along with the plate of eggs and the jar of oyster sauce. Then, I walked back into the bedroom, dragged three large cardboard boxes from under the bed, and began packing. I didn’t actually own much. A few everyday clothes, some textbooks, my laptop. The rest were things Matthew had bought me. Expensive designer bags and jewelry that never fit my style. He had always dressed me according to Mary’s tastes. “Mary looks stunning in pink. You should try it.” “Mary says this perfume smells incredible, so I got you a bottle too.” I gathered all of those items and stacked them neatly at the very bottom of the walk-in closet. 4 At three in the afternoon, Matthew returned. He pushed the door open and froze at the sight of the three boxes stacked in the living room. “What are you doing?” He strode over, his brow knitting tight. “Packing away winter clothes?” I sealed the last box with heavy-duty tape. “Getting rid of old things.” Matthew’s gaze fell on an unsealed box. Inside were our matching college mugs and a stuffed animal he had won for me. His face darkened instantly. “Nora, are you seriously still doing this?” He yanked the mug out, slamming it onto the coffee table. “You’ve been throwing a tantrum since last night over a stupid bracelet!” “Now you’re throwing this stuff out? What’s next? Are you going to tell me you’re moving out?” I stood up straight, looking at him calmly. “Yes.” Matthew let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable. You’ve really grown a spine, haven’t you?” He loosened his tie, sinking onto the sofa, glaring up at me. “And where do you think you’re going? To your friend Hazel’s place? Or back to that freezing hometown of yours?” “Nora, you are twenty-seven years old. Can you stop acting like a dramatic teenager playing the run-away-from-home card?” “Do you honestly think if you disappear for a few days, I’ll come crawling back begging you to return?” He was entirely convinced I could never leave him. He believed this was just a pathetic, desperate attempt to force his hand. I didn’t bother explaining. I simply placed the mug back into the box and taped it shut. “Think whatever you want.” Watching my quiet movements, a flicker of irritation crossed Matthew’s eyes. He stood up, walked over to me, and softened his tone. “Alright, enough. Stop playing around.” “Tomorrow is our fifth anniversary.” “I booked a table at that Michelin-starred restaurant you love. After dinner, we’ll go pick out a diamond ring.” “As for the Southside place, I’ll have my assistant send over the deposit tomorrow. We’ll put it under your name.” “Does that make you happy?” He spoke as if he were granting me the ultimate mercy, throwing me a bone. I looked at his face, once so familiar, now so utterly foreign, and smiled. “Okay.” I nodded. “See you tomorrow.” Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, ruffling my hair gently. “There’s my good girl.” He had no idea that nestled inside my suitcase was a plane ticket for tomorrow. Exactly fourteen hours until takeoff. Matthew left for the office early the next morning, kissing my forehead before he walked out. “I’ll pick you up at six tonight.” “Wear that pink dress. You look beautiful in it.” The moment the front door clicked shut, I turned and walked into the closet. The pink dress hung in the most prominent spot. It was the exact same design Mary had. I didn’t touch it. Instead, I put on a simple white shirt and washed-out blue jeans. It was the outfit I wore most often when I first met Matthew. I pushed the three sealed cardboard boxes out to the hallway and scheduled a local courier to pick them up. I sent them to a friend who ran a secondhand consignment shop. “Norie, these are practically brand new. Are you sure you don’t want them?” my friend asked over the phone. “I’m sure. Sell them or do whatever you want with them.” Hanging up, I took one last look around the apartment. This twelve-hundred-square-foot space had once been filled to the brim with my personal touches. The throw pillows on the couch were hand-embroidered by me. The succulents on the balcony had been nurtured by my hands, one by one. The ceramic mugs in the kitchen were hand-painted treasures I brought back from a workshop in Vermont. Now, they were all still in their places. But any trace of me, any proof of my existence, had been completely erased. It was as if I had never lived here at all. My phone vibrated. It was a text from Matthew. Norie, I’m so sorry, but we might have to cancel dinner tonight. Mary was clipped by a delivery bike right outside the office. Her ankle is badly swollen. I have to take her to the hospital for X-rays. We can look at rings in a couple of days, okay? I stared at the text on the screen and didn’t reply. A moment later, another message popped up. Are you mad? Don’t be. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. Make it up to me. Always making it up to me. I set my phone to silent, tossed it onto the sofa, and went to the kitchen to boil a simple bowl of plain noodles. This would be my last meal in this country. Just as the noodles were done, the front door lock clicked. Matthew rushed in, looking frantic. Seeing me standing in the kitchen with a bowl of noodles, he stopped dead in his tracks. I placed the bowl on the dining table and pulled out a chair. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the hospital with Mary?” Matthew walked over, pouring himself a glass of water. “Mary said she was craving those crab dumplings from the West End diner. I just came back to grab my car keys to pick some up for her.” The West End. The very place he had braved a storm to buy me pastries years ago. Now, he was willing to cross the entire city just to satisfy Mary’s craving. “Nora, are you seriously throwing another silent tantrum?” Seeing my silence, his brows knit together again. “I already told you, Mary is hurt. I can’t just leave her stranded, can I?” “Can’t you show a little understanding for once?” I lifted a forkful of noodles and took a bite. Bland. Completely tasteless. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I said quietly. “Go buy her food. Don’t keep her waiting.” Matthew shot me a suspicious look. My unusual calm seemed to catch him off guard. But he was in too much of a hurry to think deeper. “I’m heading out then. I might not come back tonight. Mary is terrified of being alone, so I’ll probably stay with her at the hospital.” “Get some sleep early.” He grabbed his keys and turned to leave. At the doorway, he suddenly froze, glancing at the empty shoe rack in the entryway. “Where are all your shoes?” I swallowed my noodles, never looking up. “They were old. I threw them out.” Matthew didn’t ask further. The door slammed shut behind him. I slowly finished my bowl of noodles. I washed the bowl and placed it upside down on the drying rack. Then, I slung my backpack over my shoulders and rolled my small, twenty-inch black suitcase out of the apartment. I didn’t look back. On the shuttle bus to the airport, I leaned against the window. I watched the neon-lit city where I had spent seven years of my life blur into a streak of fading lights. My phone lit up. It was a screenshot from Hazel. Mary’s social media post. The picture showed a box of steaming hot crab dumplings. The background was the white sheet of a hospital bed. A man’s hand, fingers elegant and long, held a pair of chopsticks, carefully feeding her. On his wrist was a Patek Philippe watch. I had saved up for six months to buy him that watch for his birthday last year. The caption read: My ankle hurts like hell, but having someone cross the entire city just to get my favorite food makes even a sprain feel like heaven. Below it was a comment from Matthew: Eat slowly. No one is going to steal it from you. Hazel’s angry text followed immediately. Nora! Tell me you aren’t sitting at home alone on your fifth anniversary! Matthew is an absolute bastard! Does he even view you as his girlfriend?! Staring at the string of furious emojis from Hazel, my fingers tapped lightly on the screen. Hazel, I’m leaving. I’m going to Paris. A long silence followed. Then, a voice note came through. Hazel’s voice was thick with tears. “Good for you, Norie. Go. And never look back.” I closed the app. I popped the SIM card out of my phone and dropped it through the cracked bus window, letting the howling wind sweep it away.

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1 Chris chose white camellias for my veil three years ago. He had bred the hybrid himself and would name it after me. It was his way of showing his commitment was a one-of-a-kind promise. On our wedding eve, I went to the nursery, eager to see the blooms I had waited three years for. But when I pushed open the greenhouse door, I froze. The branches that should have been heavy with white blossoms were bare. The gardener looked away. “Mr. Chris took them all this morning. He needed them for the bridal suite. Miss Rosemary is pregnant and cannot stand the smell of raw soil, so he wanted her to get used to the scent of the cut flowers first.” I stood there, the air catching in my throat. Rosemary was his first love, the woman he had adored years ago. She had returned less than two months ago and was the reason he had broken his promises to me repeatedly, leaving me behind without a second thought. Seeing my face, the gardener offered a quiet word. “Mr. Chris said they will bloom again next month.” I looked down and let out a soft laugh. Some things, once severed by the person you trust, never grow back. My phone buzzed. It was the email confirming my overseas transfer. I wiped a stray tear and smiled. It was fine. Camellias would bloom just as beautifully in the winter of another country. … I should have gone straight to my car after leaving the nursery, but my feet carried me toward the old conservatory anyway. That was where Chris had first started cultivating those camellias. Three years ago, when he brought me there for the first time, he had smiled and promised that the space would be redesigned. He said the best spot would be reserved for our wedding photos. He had promised a white bench, a glass-walled flower room, the vintage string lights I loved, and that single bush of camellias grown only for me. He called it our secret garden. Even then, a small, foolish part of me clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe the flowers were just being moved temporarily. Maybe he had a logical explanation. But as I drew closer to the conservatory, the sound of a woman’s laughter drifted through the glass. I stopped. Through the window, I saw Rosemary. Her long hair was pinned half-up, and one hand rested gently over her slightly rounded stomach. Chris stood right behind her, holding a single, perfect white camellia. He leaned down and carefully tucked it behind her ear. It wasn’t just one flower. Several freshly cut stems lay on the table beside them. The very flowers meant to grace my wedding veil were now being placed, one by one, into another woman’s hair. Rosemary touched the blossom at her temple, smiling up at him. “Is it too much?” Chris looked at her, his eyes soft. “Not at all.” She glanced down at her stomach, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “But you cut all of them. Won’t Audrey be upset when she finds out?” Chris paused for a fraction of a second. “These flowers were always meant for you.” I stood outside in the cold, watching the scene play out in absolute silence, before I turned and walked away. Back in my car, I sat for a long time. I pulled up the transfer offer from headquarters on my phone. I had left the email sitting in my inbox since last week. The branch in Adelaide needed a new regional creative director, and they wanted to know if I could step into the role within three days. Before, I had been trying to figure out how to balance my life after the wedding. I had been hesitant to leave everything behind. Now, there was nothing left to weigh. I tapped reply and typed a single line: I accept the position. As the email sent, a sudden emptiness settled in my chest, accompanied by a strange sense of relief. I had finally carved out a way out for myself. I remembered how Chris had looked at me three years ago when he named that camellia. He had looked so sure when he said I was the only one he would ever marry. It turned out that when someone falls out of love, they can forget their own promises with terrifying ease. And I was finally done trying to keep those promises alive for him. 2 The day before the wedding, I still showed up at the venue. It wasn’t because I couldn’t let go. It was because I had personally designed, structured, and managed every single detail of this event. The vendors, the guest list, the timeline, they were all my responsibility. I refused to let my professional integrity fall apart. But the moment I walked into the ballroom, I realized just how humiliating the day was going to be. The door to the bridal suite was wide open. Several stylists stood in a circle, and a designer was carrying the main bridal gown toward the mirror. I recognized that dress instantly. I had spent six months customizing it. And the woman standing in front of the mirror, wearing it, was Rosemary. She stood in the place that belonged to me, trying on the veil, the necklace, the bouquet. Everyone in the room knew I was the lead coordinator for this wedding, and they all knew my history with Chris. Nobody dared to speak, but their eyes followed me. That heavy, knowing silence was far worse than any whispered gossip. Rosemary turned around just as Chris walked in. “Is it too tight?” he asked, bending down to adjust the waistline of the dress. “A little,” Rosemary said. Chris immediately looked at the designer. “Loosen it here. She needs to be comfortable.” Then he knelt to smooth out the train, asking if she was tired and needed to sit down. I stood near the edge of the stage, my fingers gripping the clipboard so hard the paper began to tear. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to be romantic, and it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to care for someone. He simply chose not to give those things to me. Soon, the jewelry consultant arrived with the wedding ring. When the black velvet box was opened, my breath hitched. It was a camellia-shaped diamond ring, the delicate petals wrapping around a brilliant center stone. One glance was all it took to recognize it as an exact realization of a sketch I had drawn for Chris three years ago. At the time, I had jokingly told him that if we ever got married, I wanted a ring shaped like a camellia. He had simply smiled and said he would remember. I thought he had forgotten. He hadn’t. He had just saved the design for someone else. The people around Rosemary were whispering about how lucky she was, praising Chris for being so thoughtful and involved in the design. Listening to them, I suddenly remembered last winter when I suggested we get a pair of simple silver bands, costing no more than fifty dollars. Chris had dismissed the idea, saying rings were nothing but an empty, performative gesture. Now, the truth was glaringly obvious. The rings weren’t the problem. I was the one who wasn’t worth the effort to him. Our friends began to arrive. At first, a few of them instinctively called out to me as the bride-to-be. But a second later, they saw Rosemary walking out of the suite in the bridal gown, wearing the camellia ring, her hand clasped firmly in Chris’s. The expressions on their faces shifted from confusion to awkward realization. Before long, everyone silently accepted the new arrangement. Rosemary was the bride, and I was left standing behind the soundboard, looking like a complete stranger at my own wedding. During a brief lull in the schedule, I finally managed to pull Chris aside. “Whose wedding is this, Chris?” He looked at me, showing neither panic nor guilt. “The wedding is still happening,” he said calmly. “We’ve just changed the bride.” My clipboard slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. With those few words, he shattered whatever dignity and hope I had left. To him, this wedding wasn’t a sacred promise, an identity, or the culmination of our seven years together. It was just an event, a production where the lead actress could be swapped out at the last minute. I stared at him. “So you expect me to stand here as the coordinator, watching her wear my dress, my ring, and celebrate my wedding?” Chris frowned. “Rosemary just wants to experience what a wedding feels like. Her situation is delicate right now, and she’s emotionally unstable. Once she gets this out of her system, you and I will still get married later.” I didn’t say another word. 3 On the morning of the wedding, I arrived earlier than anyone else. I checked the lights, the sound system, the guest list, and the floral arrangements. I refused to let my personal grief interfere with my work. But the smoother the preparation went, the more bitter it tasted. I was using my own hands to send another woman down the aisle. In the dressing room, Rosemary called out to me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Audrey, could you help me adjust the clasp on this necklace?” I walked over and fastened it for her. “My shoes are rubbing a bit,” she added, looking down at her feet. “Can you check if we need to put some blister pads on the heels?” I knelt down and applied the pads for her. Once the stylists and assistants left the room, Rosemary asked me to step out onto the balcony with her. As soon as the glass door shut behind us, a small, triumphant smile spread across her face. “I know this wedding was supposed to be yours.” I remained silent. She gently ran a hand over her stomach. “And I know about the camellias in the greenhouse. Chris used to guard them like treasure, telling everyone they were grown just for you.” She paused, her eyes locking onto mine. “But what of it? Flowers are just objects, and people change. I’m the one standing at the altar today, so everything here belongs to me.” “What is your point, Rosemary?” Her voice grew even softer, carrying a sharp, quiet edge. “The wedding is just the beginning. The marriage license will be mine, too.” My heart skipped a beat. Satisfied with my reaction, she continued. “The baby needs a legal father, and Chris won’t leave us without status. He’s taking me to the courthouse at nine o’clock this Friday morning to sign the papers.” Nine o’clock on Friday morning. Those words rooted me to the spot. Just a few days ago, Chris had casually reminded me that we were going to get our marriage license this Friday morning. It had never been a promise to me. It was nothing but a stalling tactic to keep me quiet while he handed my entire life over to Rosemary. Seven years of devotion, and in the end, I was left with absolutely nothing. It was almost comical. Over the last few months, he had constantly asked me to be more understanding, telling me that since I had already been with him for seven years, I shouldn’t throw a fit over a single day. To him, my seven years of loyalty weren’t love, they were just a sunk cost. The more reluctant I was to walk away, the more leverage he thought he had over me. Chris walked out onto the balcony a moment later, looking for her. He didn’t notice the tension in the air. His immediate instinct was to check on Rosemary. “Why are you out here in the cold?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to support her. “It was getting a bit stuffy inside,” Rosemary replied sweetly. Chris nodded, then glanced at me, giving orders as if it were second nature. “Make sure there are no mistakes during the vows and the ring exchange.” He spoke to me as if I were a hired hand, not the woman he had spent nearly a decade with. I looked at him and realized I didn’t want to ask any more questions. The answers were written clearly on the wall. The wedding wasn’t mine, the marriage license wasn’t mine, and perhaps my place in his life had never been truly irreplaceable. When the ceremony began, I stood at the side of the stage, watching Chris take Rosemary’s hand and lead her down the aisle that had been decorated according to my dreams. The guests clapped, cheered, and took photos, while I felt entirely detached from the world around me. Right before the vows, Chris pulled me aside one last time. He looked at me with the same familiar expression he always used when trying to placate me. “Don’t ruin this. The wedding is just a show; the license is what matters. If you don’t make a scene today, I’ll take care of everything else afterward.” That final sentence crushed the last lingering speck of hope in my heart. Even now, he genuinely believed I would continue to endure, continue to wait, and continue to let him drag me along. But he was wrong. This time, I was done. 4 As the vows began, I remained at the edge of the stage. The officiant asked the groom for his pledge. Chris looked at Rosemary, and without a single moment of hesitation, he spoke the words. “I do.” The room erupted into applause. Standing just outside the warmth of the spotlights, the sound faded into a dull hum. The words I had waited seven years to hear had finally been spoken, but they weren’t meant for me. I couldn’t watch another second of it. While everyone’s attention was fixed on the altar, I quietly slipped away to the dressing room. I didn’t cry, and I didn’t fall apart. I simply gathered my things with absolute calm. I took off the uncomfortable high heels that had begun to blister my feet, leaving them on the floor alongside the veil and the bouquet I had prepared for myself. Then, I pulled a document from my bag, a signed authorization form to put the townhouse up for sale. It was supposed to be our marital home. Now, it was just an asset to be liquidated. The price didn’t matter, as long as it sold quickly. With that final task complete, I grabbed my suitcase and slipped out through the back exit of the hotel. No one noticed my absence. Inside, the new couple was exchanging rings to the sound of cheers and flashing cameras. When you finally decide to walk away from a relationship, it can be so quiet that not a single soul notices your departure. Once I was in the cab, I sent a message to the real estate agent, telling them to proceed with the listing immediately. Then, I headed straight for the airport. At the hotel, the celebration continued. It was only after the ring exchange, when Chris went back to the suite to retrieve some documents, that he finally realized I was gone. The listing agreement for our townhouse sat on the vanity, a silent goodbye more devastating than any screaming confrontation. I later heard that the moment he saw those papers, he turned completely pale. He ran out of the room like a madman, searching the venue, but my car was already gone from the parking lot. By the time the plane taxied onto the runway, I was sitting by the window, looking down at my phone. There were over a hundred missed calls. Without a trace of emotion, I popped the SIM card out of the tray, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the waste bin.

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I knew perfectly well that my boyfriend’s childhood best friend was practically legally blind. Yet, during a critical wilderness rescue operation, I willingly handed my customized tranquilizer rifle over to her. Then I pulled out my phone, leaned back against a pine tree, and booted up a mobile battle royale game. I did it because I remembered my past life. Back then, this exact same girl, a big-box store cashier, suddenly stepped up at our tactical training range and shot perfect bullseyes. When people questioned her impossible accuracy, Bella just shrugged and said that scanning barcodes at a cash register was the exact same muscle memory as pulling a trigger. She claimed it was just practice making perfect. From that day on, she replaced me as the core tactical marksman of our elite search and rescue squad. She soaked up all the glory, the media praise, and the massive bonuses. I was reduced to a glorified pack mule, enduring endless eye rolls and mockery from the very teammates I used to protect. It wasn’t until she retired to marry my boyfriend that she finally revealed the truth. She lured me to an empty shooting range, fired a few flawless shots, and laughed in my face. “Riley, I finally don’t have to drag you around like a pathetic shadow anymore,” she had sneered. “So what if you trained until your fingers bled for twenty years? In everyone’s eyes, I’m the only genius sniper around here.” That was when I finally understood. Every single time Bella looked down a scope, she was neurologically linking to my brain, perfectly leeching and replicating my hard-earned shooting skills. Then I blinked, and the world reset. I was reborn, standing right back on the very day Bella first claimed that scanning groceries was the same as firing a high-caliber weapon. This time, I was going to let them all burn. 1 “Fifty-yard stationary, nine points.” “Skeet shooting, twenty-two hits.” “Moving target, eight points.” “Riley, you took first place in the tactical assessment again. You really are the undisputed ace of this squad.” I stared at the crowd of teammates cheering around me. The midday sun glaring off their tactical gear felt entirely surreal. My boyfriend, Connor, jogged over with a polished marksman medal in his hands, flashing a brilliant smile. “Come on, Ry. Take your prize. You earned this.” My hand reached out entirely out of habit. Right at that moment, a loud, obnoxious scoff cut through the applause. My chest tightened. Here it comes. “You guys give out medals for scores like that? I mean, shouldn’t anyone with functioning hands be able to do that?” The squad went dead silent. Everyone turned to see who had the nerve to talk such garbage. When they realized it was Bella, a chorus of mocking laughter broke out. “Ignorance really is bliss,” one of the guys snickered. “A supermarket cashier with a barcode scanner thinks she can look down on elite rescue operatives.” Bella flushed bright red, visibly furious that her little comment had backfired. “It’s just pulling a trigger. What is the big deal? I come from a generational military family. I practically have gunpowder in my blood.” That only made the squad laugh harder. “Your dad is a local gun nut who shoots beer cans in the woods,” someone shouted. “What kind of military family is that? The discount aisle militia?” I watched Bella pout her lips, fully anticipating her next move. Just like in my past life, she was going to latch onto Connor and beg for a turn. Right on cue, Bella grabbed the sleeve of Connor’s tactical jacket and whined. “Connor, please just let me try. What, are you worried I’m going to waste a few dollars in ammo?” She paused, her eyes darting over to lock onto mine. “Or… are you worried Riley will get mad if my score is better than hers?” Connor and I had been a couple for years. We fought side by side in the harshest wilderness environments. He should have known I wasn’t the jealous type. But his reaction was just as disappointing as the last time. Connor furrowed his brow, looking at me with a hint of warning. “Riley, Bella is just acting like a kid. Treat it like a game to humor her. Don’t throw a tantrum over this, okay?” Without waiting for my response, he made the executive decision and guided Bella straight to the firing line. For someone supposedly from a military family, Bella held the rifle like it was a rotting fish. Her posture was stiff, awkward, and completely wrong. But the second the buzzer sounded, a phantom shift took over her body. Her movements became ruthlessly efficient. Her trigger pulls were completely devoid of hesitation. Whether it was a stationary paper target or a mechanical clay pigeon flying across the field, she tracked them with absolute perfection. When the final target popped up, Bella squeezed the trigger. A clean, devastating hit. “Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Every single one is a dead center hit!” The squad could not hide their absolute shock. They swarmed her immediately, practically vibrating with excitement. “You just shattered Riley’s all-time record! You are an absolute natural. A total prodigy!” I looked over at Connor. He wasn’t even glancing in my direction. He ran straight to Bella and wrapped her in a massive bear hug. “Bella, when the hell did you learn to shoot like this? Why didn’t you tell me?” Bella soaked up the attention, her face glowing with smug satisfaction. “It really isn’t a big deal. You look at the target, you pull the trigger. The bullets go in a straight line. It’s not rocket science.” 2 The entire squad was already drunk on the fantasy of discovering a hidden tactical genius. “Bella, you have never touched a firearm in your life, and you didn’t even flinch. Riley comes from a family of elite marksmen, and she literally cried the first time she fired a gun.” Surrounded by a chorus of aggressive flattery, Bella was practically floating. “I really don’t know what to tell you guys. What is the difference between scanning a bag of chips and pulling a trigger? Maybe Riley is just a little too pampered and delicate.” Not a single guy on the squad cared about the blatant insult she just hurled at me. They were all talking over each other, demanding that Connor recruit Bella onto the team immediately. Connor’s face was plastered with absolute pride. That was when I stepped forward. “Captain. Bella has exceptional accuracy, but she has absolutely zero physical conditioning or field training. Throwing a civilian straight into live wilderness operations is a massive liability. She won’t know how to move with the unit.” In my past life, Bella joined the squad midway through the season. Her stamina was pathetic, and her survival instincts were nonexistent. Aside from stealing my shooting skills, her only contribution to the team was constantly dragging us down and putting lives at risk. I suggested she go through basic physical conditioning first. But Bella immediately twisted it, crying to the squad that I was purely jealous. She convinced them I wanted her gone so I could keep all the glory for myself. Because of that, Connor stripped me of my sniper designation. He forced me to become Bella’s personal pack mule, carrying her heavy rifle and tactical gear through miles of treacherous terrain just so she wouldn’t get tired. This time, the trap hadn’t been sprung yet. If Connor had a shred of actual leadership in him, he would know better than to throw an untrained civilian into the deep woods. Hearing my logic, Connor hesitated. Bella saw him wavering and immediately turned her crosshairs on me. “Riley, I promise I won’t try to steal your spotlight. Please, just give me a chance to change my life. Please?” She covered her face with her hands, letting out pathetic little sobs. “I know I’m just a nobody cashier. I don’t have a rich military pedigree like you do. But is it a crime to be born poor?” I kept my voice dead level, refusing to take the bait. “That is not what I said. Wilderness rescue means navigating cliffsides, ravines, and highly aggressive predators. One wrong step gets people killed. We cannot risk the lives of the team or the victims just to let you play soldier.” But Connor’s expression only darkened with every word I spoke. “That is enough, Riley! So what if you’ve held a rifle longer than she has? Stop acting so damn superior. We get it, you’ve never had a casualty on your watch. Do you want a gold star?” The words caught in my throat. I suddenly remembered that years ago, Connor’s personal negligence on a mission had cost one of our teammates their life. He had just weaponized his own guilt against me. “I am making the call right now. Bella is the new primary marksman for this unit.” A ripple of shock went through the squad. “Captain, if Bella is taking the lead shooter spot, what happens to Riley?” Connor’s tone left zero room for argument. “She just got outperformed by a girl who has never touched a gun before. What right does she have to hold the title? Riley will act as Bella’s support element and carry her gear.” The gavel had fallen. A few guys looked slightly worried about Bella’s lack of experience, but since the captain had made it an official order, they just clapped her on the shoulder and offered congratulations. Seeing that her scheme worked perfectly, Bella couldn’t hide her twisted grin. “Connor, does that mean we get to be partners for the rescue op this afternoon?” Connor stumbled back slightly as she threw her arms around his neck, shooting a rapid, guilty glance in my direction. “Don’t be crazy, Bella. Riley is standing right here. I can’t pair up with you.” Bella rested her chin on Connor’s shoulder, her eyes locked onto mine, dripping with pure provocation. “Riley, you wouldn’t say no to us teaming up, right?” I didn’t even blink. “Absolutely not.” Her face instantly morphed into a mask of deep, agonizing hurt. “Riley, I just want to team up with Connor so we can save lives. It is purely professional. Why does your mind always have to go to such dark, toxic places?” Connor looked at me like a stranger, his eyes full of disgust. “Bella’s only focus is saving people in danger. Why is your mind so filthy, Riley?” Even the rest of the guys chimed in, fully convinced I was acting out of bitter jealousy. “If your aim sucks, go to the range and fix it. Spreading trashy rumors about another girl just makes you look pathetic.” “Connor goes to her supermarket to hang out all the time, and you never threw a fit before. You’re just pissed she took your crown, Riley.” A stampede of absolute rage thundered through my skull. “I said absolutely not, because she cannot walk into a live rescue operation looking like that.” I gestured coldly at her outfit. “She needs properly fitted tactical gear. People project their own insecurities onto others, Bella. Out in the field, there is a lot more to learn than just how to start romantic rumors.” Bella ground her teeth together. “Right. Because when it comes to actual marksmanship, you clearly have absolutely nothing left to teach me.” 3 The squad dispersed. I ignored Bella entirely and began prepping my tactical vest for the afternoon op. The objective was to extract a group of amateur hikers trapped by a highly aggressive wolf pack in a rocky ravine. After we reached our designated overwatch position, I dropped my heavy pack and quickly assembled the customized tranquilizer rifle. We didn’t use lethal rounds. Everything was heavy-duty sedatives, and the rifles were heavily modified for maximum velocity and silence. The second I clicked the bipod into place, Bella shoved her way in front of me and wrapped her hand around the pistol grip. She glanced back over her shoulder, smiling like a venomous snake. “Sorry, Riley. I am the lead shooter now. Why don’t you just sit back and take notes?” I crossed my arms and watched her struggle to get comfortable on the dirt. “I thought you wanted to partner up with Connor?” Connor’s voice crackled through my earpiece. “Bella doesn’t have live combat experience yet. I ordered her to stay by your side so she can shadow your process. Next time, she takes full control of the nest.” I didn’t argue. I just silently pulled a secondary spotting scope out of my bag and set it up in the dirt. We baked under the blistering sun for three brutal hours before the wolf pack finally emerged from the tree line. Ignoring the stinging sweat pouring into my eyes, I immediately locked my scope onto the alpha wolf’s skull. Thwack. A perfect hit to the neck. But I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. My finger was hovering right over the guard when Bella turned her head, grinning ear to ear. “Oops, sorry Riley. You were just moving way too slow. I was terrified the alpha was going to bolt.” For the rest of the op, Bella didn’t give me a single chance to fire. Every single time I mentally locked onto a target, calculated the windage, and prepared to squeeze, her bullet would leave the chamber a split-second before mine. Shot after shot. Her performance was a flawless, terrifying display of lethal precision. She hit every target, bailing the ground team out of deadly corners and ensuring the hikers didn’t take a single scratch. When the dust finally settled and the op was called, the mood was electric. At the base camp celebration that night, we learned the rescued hiker was a billionaire’s son. He personally handed Bella a velvet box stuffed with diamond jewelry as a token of absolute gratitude. Staring at the millions of dollars glittering in the box, Bella couldn’t even pretend to hide the raw greed in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Riley. This was supposed to be your reward.” Connor grabbed Bella by the shoulders, practically glowing with pride. “You have nothing to apologize for. If Riley had been on the trigger today, there is zero chance the op would have gone that smoothly.” The regional director of the rescue company was at the party. He raised a glass to Bella, entirely ignoring me. “Bella, for a rookie on her first live op, your performance was completely unprecedented. I listened to the radio logs. You didn’t utter a single word on the comms, yet your synergy with the ground team was flawless. You were born for this squad.” Bella puffed her chest out. “True synergy doesn’t need to be spoken out loud. It just happens.” She shot me a side-eye. “The guys on the ground are fighting for their lives. Flooding the comms with useless chatter just distracts them and drags them down.” “I trust my aim. No matter what goes wrong, I know I can save them. I don’t need other people sacrificing themselves just to make up for my mistakes.” Standing in the corner of the tent, my head was throbbing. What an absolute load of garbage. A sniper sits at the highest elevation specifically to act as the eyes of the battlefield. Calling out targets and directing traffic is half the job. During the entire op, all Bella did was brain-leech my shooting mechanics. I was the one mentally tracking the wolves, calculating the drops, and quietly adjusting the spotting scope to feed her the angles. Without me doing the heavy mental lifting, she would have been shooting at dirt. But the director was already glaring at me. “Connor, the company’s annual Elite Marksman nomination is going to Bella this year. We have too many people taking up space on the payroll, acting like they own the place while stepping on their teammates’ hard work.” Without giving me a single second to defend myself, the director turned his back and walked away. For the rest of the night, Connor paraded Bella around the VIP tent, introducing her to the wealthy executives and politicians. He entirely forgot about his actual girlfriend. When we finally got back to the compound, Bella proudly announced that the billionaire had gifted her an all-expenses-paid, seven-day trip to Bora Bora. Connor told me it was a well-deserved reward for her heroism. “Oh, by the way, Ry. Bella gets a little spooked sleeping in new places. I want you to clear your stuff out of our room. I’m going to stay with her for a few nights until she gets comfortable. You can move back in later.” Every single bunk in the compound was full. I stared at the dusty, spider-infested storage closet at the end of the hall. I didn’t say a word. Lying on a damp, moldy mattress, I scrolled through social media. Bella had just posted a photo of her and Connor in matching swimwear on a white sand beach. My chest felt hollow, filled with a toxic mix of disgust and exhaustion. Over the next few months, Bella rinsed and repeated the exact same strategy. By parasitically draining my skills, she racked up flawless mission records. The legend of the prodigy sniper grew to astronomical heights. Every time the alarm rang, I carried her eighty-pound gear bags up mountainsides without a single complaint. The more she showed off, the more I willingly fed her the targets. Then came the red-alert call. The son of the country’s wealthiest tech mogul was trapped deep in a ravine, completely surrounded by a den of territorial grizzly bears. I was at the range doing extra conditioning drills when the guys walked by. “Still trying to steal your sniper spot back? You really think you can climb over our dead bodies just to get a shiny trophy on your desk?” Bella was standing there, wearing expensive silk hand-masks to protect her skin. “Real talent doesn’t come from having ugly calluses on your fingers, boys.” She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “Riley, seriously, you need to spend more time on your makeup and hair. Otherwise, when you finally get kicked to the curb, you won’t even be able to find a man.” She raised her left hand, flashing a blinding, massive diamond ring under the floodlights. The entire squad gasped. “Captain bought you a ring?! Holy hell, when is the wedding?” 4 Meeting Bella’s vicious, gloating stare, I calmly broke down my rifle and packed it into its hard case. “If that’s the case, I’m officially resigning tomorrow morning.” Bella froze instantly. “I’m never getting the sniper spot back anyway. My family already bought me a plane ticket home.” “You can’t leave!” Her frantic screech echoed across the asphalt. The squad looked at her, entirely confused as to why she was having a meltdown over me quitting. She forced herself to take a breath, trying to play it cool. “I… I just mean the billionaire is probably going to give us a massive cash bonus tomorrow. It would be a total waste for you to walk away from that.” “Don’t try to stop her. Let her walk.” Connor came striding out of the command center, his face twisted in annoyance. “If you want to quit, then pack your bags and leave quietly. Did you really think making a massive scene would make us beg you to stay? Stop desperate for attention, Riley.” I didn’t even flinch. But Bella was practically hyperventilating. “Tomorrow’s op is a code red! I don’t have enough field experience for grizzly bears. I need Riley out there with me. Connor, please, just order her to stay for one more run.” The squad looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “Bella, with your aim, you’re virtually untouchable. Pure talent beats experience every single time.” “Yeah, Riley’s aim is garbage compared to yours. All she’s good for is wiping down the rifle barrels. Don’t let her dead weight drag you down.” Bella was trapped in a nightmare of her own making. She couldn’t tell them the truth, so she had to swallow the panic. She threw all her chips at Connor. “Connor, we agreed we were going to retire and get married after this final payout, right? The squad is going to need a marksman when I’m gone.” “Riley might not be as good as me, but she can hold the line for a while after I leave. Just look at it as a favor to the team.” Connor sighed, finally giving in to her pleading. “Fine. Riley, this is your absolute last chance. Do your job tomorrow and support Bella. If a single hair on her head gets messed up, I will personally throw you out of this compound.” When I gave a slow nod, Bella let out a massive, trembling exhale. The next morning on the tarmac, Bella’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen like she hadn’t slept a wink. “How are you supposed to look down a scope like that?” I asked coldly. “Captain, I should take the lead on this—” “Shut your mouth,” Connor snapped, cutting me off instantly. “This isn’t the first time Bella’s looked a little tired, and has she ever missed a shot? No.” “I didn’t think you’d stoop so low as to try and ruin Bella’s final retirement op. Are you really that desperate to see her fail?” I watched Connor carefully shield Bella as she climbed into the transport helicopter, and a frozen sneer formed in my chest. Back when I was the lead sniper, if my eyes were even slightly irritated, or if I had gotten less than eight hours of sleep, Connor would instantly bench me, preaching about safety protocols and team survival. Because of that, I spent ten years acting like a machine. I never played video games, never read late into the night, strictly monitored my diet, and sacrificed every shred of a normal life just to stay perfectly sharp. But with Bella, suddenly the lives of the men on the ground didn’t matter. I looked around at the squad. None of them cared. They were too busy making dirty jokes about how Connor kept Bella awake all night. I didn’t waste another breath trying to warn them. Every single person has to pay the tab for the choices they make. Connor tossed aside a woman who had bled and fought beside him for a decade, all for his manipulative childhood crush. The squad tossed aside a hardened, loyal veteran for a girl who had never fired a real weapon in her life. When the curtain finally dropped, I sincerely hoped none of them would cry about it. The chopper touched down at the edge of a massive, heavily forested canyon. This extraction was incredibly high-profile. A dozen corporate executives and rescue directors were crammed into the command tent, watching the drone feeds on massive monitors. When we reached the cliffside overwatch position, I quickly set up the heavy rifle on its bipod. Bella practically shoved me out of the way, throwing her soft, manicured hands over the grips. She pressed one of her large, doe eyes against the rubber rim of the scope. The other eye was wide open, blinking into the glaring sun. The director’s voice came over the radio. “Looking good, Apex squad. Not only is Bella a lethal shot, she looks great on the cameras. She really is the face of this company.” I had to bite my tongue to stop from laughing out loud. Real wilderness operatives sleep in the mud and hike through freezing rain. Nobody has flawless, porcelain skin out here. More importantly, a trained sniper does not keep their non-dominant eye wide open, exposed to the blinding glare, while tracking a target. It was such a glaring amateur mistake, yet nobody in the command tent seemed to care. But it wasn’t my problem anymore. Since Bella was their golden goose, they could deal with the mess. I retreated to the shade of a massive oak tree and pulled out my phone. Bella didn’t even glance back. As long as I was within proximity, she felt entirely invincible, assuming she could just siphon my mechanics. “Bella, the grizzlies are moving out of the cave. Get ready!” Connor yelled over the comms. Bella held her breath, radiating absolute arrogance. “Squad up, dropping in!” The words ripped out of Bella’s mouth without warning. The entire radio channel went dead silent. “Bella, what the hell are you doing?!” Connor demanded. Bella slapped a hand over her own mouth in sheer terror. But the side effect of her parasitic brain-link was brutal. She couldn’t just filter out what I was doing. Seconds later, she started blurting out more gamer slang. “Wiped on landing! Get me a medkit! Loot drop incoming!” She was spewing utter nonsense into a live tactical channel. Worse than her mouth were her hands. Her supposedly flawless sniper posture instantly deteriorated into the jerky, panicked movements of a teenager mashing a touchscreen. She yanked the trigger wildly. Tranquilizer darts flew into the dirt, bouncing off rocks. She didn’t just miss the massive charging bears; she nearly put a dart into the neck of our own breacher. “Have you lost your damn mind?!” The director was screaming into the radio, his voice cracking with rage. “Bella, is this a joke to you?!” Connor scrambled to do damage control. “I’m sorry, sir! Bella is just a little rattled by the bears! I’ll talk her down, just give me a second!” Then he switched to the private squad channel, his voice a furious roar. “Bella, this is not the time to play cute! Get your act together, right now!” I sat under the tree, comfortably swiping on my screen, racking up kills in my game. Bella looked like she had swallowed a mouthful of crushed glass. “Connor, I—” “Do not call me Connor! Do you have any idea how high the stakes are today?!” “If that kid gets a single scratch on him, the billionaire will bury this entire company! And he will bury us with it!” “I am asking you one last time. Can you take the shot?!”

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1 On the night of our fifth wedding anniversary, Tristan slipped my wedding ring off my finger and slid it onto the hand of his childhood friend, Isla. I reached out to take it back, but he placed his hand over hers, holding her still. “It is just a ring. What is the big deal if she tries it on?” Isla said softly, “If Evelyn is upset, I will take it off right now.” Tristan frowned. “Don’t be so petty, Evelyn. Isla is just trying it.” The cold chime of the system rang in my head. [Target Favorability: 100.] [He is waiting for you to get jealous.] [Please comfort him immediately.] In the past, I would have swallowed my pride, pushed down my hurt, and walked over to soothe him. After all, I was a system task completer. As long as his favorability remained at max, I would be allowed to stay in this world forever. But this time, I looked at my bare ring finger and spoke softly in my mind: “System, I abandon the mission.” [Confirm abandonment of all rewards?] “Confirmed.” [Departure sequence initiated.] [Countdown: Seven days.] As the cold voice faded, a row of semi transparent numbers floated before my eyes: Seven days. This was all the time I had left in this world. Tristan was still holding Isla’s hand. Perhaps sensing that I was unusually quiet, he finally looked up at me. “Evelyn, what is with that look on your face?” The system screen glowed above his head. [Favorability: 100.] [Current Emotion: Anxious.] [Inner Desire: Wants the host to snatch the ring back.] Staring at those maxed out numbers, a sudden wave of absurdity washed over me. Seven years. For seven years, I relied on those three digits to endure Tristan’s endless cold shoulders. He abandoned the birthday dinner I spent all day preparing just to go to Isla. He told his friends that marrying me was nothing more than a habit. Every single time, I comforted myself with the thought that his favorability was at one hundred. But no matter how high that number was, it couldn’t warm my bare finger. I drew my hand back. “It is nothing.” Tristan’s frown deepened. “If you really dislike it, I will tell Isla to take it off.” Isla’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Tristan, it is fine. Really.” She reached up to slide the ring off. But Tristan held her hand, his voice growing even colder. “Keep it on. I want to see just how long some people can pretend to be generous.” The system chimed again. [Target safety levels dropping.] [Host is advised to show possessiveness immediately.] I stood in silence. A flash of triumph crossed Isla’s eyes. I picked up my glass of warm water and took a quiet sip. Tristan’s expression darkened by the second. In the past, I would have demanded answers with teary eyes. He would have mocked me with biting words, and when I turned to leave, he would say something even harsher to force me back. Through this game, he reassured himself of my love, and I reassured myself of his favorability. We wasted seven years in this endless loop. But today, I was simply tired. When the dinner ended, Tristan walked ahead. Isla followed closely at his side, wearing my wedding ring. Walking a few paces behind them, I heard the system whisper: [Departure countdown: Six days and twenty three hours.] Tristan turned to look at me. “Aren’t you coming?” I spoke softly. “Tristan, she can keep the ring.” His steps came to a sudden halt. 2 When we got back to our apartment, Isla followed us inside. She claimed the ring was too valuable and wanted to return it to me face to face. Yet, as she stood in the hallway, her fingers kept stroking the band. It was obvious she didn’t want to take it off. Tristan sat on the sofa, watching me with cold eyes. “Evelyn, stop throwing a tantrum and take the ring back.” Isla bit her lip. “Evelyn, Tristan was just teasing you. Please don’t be mad at him because of me.” I walked into the closet and pulled out my suitcase. Tristan’s face paled instantly. The system’s warnings blared in my mind. [Target Favorability: 100.] [Current Emotion: Panic.] [Host must stop packing immediately.] Yet when Tristan spoke, his voice was like ice. “Who are you trying to threaten by packing? If you leave me, do you really think you can survive in some cheap rental outside?” I folded my clothes one by one. Actually, I didn’t own much. Our home was filled with items Isla had brought over. The scented candles, the paintings, even Tristan’s ties were all chosen by her, cluttering up half our space. My belongings were tucked away in a single corner drawer. I used to pick fights over this. Tristan would call me dramatic, and the system would whisper: [He loves seeing you jealous for him.] And so, I swallowed my hurt over and over again. But I didn’t want to swallow it anymore. Seeing me ignore him, Tristan lunged forward and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. “If you want to leave, fine. But you leave behind everything I ever bought you.” Isla quickly intervened. “Tristan, don’t. Evelyn will be heartbroken.” Tristan’s jaw tightened. “She was acting so generous a moment ago. Let her return everything then.” I nodded. “Okay.” I reached into the suitcase and pulled out a pale gray scarf. It was the first gift Tristan had given me when his favorability reached max. Years ago, he had been burning with a fever so high he couldn’t recognize anyone. I carried him on my back through a snowy night for two blocks before I managed to hail a cab. When he woke, he scoffed and said I was being nosy, but the next day, he sent me this scarf. The system had told me: [Target Favorability: 100. He is thanking you.] I cherished that scarf for years. Even when the edges began to fray, I couldn’t bear to throw it away. Now, I placed it gently on the sofa. Tristan’s eyes flickered with a sudden tremor. Next, I took out my watch and an old keychain, placing them all before him. Finally, I unclasped the necklace from around my neck. The small silver pendant contained the screenshot of the system’s first notification of a successful milestone, my only physical proof of existence in this world. Tristan’s voice went hoarse. “Evelyn, what are you doing? Are you really trying to draw such a clean line between us?” I kept my eyes down. “It was always meant to be clean.” A brief smile touched Isla’s lips before she quickly masked it. She picked up the scarf. “This is so old and worn out, Evelyn. Tristan, you really had terrible taste back then.” She gave it a careless tug, causing the loose threads along the edge to unravel. I watched the scarf I had protected for seven years get ruined in her hands, yet my heart remained perfectly still. Tristan frowned. “Isla, put that down.” Isla gasped, her eyes turning red. “I just thought since Evelyn doesn’t want it anymore, there is no point keeping it around.” Tristan looked at me. He seemed to be waiting for me to explode with anger. The system flashed: [Target is waiting for the host to show that she cares.] I simply zipped my suitcase shut. “If she likes it, she can have it.” Tristan’s face drained of color. In that exact moment, the system screen flickered: [Departure countdown: Six days. Host emotional connection severed: 20%.] 3 The next morning, I went to the office to finalize my transfer documents. The relocation order to the southern branch had been approved two weeks ago. I had planned to tell Tristan on our anniversary, but then he slipped my wedding ring onto Isla’s finger. There was no longer any need to discuss it. The HR manager looked at me with concern. “Evelyn, are you sure about this transfer? The southern branch is just starting up. It is going to be incredibly difficult.” I signed my name. “I am sure.” The system chimed: [Host signed long term relocation agreement. Departure sequence stable.] I packed my files and stepped out of the meeting room. Tristan’s name flashed on my screen. I let it ring until it stopped. He called a second time, then a third, until the phone finally fell silent. Staring at the screen, I felt a strange sense of detachment. Usually, the system would warn me: [Target safety levels dropping. Please reply immediately.] I used to be so afraid of his mood swings, terrified he would lose control or lock himself in his study again. But later, I realized he knew perfectly well how to care for someone. He could speak softly to comfort Isla, he remembered her fear of the dark, and he would hand her water the moment she frowned. All of his gentle, human warmth was reserved for others. For me, there was only that hollow one hundred favorability score. In the afternoon, Isla sent me a photo. In the picture, she was sitting on our marriage bed, wearing my wedding ring on her finger and my silver pendant around her neck. Evelyn, please don’t misunderstand. Tristan said these things were just eyesores, so he asked me to put them away. I stared at the silver pendant. That was my system anchor. If it was destroyed, the physical pain of my departure would be severe. I typed back a simple reply: Put it back. Isla sent a voice message almost instantly, her tone dripping with distress. “Evelyn, I had no idea this was so important to you. I will take it off right now.” The next second, my phone rang. As soon as I answered, a sharp shattering sound echoed from the other end. My chest tightened. Isla sobbed, “Tristan, I am so sorry. I just wanted to return the necklace to Evelyn, but the chain snapped.” Then, Tristan’s voice cut through the receiver. “Evelyn, is there no end to this? It is just a cheap necklace. Did you really have to terrify her over it?” I held the phone, my fingertips turning cold. Red warning screens flashed in my mind: [System anchor damaged. Departure pain index rising. Host must retrieve the fragments immediately.] I spoke quietly. “That necklace is very important to me.” Tristan let out a harsh laugh. “What of yours isn’t important? The ring is important, the scarf is important, and now this cheap necklace is important too. Evelyn, does the entire world have to revolve around you before you are satisfied?” I closed my eyes. “I am coming back to get it.” Tristan paused. “You are coming home?” His voice softened slightly, and his emotional panel lit up: [Target Favorability: 100. Current Emotion: Anticipation. He thinks the host is willing to turn back.] I didn’t bother to explain. When I reached the apartment, Isla was crying on the sofa. The broken silver pendant lay on the coffee table. Tristan stood beside her. His eyes lit up for a fraction of a second when he saw me, but he quickly masked it. “Apologize to Isla.” I bent down to gather the fragments. Isla suddenly reached out, placing her fingers over one of the sharp pieces. “Evelyn, it cut my hand.” I looked up at her. Tristan grabbed my wrist in a tight grip. “Didn’t you hear her? She is hurt. Apologize.” I looked into his eyes. “Tristan, this belongs to me.” Anxiety flashed in his eyes. “Your thing hurt her, so you must apologize.” The system chimed: [Departure countdown: Five days. Host existence index weakened: 10%.] The framed photo on the coffee table flickered. In the picture, the details of my face grew slightly blurry. Tristan didn’t notice. He kept his eyes locked on me, waiting for me to bow my head. I picked up the last fragment. “I am sorry.” Isla froze. Tristan stared at me, dumbfounded. In the past, he feared nothing more than this quiet, empty tone. I clenched the sharp shards in my palm, letting the edges pierce my skin. The phantom pain of the damaged anchor shot straight to my chest, but I didn’t even flinch. 4 By the fourth day, my body began to feel lighter. It wasn’t an illusion. Standing before the mirror, I saw that my reflection had faded slightly, looking almost transparent. The system chimed: [Departure countdown: Four days. Erasure of host existence from this world commencing.] I packed my transfer documents into my bag and headed to the hospital to pick up my medical records. On my way, my phone rang. It was my doctor. “Evelyn, your test results are back. The long term use of those physical stabilizers has caused severe damage to your system. If you still hope to have children, you need to come in for a thorough checkup as soon as possible.” I held the phone, standing in the hospital corridor for a very long time. I had once desperately wanted a child. Spending seven years in this world, I wanted to have a connection that truly belonged to me. But a task completer’s body was altered by the system. To conceive, I had to take bitter, experimental medications. I had hidden them from Tristan, taking them faithfully for two years. Every time the system told me his favorability was at one hundred, I would tell myself to wait just a little longer. Wait for him to learn how to love me. Wait until we were a real husband and wife. But now, I was leaving. There would be no child. I tucked my phone away and walked toward the clinic entrance, but Tristan’s car screeched to a halt right in front of me. He stepped out of the vehicle, his face pale and tense. “Where are you going?” “The hospital.” Tristan’s gaze darkened. “The hospital again?” Isla climbed out of the passenger seat, a clean white bandage wrapped around her wrist. She said softly, “Evelyn, I know you are still angry with me, but please don’t use your health to guilt Tristan.” Tristan’s expression hardened. “Evelyn, you threw a tantrum over a necklace yesterday, and now you are faking an illness today?” I looked at him, feeling a bone deep exhaustion. “Move.” Tristan grabbed my wrist. “You are going nowhere today. I will call your manager and handle your leave. You are staying home to clear your head.” I met his gaze. “Tristan, I really need to go to the hospital.” The system chimed: [Target Favorability: 100. Target is waiting for the host to yield. Host is advised to comfort him.] Isla spoke with tears in her eyes. “Tristan, is Evelyn trying to run away again?” Tristan’s breathing hitched. His greatest fear was my departure. He roughly pulled me into the car. “Since you love disappearing so much, you can stay right where I can see you today.” I stopped fighting. I watched the hospital fade into the distance. In four days, I would leave this world. Perhaps I would never need to know the results of those tests anyway. When we got back, Tristan confiscated my phone and my documents. He locked me inside the master bedroom, his voice harsh. “You can come out when you have learned to behave.” Through the wooden door, I heard Isla’s hushed voice. “Tristan, won’t this just make Evelyn angrier?” Tristan snapped, “She has simply been spoiled.” I sat down against the door. The blue screen floated before my eyes: [Departure countdown: Three days and twenty three hours. Erasure of host existence in progress.] Outside, Tristan’s phone lit up. He glanced down. On his lock screen, the wedding photo of us had changed, the outline of my shoulder beginning to dissolve into empty space.

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