Category: English

My stepsister, Gemma, always loved flaunting everything she had stolen from me, especially when the whole family was watching. It was our annual family memorial day, a humid afternoon when the relatives gathered at the old estate. She caught sight of my new trench coat and immediately lunged, grabbing me by the collar. “Cora, isn’t this the exact jacket I bought last week?” Gemma sneered, her voice carrying across the lawn. “Honestly, copying my style is one thing, but with a face like yours, any outfit is a lost cause.” The quiet chatter in the courtyard died down. A few of my older cousins leaned closer, whispering and casting mocking looks in my direction. My Aunt Carol couldn’t stand it anymore. She stepped forward, trying to shield me. “Gemma, Cora is your sister. How can you say something so cruel, and right in front of the family memorial?” The smug grin on Gemma’s face stiffened. Her eyes darted viciously between Aunt Carol and me before she rolled them, letting out a sharp, dismissive laugh. “Are you seriously taking her side, Aunt Carol? Let me remind you, we don’t even share a mother.” Gemma scoffed, smoothing down her own expensive top. “To put it bluntly, she’s just the baggage my dad brought back when he made a mistake years ago. We’re doing her a favor by keeping her fed and clothed.” Across the yard, a group of my male cousins burst into loud, mocking laughter. In the shadows of my sleeves, my fingernails dug so hard into my palms that they nearly broke the skin. A wave of profound, suffocating humiliation washed over me, leaving me trembling. I looked at Gemma, and for the first time in eighteen years, the endless endurance cracked. I was done playing the quiet, grateful little sister. Without a word, I turned on my heel and headed toward the house to retrieve the one thing my mother had slipped me on her deathbed: her locked metal box. 01 “Cora! Where do you think you’re going? Stop acting so pathetic!” Gemma’s voice chased me down the hall, sharp and dripping with her usual condescension. I ignored her. My footsteps quickened as I hurried down the corridor and slipped into my room—a tiny, cramped space barely under eighty square feet. As I pushed the door open, my knee slammed hard against the edge of the bed frame. A sharp spark of pain shot through my leg, but I ignored it, dropping straight to my knees on the cold floorboards. I reached under the bed, clawing at the loose brick in the corner. My fingers met nothing but cold, empty air. I froze. I swept my hand through the hollow space three times, my nails scraping against the rough concrete, making a dry, horrific sound. It was empty. Completely empty. “Looking for something?” The voice behind me didn’t belong to Gemma. It was my stepmother, Helena. She was leaning casually against the doorframe, a porcelain teacup cradled in her hands, a slow, mocking smile playing at the corners of her lips. My fingertips went numb. “My mother’s metal box,” I whispered, my voice tight. “It was right here.” Helena took a slow sip of her tea, not even bothering to look me in the eye. “Oh, that rusty old thing? I cleaned out your room three years ago and tossed it.” Three years ago. The strength drained from my limbs. I had to press my palm flat against the mattress just to keep from collapsing onto the floor. “Where are the things inside it?” She blew gently across the surface of her tea, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. “Just a few yellowed papers. I couldn’t even make out the writing, so I threw them in the incinerator. There was also a golden pendant—the quality was decent enough, so I gave it to Gemma as a little trinket.” Finally, she looked at me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe with utter disdain. “Your mother died when you were five, Cora. Did you really think she left you some secret fortune? Stop daydreaming.” Gemma sauntered into the room, leaning against her mother’s shoulder with a mocking giggle. “Cora, did you honestly think your real mom left you an inheritance? Come on. She didn’t even have a dowry when she married my dad. My mom told me all about it.” I stared at the empty dark space beneath the floorboards, the dust embedded under my fingernails, my breathing shallow and rapid. They burned it. The last pieces of my mother had been burned. Gemma reached into her collar and pulled out a vibrant green pendant, letting it dangle between us. The golden was smooth, shaped like a delicate leaf, hanging from a simple red cord. “Are you talking about this? It’s pretty, but I’ve been wearing it for two years now. It’d be a bit weird to give it back to you, wouldn’t it?” I recognized it instantly. It was the pendant my mother had never taken off. Right near the bottom-right corner, there was a tiny, natural-looking golden vein. On her deathbed, her cold hand had squeezed mine, her final words scraping through her throat: “Cora, the things in the box… open it when you’re older. I left the most important thing inside.” I reached out my hand. “Give it back to me.” Gemma stepped back, laughing loudly. “Why should I? My mom said everything in this house belongs to her and Dad. You’re just a stray. You don’t get to demand anything.” Helena set her teacup down on my small nightstand, her voice dropping half an octave, turning cold. “Cora, stop making a scene. We have guests outside. Don’t embarrass your father. You’ve lived under our roof for eighteen years. Have we ever starved you? It’s just a cheap piece of old golden. Gemma likes it, so let her keep it.” I looked at Helena, and then at the pendant resting against Gemma’s chest. The fire screaming in my throat eventually died down into a bitter, silent swallow. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fight. It was that I knew, in this house, there was no room for my truth. As I turned to walk out, Gemma threw one last jibe at my back. “Oh, and Cora? Make sure you ladle the soup for dinner tonight. Aunt Carol loves the cream corn soup. Don’t mess it up.” Outside, the courtyard was loud with clinking glasses and laughter. My cousins were already downing beers, completely oblivious to me standing red-eyed in the dark corner of the porch. Aunt Carol walked past, holding a tray of appetizers. Seeing my face, she paused. “Cora?” I wiped my face quickly, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine. Just the wind.” She looked as if she wanted to say more, but instead, she let out a quiet sigh and leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper. “That golden pendant of your mother’s… I saw Gemma wearing it earlier.” I stayed silent. Aunt Carol squeezed my wrist, hesitating for a fraction of a second before breathing into my ear, “Cora, that golden vein in the corner… it’s not a natural flaw. Your mother told me once. It opens.” 02 “It opens?” My throat constricted. I stared into Aunt Carol’s eyes, wondering if I had misheard her. She gave a small, deliberate nod, her eyes darting around nervously before another aunt called out to her. “Carol! Come over here, we’re pouring the wine!” Aunt Carol squeezed my hand one last time, whispered nothing more, and quickly vanished back into the crowd. I stood frozen, my mind roaring. The golden vein wasn’t a flaw. It was a seam. A hidden compartment. My mother hadn’t hidden her greatest secret in the metal box. The box was just a decoy. The real key had been hanging around Gemma’s neck this entire time. At dinner, I was relegated to the very end of the long wooden table. In front of me sat a single bowl of plain rice and a small plate of cheap pickled radish. My utensils were a pair of old, splintered bamboo chopsticks. Gemma sat right next to Helena, surrounded by the finest cuts of beef and fresh lobster. She chewed lazily, her eyes glued to her phone. Our cousin on the opposite side of the table chimed in. “Gemma, how many followers do you have on Instagram now? My girlfriend loved that outfit mood board you posted last week.” Gemma tilted her head, giving a sweet, practiced smile. “Almost three hundred thousand. But honestly, the sketches for that collection were just some doodles I drew up myself. I’ll show her the drafts sometime.” My chopsticks froze over the pickled radish. Those drafts were mine. I had drawn them last month and left them on my desk. When they went missing the next day, I had assumed I’d simply misplaced them in some drawer. Gemma flicked her eyes up to look at me, a tiny, knowing smirk playing on her lips. It was a look I knew all too well—pure, triumphant malice, meant for my eyes only. Suddenly, Helena clapped her hands, demanding everyone’s attention. “Since the whole family is here today, there’s something I’d like to share.” She reached beneath her seat and pulled out a small, pink leather-bound ledger. She opened the first page, revealing columns of meticulously penned numbers. “Cora is eighteen now,” Helena said, her voice dripping with maternal performance. “Even though she isn’t my biological daughter, I’ve kept track of every single cent we’ve spent on her upbringing.” She slid the ledger to the center of the table, tapping her manicured finger against the pages. “Formula, tuition, school uniforms, tutors, allowance, medical bills. Over eighteen years, it comes to exactly four hundred and thirty-six thousand, eight hundred dollars. Every cent is documented.” The table went quiet for a moment before the murmurs started. An aunt from the side spoke up, her voice laced with mock sympathy. “Nearly half a million dollars? Helena, you really are a saint. I don’t think I could ever spend that kind of money on someone else’s child.” My hands shook so violently the chopsticks rattled against the porcelain bowl. But I forced myself to look up, locking eyes with Helena. “Are you showing me this because you want me to pay you back?” Helena offered a soft, magnanimous smile. “Oh, darling, I’m not that petty. I just want you to understand that your father and I have done right by you. When you enter the real world, I expect you to remember that we never mistreated you.” Gemma pulled the ledger closer, flipping through the pages with mock curiosity. “Look at this, Cora. Your food expenses for middle school alone were twenty-eight thousand dollars. You sure eat a lot for someone who barely speaks.” A wave of laughter rippled through the cousins. I turned my head to look at my father. He sat right next to Helena, his head bowed low over his bowl, his fork aimlessly pushing food around. He didn’t say a single word. Later that evening, while washing the mountain of dishes left over from the party, I noticed a dusty shoebox shoved into the highest shelf of the pantry. I dragged a chair over, climbed up, and pulled it down. When I took the lid off, my heart stopped. The box was stuffed with envelopes—dozens of them, some yellowed with age, the earliest postmark dating back thirteen years. The recipient was always Cora. The sender was Beatrice. I tore open the top envelope. Inside was a cashier’s check and a handwritten letter. “My sweet Cora, Grandma sent you another birthday gift this year. I hope it reached you. Your stepmother told me you are doing wonderfully and do not need my interference, but I miss you so much…” My fingers began to shake uncontrollably. Thirteen years. Thirteen years of letters and money from my grandmother, and I had never seen a single one. Helena had told me years ago that my grandmother had abandoned me, that she wanted nothing to do with a child from a broken marriage. I flipped through the envelopes. Every single check had been cashed. On the back of each one, written in sharp, familiar cursive, was Helena’s signature and bank account number. At the very bottom of the box lay a letter written in a shaky, frail script. “Cora, Grandma is getting old, and I don’t know if I will live to see you grow up. Before your mother passed, she told me she left something for you. The most important thing is inside the golden leaf. I don’t know if you ever found it, but you must remember—never let anyone else open that pendant.” The box slipped from my hands, letters scattering across the kitchen tile like dry leaves. From the doorway, Gemma’s voice drifted in, lazy and threatening. “Cora, what are you snooping through now?” 03 “These letters are from my grandmother.” I knelt on the floor, gathering the scattered pages one by one, trying to keep my voice steady despite the trembling in my chest. Gemma leaned against the doorframe, scrolling through her phone, not even bothering to glance at the floor. “Oh, that crazy old woman from upstate? My mom said she was losing her mind, always sending weird, confusing things. My mom kept them hidden so you wouldn’t get upset.” “Hidden?” I stood up, clutching the stack of envelopes tight against my chest. “Your mother cashed every single check. For thirteen years, she stole every dollar my grandmother sent me.” Gemma finally looked up, letting out an indifferent shrug. “Well, obviously. You eat our food and live under our roof. My grandma’s little handouts were basically rent. You should be thanking her for helping out.” I took a deep breath, pushing past her. I needed to see my father. I needed him to look at this. But Gemma grabbed my wrist, her nails digging deep into my skin. Her expression turned cold, almost feral. “I wouldn’t go whining to Dad if I were you.” “You think he doesn’t know? He’s always known.” The pain in my wrist was sharp, but the realization was sharper. I stared at her, trying to find any sign of a lie on her face. Gemma let go, pulling out a wet wipe to clean her fingers, as if she had touched something filthy. “Cora, you really are pathetic. You always think someone is going to swoop in and save you. Aunt Carol? Dad? Your dying grandmother?” “Wake up. You know exactly who runs this house.” She turned and went upstairs. I went to my father anyway. He was in his study, the room thick with the scent of cigar smoke. As I poured out the story, he didn’t even look up to ash his cigar. “Dad, Grandma sent me letters and money for thirteen years. Helena took everything. Did you know about this?” The silence stretched so long the cigar nearly burned down to his fingers. Finally, he spoke. “Your mother passed away early, Cora. It wasn’t easy for Helena to take you in. Some things… you just have to learn to let go.” “Let go?” My voice cracked. “She hid my grandmother’s letters for thirteen years and stole her money. And you’re telling me to let it go?” My father extinguished his cigar in the heavy glass ashtray, still refusing to look me in the eye. “The money your grandmother sent was spent on you anyway. Tuition, clothes, food. The math works out.” Hearing him say those words, a sickening realization washed over me. The $436,800 ledger Helena had paraded at dinner—a significant portion of that was my grandmother’s money. Helena had used my grandmother’s funds to raise me, logged the expenses under her own name, and forced me to bear the weight of her fake generosity. When I walked out of the study, the hallway felt freezing. As I passed Gemma’s room, her door was slightly ajar. Through the gap, I saw her sitting at her desk, her computer screen glowing. It was the application portal for a prestigious fine arts academy. Under the “Portfolio” section, the file names made my blood run cold. They were my paintings. Every watercolor, every pencil sketch I had labored over during the past two years had been scanned and uploaded into her application. The applicant’s name: Gemma Norton. I pushed the door open. “Those paintings are mine.” Gemma spun around, her face flitting from panic to icy composure in two seconds flat. “What are you talking about? Do you have a signature on them? Is your name on the canvas? Did anyone see you paint them?” “Cora, you don’t even have a desk of your own in this house. How are you going to prove these are yours?” I stared at the screen, at the digital image of my watercolor magnolia. The brushstrokes, the composition, the specific empty space I always left in the bottom-right corner—every single detail belonged to my soul. “You don’t even know how many petals a magnolia has, Gemma. How could you have painted this?” Her face twitched for a second, then she scoffed. “Who says I can’t paint? You think you’re some kind of genius? I’ve taken art classes for three years. I could paint this in my sleep.” She stepped closer to me, her voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper. “Even if you did paint them, so what? In this house, what’s yours is mine.” “Your clothes, your art, your mother’s cheap little pendant. If I want it, it’s mine.” “What do you have, Cora? You don’t even own the room you sleep in.” The blood roared in my ears, blurring my vision. She snapped her laptop shut and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. “Oh, by the way, my interview at the academy is next week. I think I’ll wear your new trench coat. Don’t worry, once I get my acceptance letter, you’ll be the first person I thank.” I backed out of her room, standing in the silent hallway for what felt like hours, until Helena’s voice shrieked from downstairs. “Cora! The kitchen sink is still full of dishes! What are you doing up there?” I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against my grandmother’s final letter. Never let anyone else open that pendant. Returning to the sink, I stared at my reflection in the dark kitchen window. My eyes were red, but the tears wouldn’t fall. Eighteen years of crying had finally run my well dry. I needed that golden pendant. But getting it off Gemma’s neck was going to be the hardest thing I’d ever done. Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from an unknown number. “Dear Ms. Cora Norton, your late mother, Ms. Iris Raymond, established a secure deposit box with our firm eighteen years ago. The holding period has now expired. Please visit our office with your valid identification to retrieve the contents. — Simon Fletcher, Evergreen Legal Partners.” I stared at the screen, my fingertips turning ice-cold. Iris Raymond. My mother’s name. 04 “What are you smiling at like an idiot?” Gemma had sneaked downstairs, her eyes immediately darting toward my phone screen. I wasn’t fast enough to lock it. She snatched the phone from my grip. I reached for it, but she dodged to the side, her manicured thumb already sliding across the screen. “Evergreen Legal Partners?” She raised an eyebrow, holding the phone high out of my reach. “Cora, why are you talking to a lawyer? Are you trying to sue my mom for child abuse?” “Give it back.” She ignored me, reading the text message aloud before letting out a mocking whistle. “Iris Raymond… your dead mom, right? Secure deposit box? Eighteen years?” She laughed, turning toward the stairs. “Mom! You have to see this! Cora’s dead mom apparently left her a mystery package at a law firm!” Helena descended the stairs, taking the phone from Gemma. She read the message, her face tightening for a fraction of a second. But it was gone in an instant. She slipped my phone into her apron pocket. “It’s just a phishing scam. Scammers love targeting naive girls with these emotional tricks.” “That’s my phone—” “I’ll give it back tomorrow. Go to bed, Cora. Stop letting your imagination run wild.” Helena turned and walked back upstairs. Gemma followed close behind. As she passed me, she shoved her shoulder into mine, leaning in to whisper, “You can hire a hundred lawyers, Cora. You’re still absolutely nothing in this house.” I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, playing the words of that text over and over in my head. Evergreen Legal Partners. Simon Fletcher. The secure deposit box my mother left eighteen years ago had finally matured. She knew. My mother had known exactly what would happen to me after she died. She hadn’t just left a decoy metal box; she had secured a lawyer. The metal box was something Helena was meant to find—an easy target to satisfy her greed. But what lay with the lawyer… that was my mother’s true legacy. The next morning, before anyone else woke up, I slipped into Helena’s room to search her bag. I couldn’t find my phone, but in her vanity drawer, I found a bank transaction receipt. The recipient was an elite art auction house. The amount was $4.2 million. In the memo line, there were only three words: Iris Raymond Paintings. Four point two million dollars. I vaguely remembered my mother painting in the attic when I was very small. The sunlight would stream through the skylight, the smell of oil paints and turpentine thick in the air. That was my clearest memory of her. Helena had told me those paintings were “worthless junk” and that she had thrown them out during our last move. Worthless junk worth $4.2 million. Before I could look closer, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I quickly shut the drawer and slipped back into the hallway. Later that morning, Gemma left the house wearing my new trench coat, practically floating out the door for her interview at the art academy. With the house empty, I began my chores—mopping the floors, wiping down the windows, cleaning the dust off the family memorial altar. As I worked near the end of the hallway, I noticed Helena’s bedroom door was slightly ajar. She was on the phone, her voice kept to a low whisper, but the acoustics of the old hallway carried every word. “…I’m keeping an eye on Gemma. The interview will go fine.” “Cora? What can she possibly do? She’s just a stray. I’ve already wiped out everything her mother left behind.” “I know about the lawyer. I’m going there tomorrow to shut it down. She can’t find out…” The voice abruptly cut off. She had realized the door was open. The door slammed shut with a sharp clack. I knelt on the floor, the damp rag trembling in my hand, my entire body freezing over.

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I spent seven years as Blake Warner’s dirty little secret. The day his company finally went public, he walked onto the trading floor holding another woman’s hand. “Gwen, I have to take care of her,” he told me, his voice excruciatingly calm. “You’re tough. You’ve always been a survivor. You’ll make it without me. But her? She only has me.” Adult breakups are supposed to be clean. Civil. Dignified. But when my car finally pulled up to the driveway of the old family estate I hadn’t seen in years, a familiar face was waiting under the porch light. “Finally decided to come home?” Chase stood there, his voice a cool breeze, though the grease-stained paper bag of warm cinnamon-sugar donuts he shoved into my hands was piping hot. He leaned against the wooden railing, his eyes burning through the dark. “I’ve been waiting ten damn years for you.” 1 The night before the IPO, Blake was relentless. He kept me awake until the sky turned a bruised, pre-dawn purple, pulling me into different positions on the mattress, desperate and feverish. I was so exhausted I could barely move. I kicked him weakly beneath the sheets. “Tomorrow is your big day, not your execution. If you keep tearing me apart like this, how are we supposed to survive the rest of our lives?” He had just stepped out of the bathroom, damp hair dripping water onto his shoulders. “What if I said we weren’t going to survive it? Would you make a scene?” “It’s been seven years, Blake…” I propped myself up on my elbows, a sudden chill settling in my chest. “Are you out of your mind?” Then the reality of his words clicked, and my breath caught. “Is there someone else?” If this had happened seven years ago, I would have thrown myself at him, screaming, crying, begging for an explanation. But I was twenty-seven now. The fire had been replaced by a slow, freezing numbness. I reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand and lit one. “What about the engagement party we planned? The deposit is already paid.” Blake reached down and took the cigarette from my fingers. “Don’t start smoking. You know I hate it.” I watched him put the same cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. A sharp, suffocating ache bloomed behind my eyes. “Who is she, Blake? Who is she?” Was she beautiful? Was her family wealthy enough to buy him the respect he had always craved? What did she have that gave her the right to steal the heart I had spent nearly a decade keeping alive? A tear slipped down my cheek, betraying my forced composure. Blake frowned, looking more annoyed than remorseful. “Gwen, we’re adults here. Let’s not do the whole hysterical, tragic scene, okay?” Blake had never been good at comforting me. In the beginning, when I actually let myself show anger, he would always wear this exact expression—this strained, patronizing tolerance. I hated it. So, I changed. Over the years, he used to brag to his friends about me. My Gwen is so good, he’d say. She doesn’t throw tantrums or act needy like other girls. But sitting on that bed, the truth finally tasted like ash. Other girls threw tantrums because they had the security of being loved. They had safety nets. I was “good” because I had nothing else to lose. My reward for seven years of silence was being erased entirely, without so much as a proper goodbye. I wiped my face, pulled myself out of bed, and began putting on my clothes. Blake reached out and grabbed my wrist. I froze. The dim yellow light of the bedside lamp cast long, ugly shadows across his face, making him look like a stranger. “It’s barely four in the morning. Just wait. It’s not safe to call an Uber right now.” His words were like a needle, piercing the very last pocket of softness left in my heart. I felt like a clown. I wrenched my hand away, but he grabbed me again, his patience finally snapping. “Have you had enough? If you hadn’t changed so much, do you think I ever would have looked at someone else? Gwen, why can’t you just reflect on your own behavior for once?” I almost laughed out loud. He was the one who cheated. He was the one who broke every promise we ever made. Yet here he was, standing on his moral high ground, blaming me for turning into the woman his neglect had created. The warmth inside me died. The tears stopped. I gently removed his hand from my wrist and quietly whispered, “Okay.” There was no point in arguing. Blake had forgotten that beneath the quiet, compliant shell he had molded, I was still Gwen Taylor. I was born with a vicious temper, and I had never lacked the courage to cut my losses. Seeing me calm down, Blake relaxed back into his usual detached, corporate persona. He began to talk about her. “Her name is Cassidy Wells. She’s not even twenty yet. She’s sheltered, sweet, and incredibly innocent.” “I have to protect her. She wouldn’t survive a day in my world without a proper title. She needs me.” “Gwen, you’re street-smart. You’re a survivor. You’ll make it without me. But her? She only has me.” His voice softened as he spoke her name, his sharp jawline relaxing in a way I hadn’t seen in years. He looked exactly like the twenty-one-year-old Blake Warner who used to lean against his battered motorcycle, holding my hand. Are you sure about this, Gwen? he had asked me back then. There’s no future for a bastard child like me. Later that day, he drove that motorcycle across the city, sold it for forty-eight hundred dollars, and rented our very first studio apartment. We were so poor we could barely afford heat, but we were so full of love that the cold never touched us. At six in the morning, Blake’s phone rang. It was Cassidy. “Blake, I had a nightmare,” her voice whimpered through the receiver, sweet and fragile. “I dreamed you left me.” She sounded so small, so beautifully helpless. Without a single word to me, Blake grabbed his coat and rushed out the door. Ten minutes later, a text popped up on my screen: Take your time packing. I’m taking her to a hotel for a few days. Try not to leave any of your things behind. If she sees them, she’ll cry. I stared at the screen, my hands trembling. Then, another text arrived: If you ever need help, you can still call me. We can still be friends. My fingers tightened around the metal frame of my phone. The next second, I threw it against the drywall with every ounce of strength I had left. Blake, you cruel, arrogant bastard. How terrified were you that I wouldn’t leave? How pathetic did you have to be to offer me the scraps of your “friendship” just to ease your own guilt? 2 We had only lived in this penthouse for two years, but as I packed, I realized how much of my life had accumulated in the corners. Outside, a gray, relentless rain began to beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows. I stood on a chair, reaching up to peel the very last Polaroid off the memory wall. A friend of Blake’s had taken it years ago in a smoky, subterranean pool hall. Blake was leaning against a cue stick, exhaling a plume of gray smoke. I was standing next to him, my face flushed red from coughing. He had laughed, his eyes dark and lazy. Gwen, this isn’t a place for a good girl like you. In response, I had grabbed the hem of his denim jacket, leaned in, and took a drag straight from his cigarette. He had panicked, pinching my nose and forcing me to exhale, laughing as I coughed my lungs out in his arms. Blake, I had gasped through my tears, wherever you are, that’s where I belong. Back then, his mother had just died, and his wealthy father refused to acknowledge his existence. He was working security at that pool hall just to have a cot to sleep on. A regular customer had taken our photo with a Polaroid camera that night. We couldn’t afford dinners or gifts; that cheap piece of film was our only treasure. My thumb brushed over my younger face in the photo. So young. So fierce. So willing to burn alive for him. A twenty-one-year-old Blake had squeezed my hand and looked at that photo. Just wait, Gwen. I’m going to make it to the top. And when I do, I’m going to give you the biggest wedding this city has ever seen. My new phone vibrated in my pocket. A contact from our old circle had sent me a video link. In the video, Blake was standing in a VIP lounge, his arm wrapped tightly around a young girl with straight, dark hair. This is my girlfriend, Cassidy, he announced to the room. Take good care of her, guys. Her face was young, but there was something disturbingly familiar about her. The friend who sent the video texted: What’s going on? Are you guys playing games again? I stared at the screen, then slowly crumpled the Polaroid in my fist and tossed it into the trash bag. No games, I replied. This time, it’s over. Once my suitcases were packed, I didn’t just leave. I hired a high-end demolition crew and paid them triple to strip the penthouse bare. Every custom sofa, every piece of Italian marble furniture, every light fixture I had picked out—I sold them to liquidators for pennies or had them hauled to the dump. I wanted to return the keys to a space that was white, hollow, and blindingly empty. Just like what he had left of my chest. Before I could leave the city, the company’s head accountant, Natalie, called me in tears. There was a discrepancy in the audit before the final SEC filing, and she couldn’t resolve it without me. My abrupt departure had left my former team pulling ninety-hour weeks to clean up the transition. I felt a pang of guilt. They hadn’t done anything wrong. So, I agreed to go in one last time. But when I swiped my card at the glass turnstiles of the corporate headquarters, the biometric scanner buzzed red. Access denied. The young receptionist looked up, her eyes widening when she realized who I was without my heavy makeup and tailored power suits. “Miss Taylor?” she stammered. She escorted me up to the financial department personally. Before she left, she whispered, “Gwen… you look so beautiful today. You look so young with your hair down.” I had naturally soft, youthful features. But for seven years, I had dressed in razor-sharp stilettos and severe, dark blazers to help Blake command respect in boardrooms. My feet ached so constantly I had forgotten what it felt like to walk on flat ground. Natalie was waiting for me with a stack of ledgers. After we corrected the errors, she walked me back down to the lobby. It was five o’clock, and the elevators were pouring out employees. Within seconds, a dozen of my former staff members surrounded me, their faces heavy with genuine regret. “Gwen, it’s not the same without you. The client from the Eastside project threw a fit this morning.” “Exactly. Without you leading the negotiation, we had to slash our margins by 5% just to keep them from walking.” I kept a polite, professional smile on my face, refusing to say a single negative word about Blake. Adults leave quietly. I had bled for this company. I had built its foundation from the ground up. Even if I was being discarded, I didn’t want to burn down the house I had built. During our first few years, Blake’s father had planted corporate spies and hostile executives to sabotage us. I was the one who went to war, taking the hits in public while Blake quietly consolidated power behind the scenes. It took us three years of absolute hell to purge his father’s men from the board. “Is this company really going to collapse just because we lost one Gwen Taylor?” The cold, mocking voice cut through the lobby like a blade. 3 The crowd of employees instantly fell silent, parting to create a wide path. Blake walked through the double doors, his fingers locked tightly with Cassidy’s. He glared at the gathered staff, his eyes dark with displeasure. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Gwen was the one signing your paychecks.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you miss her so much, feel free to submit your resignations and follow her out.” No one dared to breathe. In this building, Blake’s word was absolute law. He had grown comfortable in his tailored Tom Ford suits, carrying himself with the ruthless authority of a man who answered to no one. But none of them had expected him to kick out the woman who had put him on that throne the moment he arrived. Cassidy tugged gently on his sleeve, her voice dripping with a soft, delicate innocence. “Babe… is this Gwen? She looks… different than I pictured.” Her eyes drifted down to my feet, and she gasped softly. “Oh! We have the same shoes…” Blake’s brow furrowed as he scanned me from head to toe. It wasn’t just the shoes. My camel trench coat and black baseball cap were from the exact same luxury designer. When I had seen that video of Cassidy the night before, I knew she looked familiar. Seeing her in person, the truth was almost laughable. She looked exactly like me at twenty. The same pin-straight, waist-length black hair. The same pale, clean skin. The same wide, quiet eyes. A bitter smile touched my lips. Blake’s taste in women really was incredibly consistent. “Gwen, we agreed there would be no scenes,” Blake said, his voice dropping into a warning register. I let out a soft sigh. “I didn’t seek her out, Blake. Believe whatever you want.” Cassidy bit her lower lip, looking terribly slighted. “But these boots just came out. Blake bought them for me two days ago as a special gift…” I knew exactly what she was trying to imply. But what she didn’t know was that I was a black-card VIP at that boutique. The boots had been delivered to our penthouse before they even hit the retail floor. In fact, Blake had been the one to sign for the package at our door. I kept my mouth shut, waiting to see what he would do. Blake made a sharp, clicking sound with his tongue, his fingers tapping against his thigh—his signature tell when his patience was entirely exhausted. “It’s pathetic, Gwen.” “Why are you doing this to yourself? It’s embarrassing.” “Go to the department store across the street and buy something else. Change out of those clothes.” He gestured to his secretary, who immediately handed him a leather checkbook. He unscrewed his fountain pen, his hand hovering over the paper. “How much do you want?” “Give me a number. Let’s make this a clean break so you don’t have to keep pulling these desperate stunts.” Natalie’s grip on my arm tightened so hard it bruised. My nails dug into the palms of my hands, breaking the skin. My chest tightened, my stomach twisting into a hard, painful knot. “Blake,” I said, my voice rising, vibrating with raw fury. “You think this is about money?” Blake’s expression turned to ice. “You gave me seven years. Think of this as severance. It’s only fair.” Outside of our executive circle, very few people in the company knew the true nature of our relationship. We had kept it hidden in the early years to protect the company from his father’s attacks. Once the danger passed, Blake simply never brought up making us public again. I had spent years imagining the day we would finally share our love with the world—the congratulations, the shared smiles. I never imagined that when the truth finally came out, it would be to paint me as a bitter, money-grubbing ex-employee who refused to let go. Cassidy leaned her entire body against Blake’s shoulder, looking up at him with adoration. Even during our most intimate years, Blake had rarely held my hand in public, always claiming he wanted to keep “professional boundaries.” Yet here they were, Cassidy’s lips practically brushing his ear. “It’s okay, babe. She doesn’t have to change. I understand Gwen. When a man is as incredible as you, any girl would find it hard to let go.” She turned her wide, doe-like eyes to me. “I just feel so incredibly lucky. As long as you love me, Blake, nothing else matters.” Blake’s gaze softened instantly. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips, right there in front of his entire staff. Something inside me shattered into fine, sharp dust. The words tasted like copper in my mouth. I watched him stroke Cassidy’s cheek, whispering, “You’re so good to me. I won’t let anyone make you feel small. I’ve got you.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood, using the physical pain to force my voice steady. “Fine. There is one thing I want.” Blake looked down at me, a smug, victorious smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Name your price.” 4 I took two steps forward, reaching out until my fingers wrapped around the silver chain resting against his collarbone. Hanging from it was a hand-carved silver medallion. The year his father had handed him that failing subsidiary, Blake had been terrified of failing. I had spent weeks working twenty-hour days, drinking myself into a stomach ulcer just to land the accounts that saved us. The day we signed the contract, I collapsed and was rushed into emergency surgery for a ruptured ulcer. That was the first time I had ever seen Blake look truly terrified. He had sprinted through the hospital corridors, covered in mud and sweat from a fall on his way there. He looked worse than I did. He had taken my hand, tears streaming down his face. Gwen, does it hurt? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. He stayed by my bedside for four days straight. As the anesthesia wore off, I kept calling his name in my sleep. Every single time I called out, he answered. He didn’t sleep; he barely drank water. When I finally woke up, his voice was completely gone, his throat raw. The nurse had smiled at me. While you were asleep, he never stopped talking to you. He kept telling you not to be afraid, that he was right here. He must love you very much. He did love me. Once. The day I was discharged, he disappeared for twelve hours. When he came back, his knees and forehead were scraped and bleeding. But he had smiled like a fool, holding out two matching, hand-carved silver medallions of Saint Jude, the patron of lost causes. He had hiked up a steep, rocky trail to a remote mountain monastery to get them blessed. They say if your lover places this around your neck, you’ll belong to each other for a lifetime, he had whispered, his hands shaking as he clasped the silver chain around my neck. Gwen, with this, we’ll never be lost. A lifetime. It turned out a lifetime only lasted seven years. The tears finally spilled over my lashes, hot and fast, as I looked Blake dead in the eyes. I watched the smugness in his expression slowly turn into a cold, hollow panic. “I want this, Blake,” I whispered. “Seven years of my life, paid in full with this.” I yanked the chain with everything I had. He let out a sharp gasp of pain as the metal clasp snapped. Originally, the medallion had been on a simple, sturdy cord. But as Blake grew wealthier, he had insisted on replacing it with a heavy gold chain. More expensive. But far more fragile. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my own matching silver medallion. Seeing them both in my hands, Blake reached out, his voice suddenly desperate. “Gwen, don’t—” But it was too late. I threw both silver medallions onto the polished marble floor with all my strength. The silver struck the stone with a sharp, echoing clatter, rolling into the dark corners of the lobby. A broken mirror can never be made whole. “Goodbye, Blake.”

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My skin was burning, a fierce, unnatural heat clawing its way up my throat. I yanked at the collar of my silk gown, gasping for air. The sight of the velvet drapes, the heavy mahogany wardrobe, and the flickering candlelight made my breath hitch. I was back. I had returned to the very night I was drugged. Damian’s brother-in-law, Lord George Harrington, would burst through that door in less than fifteen minutes. I had to get out. Cynthia, Damian’s scheming sister, had undoubtedly stationed her guards outside. She wanted me trapped. She wanted my ruin to secure her family’s fortune. Desperation overtook my fear. I grabbed the brass oil lamp from the nightstand and threw it directly onto the heavy bed curtains. The dry velvet caught instantly, flames hungry and bright, licking up the canopy. Within moments, the room was a furnace of smoke and fire. In this life, I would never play the tragic victim. I would never agree to become Lord Harrington’s second wife—a gilded prisoner brought in solely to bankroll his bankrupt estate and raise Cynthia’s spoiled children. 1 “Fire! Oh heavens, how did a fire start?” A frantic female voice cried from the hallway. Phoebe. Cynthia’s loyal lady’s maid. Of course she was out there. Cynthia had orchestrated every single detail. “You two, stay here and watch the doors! I’ll be right back!” Phoebe barked, her voice shaking with panic. She didn’t dare rush in to save me. According to their grand design, the Lord was supposed to “discover” me compromised, not roasted alive. My chest heaved. The drug in my veins, combined with the rising heat of the flames, made my head spin. I stumbled toward the door and yanked the handle. It was locked from the outside. Did George Harrington know of his wife’s plot? I was the sole heiress of the Whitmore merchant empire. Half the noble bachelors in the capital had begged for my hand. Why on earth would I have ever willingly thrown myself at a man twelve years my senior? In my past life, Cynthia had “discovered” us herself, dramatically coughing up blood, weeping, and accusing me of shameless debauchery. Damian had immediately and publicly broken our engagement. Shamed and desperate, I was told my only option to salvage a shred of dignity was to enter Lord Harrington’s household as his second wife. I wanted to shave my head and enter a convent instead, but Damian had played the martyr. “My sister is dying,” he had pleaded, tears in his eyes. “She only wants her children cared for. Please, Giselle. I will beg the Lord to grant you the status of an equal wife.” My poor mother, unable to bear the thought of me in a convent, had begged me to accept. And so, I had walked straight into their trap. The bitter memory made me bite my lip so hard I tasted copper. This time, I would not be their puppet. I kicked over the heavy chairs to create noise, then staggered toward the window. “Did she faint?” one of the maids outside squeaked. “If she dies in there, the Lord will skin us alive!” the older maid hissed, unlocking the door. “Hush! I’ll open it and check.” The moment she cracked the door open, I pushed the heavy window frame open, scrambled over the ledge, and tumbled into the cool night air, carefully pulling the window shut behind me. I couldn’t run far. The heat in my blood was reaching a boiling point. Dragging my heavy limbs, I slipped into the secluded wing of the estate—the quarters of Solomon Harrington, George’s younger brother. In my previous life, Solomon had been one of the few decent souls in this wretched house. I knew his character. He was a man of honor; he would never take advantage of a woman in my state. “Who’s there?” A cold, sharp voice sliced through the dark. A silver blade gleamed in the moonlight, resting flush against my throat. “Solomon… please. Help me,” I gasped. My vision blurred as I collapsed forward, tumbling right into the chest of the young man clad in a pale, moon-white robe. The sword clattered to the stone floor. Startled, Solomon instinctively pushed me back. I fell to the ground, a low groan escaping my lips. “Miss Whitmore? What are you doing here?” He looked bewildered, reaching out to help me before quickly drawing his hand back, mindful of propriety. “I’ve been drugged. Please… tell no one,” I whispered, my face burning, my voice trembling with the effort to stay conscious. “I… I will fetch your maid,” he stammered, his eyes wide. “No. I don’t trust her. I only trust you.” Monica had vanished the moment she escorted me to that room. In my past life, she eventually became Damian’s mistress. I wouldn’t trust either of them with my life. 2 In the dim light, Solomon’s eyes flickered with a sudden, intense warmth. “If you truly trust me, take this,” he murmured, pulling a small white porcelain vial from his sleeve and tapping out a round, chalky pill. I grabbed it without hesitation and swallowed it dry. Solomon blinked, surprised by my absolute faith in him, and a soft, genuine smile touched his lips. The cool medicine trickled down my throat, slowly dousing the roaring fire in my veins. I took a deep breath, reclaiming my sanity. “Thank you, Solomon.” I bowed slightly and pulled out a thick stack of banknotes from my hidden pocket, pressing them into his hand. “It was nothing. Please, there is no need,” he protested, trying to push them back. Our fingers brushed, and a dark blush crept up his neck as he hastily withdrew his hand. “You saved my life tonight, Solomon. You must take this.” I stuffed the money into his vest and turned on my heel. The Harrington estate was a hollow shell, rotting from the inside out under George’s poor management. If they weren’t bankrupt, Cynthia would never have targeted my family’s wealth. Right now, I needed to see exactly what role my beloved fiancé, Damian, had played in tonight’s little theater. “Then… I shall accept,” Solomon’s quiet voice drifted after me. I smiled softly to myself. Solomon lived in the forgotten, drafty wing of the estate, ignored and despised by his older brother. In my past life, he left to join the frontier army a few days after this night. Three years later, he returned as General Solomon Harrington, a decorated war hero. Right now, he needed every coin to buy his way in. I made my way back to the burning wing, hiding in the shadows of the courtyard. The room was mostly charred wood and smoke now. George Harrington stood with his back to me, barking orders. “She couldn’t have vanished into thin air! Search every room! Find her!” His voice was steady and sharp. There was not a single trace of the “drunken stupor” he had claimed to be in during my past life. He had lied to me from the very beginning. “George, she’s gone. What do we do now?” Cynthia coughed into a silk handkerchief. “She’s drugged. She won’t make it past the estate gates,” George snarled, turning around. In the torchlight, his eyes looked cold and vicious. “I am only worried someone else will find her first,” Cynthia whispered, quickly tucking her bloody handkerchief away. She was coughing up blood again. The royal physicians had whispered she had barely two months left. “Where is Damian? Tell him to search for her.” “Damian and Monica are in my private chambers. Phoebe, go fetch them.” George shot his wife a freezing look. “Keep those two on a shorter leash. The deed isn’t even done yet, and they’re already rolling around in your quarters like dogs.” My ears rang. A cold wave of nausea washed over me. So, even back then, Damian and Monica were already sleeping together. In my past life, Damian had played the devoted lover, milking me for every cent to “maintain his status” while pretending to be bullied by his peers. And because I was technically his brother-in-law’s wife, I couldn’t openly give him money. Monica had suggested a “solution”: I should adopt her as my sister and marry her off to Damian as a concubine. That way, I could funnel my family’s gold to Damian under the guise of her dowry. 3 Tears pricked my eyes, hot and angry. The fiancé I had trusted blindly had actively conspired to ruin me. I dabbed my eyes with my handkerchief. In my past life, when Damian married Lydia, the minor daughter of Minister Davenport, had he really been “forced” into it? I didn’t want to think about how deep his lies went. “We need Monica to keep Giselle compliant,” Cynthia murmured, her eyes darting toward the pathway. A group of high-society ladies was approaching. She had invited them specifically to witness my downfall. Now, the stage was set, but the star of the show was missing. “Look at the mess you’ve made!” George spat, sweeping his cloak around him as he stormed off. Cynthia bit her lip, tears of frustration swelling in her eyes. She only did this to secure her children’s future before she died. “Heavens! Why is there a fire?” Lady Davenport’s loud, shrill voice cut through the air before she even reached the courtyard. “Oh… Giselle was resting inside,” Cynthia whimpered, putting on her most fragile, tragic face. “I don’t know how this could have happened…” “Giselle Whitmore set a fire in Harrington Hall? How dare she!” Mrs. Gable chimed in, her eyes gleaming with delicious gossip. Cynthia remained silent, playing the victim. “I always knew she was trouble,” another lady whispered. “A merchant’s daughter has no breeding. Lady Harrington, should we call the city guard?” “Where is she now? To sneak away like this… how utterly classless.” “How can a brilliant scholar like young Damian Carlyle be tied to such a girl? She is entirely unworthy of him!” The ladies chattered like magpies, and Cynthia let out a faint, satisfied sigh. She had chosen these gossips carefully. By tomorrow morning, my reputation would be in tatters. “Why are you ladies so eager to spread lies? Where is your breeding? Your decorum? Your basic decency?” I stepped calmly out of the shadows, my voice dripping with ice. They gasped, spinning around to stare at me as if they had seen a ghost. “Giselle! Where were you?” Cynthia choked out, quickly recovering her composure. “Don’t worry, my dear. We won’t involve the authorities.” “How dare you speak to us with such disrespect!” Lady Davenport sneered. “Setting fire to a noble estate is a hanging offense. You truly are just a vulgar merchant’s child.” I locked eyes with her. “Did you see me start the fire, Lady Davenport?” She choked on her words, glancing awkwardly at Cynthia. Cynthia forced a tight, artificial smile. “Giselle, even if you did it, the family will not press charges.” “Lady Harrington, I was in that room for exactly five minutes before I stepped out. There was no fire when I left. If you suspect arson, let us summon Justice Albright of the High Court. I am more than willing to let his investigators find the real culprit.” I knew Cynthia wouldn’t dare. Justice Albright was famously incorruptible. “No! No need for the courts,” Cynthia said hastily, falling into a violent fit of coughing. The ladies exchanged knowing, suspicious glances. “If these ladies still doubt my word, I insist we call the guards,” I said smoothly, taking a step forward. “No one is accusing you, Giselle,” Cynthia rasped, swallowing the copper taste of blood. “Right, ladies?” “Of course,” Lady Davenport muttered reluctantly, while the others looked away, suddenly silent. “If I hear so much as a whisper of this slander tomorrow, I will sue for defamation. Spreading false rumors about a prominent family is a serious crime, after all,” I warned, brushing past Cynthia. 4 Cynthia stumbled, caught by Phoebe. “Giselle! Apologize to my sister!” Damian’s voice boomed as he marched into the courtyard, his face dark with fury. Monica followed closely behind him, keeping her distance. “Damian, it’s fine. I just lost my footing,” Cynthia lied, rubbing her eyes. “Giselle, where were you? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Damian demanded, scanning me for any sign of the drug’s effects. He looked confused. Why was I perfectly fine? Had Monica failed?

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I live alone, but lately, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that there’s a phantom in my apartment. It started with the small things. I’d make breakfast, turn my back for a single second, and the center of my fried egg would be scooped out, gone. Freshly laundered shirts hung in my closet would suddenly have faint, muddy smudges on the collars before I ever wore them. I tore the place apart, installed hidden cameras, and found absolutely nothing. Just as I started to let my guard down, convinced I was losing my mind, my girlfriend wrapped her arms around me from behind, her laugh warm against my neck. “You were so aggressive last night, babe,” she murmured. “I barely walked through the door before you pinned me to the wall.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Because last night, I hadn’t been home at all. 1 Sophia’s fingertips were still tracing the line of my arm. When she noticed my face had drained of color, she paused, leaning in to brush her nose against my cheek. Her tone was light, teasing. “What’s wrong? Feeling shy? You certainly weren’t like this last night when you had your hands tangled in my hair, begging me not to let go.” Every muscle in my body locked into place. The sharp sting of my fingernails biting into my own palms was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. I stared dead into her eyes, my voice trembling so hard I barely recognized it. “You’re saying… you saw me in my apartment last night?” Sophia nodded, the playful smile still lingering on her lips. She reached out to wrap her arms around my waist, but I flinched, stepping back instinctively. She froze, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Yeah. The power went out in my building, remember? I was bored, so I came over to surprise you.” “The lights were off when I walked in, and before I could even reach for the switch, you grabbed me. I ran my hands through your hair. You just got that new textured fade. I know the exact feel of it.” Every word she spoke felt like an ice pick driving into my bones. I grabbed her arm, squeezing hard enough that she winced. “I am not joking with you, Sophia. I was not home last night.” “I told you last week. Brody went through that horrible breakup, and I took him out drinking. I crashed on his couch. I never stepped foot in this apartment last night.” The smile on Sophia’s face died a slow, agonizing death. She reached out, her hand hovering nervously near my forehead. Panic was beginning to bleed into her voice. “Stop it, babe. This isn’t funny.” “Only you and I have keys to this place. You just installed that new smart deadbolt last month. Who else could it possibly be?” “We’ve been together for three years! Do you really think I wouldn’t recognize your body? Your voice? You sounded exactly like you always do. You even smelled like the cedarwood detergent you use for your sheets!” I didn’t argue. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone, found Brody’s contact, and put it on speaker. He picked up on the second ring, his voice gravelly with sleep. “What’s up, man? You left your leather jacket on my chair when you took off this morning. When are you coming back for it?” I drew in a sharp, ragged breath. “Brody, tell me the truth. Did I sleep at your place last night?” “No shit, man. Where else would you be?” Brody yawned, a hint of amusement returning to his voice. “We stayed up until three in the morning watching some terrible rom-com. You got all emotional, told me you wanted to get married, and made me fetch you an iced Coke. Don’t tell me you blacked out.” “Wait, is Sophia interrogating you? Do you need me to vouch for you?” “No. Thanks, Brody.” I ended the call. When I looked up, Sophia’s face was the color of ash. A cold sweat had broken out along her hairline. She stumbled backward, her hip colliding with the dining table. The glass of water I had just poured wobbled perilously before tipping over the edge, shattering into a hundred glittering pieces on the hardwood. “No… that’s impossible. How could that be?” She muttered the words to herself before suddenly snapping. Like a woman possessed, she sprinted toward the bedroom. I heard the violent crash of the closet doors being ripped open, the sound of hangers clattering to the floor as she tore through my clothes. Then came the frantic scraping of her dropping to her knees, checking under the bed, ripping apart the storage bins on the balcony. She tore through the apartment like a burglar, leaving chaos in her wake. Ten minutes later, she emerged from the hallway, covered in dust, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She slowly shook her head. “Nothing… there’s no one here.” I slumped against the wall, my legs suddenly too weak to hold my weight, and finally dialed 911. 2 The police arrived within fifteen minutes. When Officer Harris and a crime scene technician stepped through my front door, I was still shaking. I tried to hand them bottles of water, but my grip was so unstable I nearly dropped them. I told them everything. From the very beginning. I told them about the breakfast food vanishing into thin air months ago. The mysterious smudges on my freshly washed shirts. And then, the events of last night. With every word, the trembling in my hands grew worse. The technician, wearing latex gloves, methodically swept the apartment. The windows were intact. The heavy steel deadbolt showed zero signs of tampering. The security bars on the balcony—which I’d had professionally installed last month—were welded shut. You couldn’t even slip a hand through the gaps. He ran a specialized scanner over every inch of the walls. No listening devices. No hidden pinhole cameras. No secret compartments large enough to conceal a human being. “Let’s go take a look at the building’s security footage,” Officer Harris said, offering a reassuring pat on my shoulder. “Take a deep breath, son. Let’s see what the cameras say.” Sophia and I followed them down to the property manager’s office. Standing behind the officers, we watched the monitors as they fast-forwarded through the footage, starting from the moment I left yesterday afternoon. The screen showed it clearly: At 5:20 PM yesterday, I walked out of the lobby doors wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. I never returned. At 11:07 PM, Sophia keyed into the lobby. At 8:10 AM this morning, she left to pick up coffee and bagels. In between those hours, aside from a FedEx guy and a DoorDash driver dropping off food on other floors, not a single unfamiliar face stepped off the elevator onto my floor. The last remaining drop of color drained from Sophia’s face. She gripped the edge of the security desk, her voice vibrating with sheer terror. “It’s not possible… Then who was in that room with me last night?” “His voice, his build… it was exactly like Declan’s. I know what I felt. Declan, you have to—” “Is this really the time for that?!” I snapped, cutting her off before turning back to the police. “Officer, I’ve suspected someone was living in my apartment for months.” “Sometimes I’d leave a glass of water on the nightstand before work, and when I came home, it had moved two inches to the left. I’d make a turkey sandwich, turn around to grab a LaCroix from the fridge, and half the sandwich would be gone. I’d hang a clean white t-shirt in the closet, and the next day the collar would be stained yellow, like someone had sweat in it.” “Last week, I put my keys on the entryway console. I swear on my life I put them there. When I got home, they were sitting on the kitchen island. I convinced myself I was just losing my memory. But looking at this… I wasn’t forgetting things. Someone is in there.” Hearing this, Officer Harris took the technician back up to my unit. They spent another grueling hour tearing the place apart. They removed the ceiling tiles in the bathroom. They knocked on the drywall around the plumbing shafts. Nothing. Finally, Officer Harris let out a heavy sigh and handed me his card. “We’re going to pull the last three months of lobby footage and run it through the system. If you notice anything else, call me directly.” He hesitated, his tone shifting into something overly gentle. “It’s also entirely possible that the stress of your job is getting to you. Memory lapses happen. If it gives you peace of mind, maybe talk to a doctor. But for now, I’d suggest staying somewhere else for a few days.” After the police left, the apartment fell into a suffocating, dead silence. Sophia and I sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Neither of us spoke. The only sound was the heavy, jagged rhythm of our breathing. After what felt like an eternity, I stood up and pulled my suitcase from the closet. Sophia blinked, snapping out of her trance, and hurried over to help me fold my clothes. “You’re right. We can’t stay here. We’ll check into a hotel.” Once we were checked into a downtown suite, Sophia immediately pulled out her laptop and called a high-end security firm. “I need your best technicians at my boyfriend’s apartment first thing tomorrow morning. I want the highest-grade cameras you have—local storage, battery backups, night vision. I want every single blind spot covered. I don’t care what it costs!” She hung up the phone and threw her arms around my neck, her body wracked with violent sobs. “Don’t worry, babe. I swear to God, we’re going to catch whoever is doing this.” I held her, but I felt entirely hollow. My chest was a cavern of ice. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that two weeks ago, I had secretly hidden a micro-camera inside the air conditioning vent. The very next day, the feed had gone black. I thought it was a defective unit. I bought three more, from three different brands. Every single one of them mysteriously died within forty-eight hours, having recorded absolutely nothing. Would this time really be any different? 3 First thing the next morning, Sophia and I went back to the apartment. We hovered over the technicians as they installed four state-of-the-art 4K cameras in the living room, bedroom, balcony, and entryway. Every possible angle was covered. When they finished calibrating the system, the lead tech looked me in the eye and swore on his reputation. The cameras were tamper-proof, connected to an independent cellular network, and saved directly to the cloud and a physical hard drive. They would not fail. As soon as they left, we locked the door and retreated to the hotel. We sat on the bed, staring at the live feeds on my iPad. We watched for an entire day. The apartment remained perfectly, hauntingly still. Not even the curtains shifted. My anxiety only tightened its grip. By late afternoon, my phone rang. It was Officer Harris. “Declan, we’ve reviewed the last three months of security footage for your building.” “Aside from you and your girlfriend, the only other person to visit your unit was your friend Brody, who came by once last month. No unauthorized personnel have entered the building.” “Everyone who used the stairs or elevator was a verified resident, a delivery driver, or a postal worker. None of them lingered on your floor.” His voice softened, taking on that same pitying tone from yesterday. “Son, I strongly recommend you schedule an appointment with a professional. Work stress can cause severe dissociation and memory gaps. There’s no shame in it. Don’t carry this burden alone.” When I hung up, my heart sank to the bottom of the ocean. Sophia, having overheard the conversation, threw her phone onto the mattress and burst into tears. I silently handed her a tissue. She took it, wiping aggressively at her mascara-stained cheeks, and grabbed her silk robe. “I’m going to take a shower, babe. Let’s go out and get a nice dinner afterward. Let’s just… try not to think about it for one night.” She disappeared into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the endless stream of traffic on the avenue below, my mind a tangled, rotting mess. Was I actually going crazy? Was I having a psychotic break? But the missing food… the dirty laundry… the man who had touched Sophia in the dark. Those things were real. They couldn’t be hallucinations. I let out a shaky breath, pulling my gaze away from the window, and glanced down at the iPad on the nightstand. My blood stopped flowing. Just seconds ago, the feeds had been crystal clear. Now, all four screens were pitch black. A red icon blinked in the corner of the screen: Signal Lost. It looked like a slashed, bleeding eye. I shot up from the bed. They were dead. Again. Before, I could convince myself it was a faulty wire or a dropped Wi-Fi signal. But this system was brand new. It ran on its own cellular data. Even if the network crashed, it was supposed to record locally. There was no technical reason for all four to die simultaneously. There was someone in my apartment. Right now. I grabbed my phone. I didn’t even bother grabbing my jacket. I tore open the hotel door and sprinted down the hallway. I practically fell into a taxi on the street, barking my address at the driver. My voice was completely unhinged. The driver took one look at my wild eyes in the rearview mirror, swallowed hard, and gunned the engine. Halfway there, my phone lit up. Sophia. Her voice was thick with panic, the sound of the running shower echoing in the background. “Declan, where did you go? I heard the door slam. Why did you leave?” “The cameras went black!” I screamed into the receiver. “He’s in my apartment! He’s there right now!” “Declan, stop! Wait for me!” she shrieked. “Do not go in there alone!” “I’m not waiting!” I hung up on her. My hands were shaking so violently I dropped my phone twice trying to open my texts. I found Officer Harris’s number and typed frantically: The new cameras died. Someone is inside. I am going there now. Please hurry. The taxi screeched to a halt outside my building. I threw a twenty-dollar bill at the front seat and bolted. The elevator was stuck on the penthouse floor. I couldn’t wait. I shoved open the fire door and started sprinting up the twelve flights of stairs. Halfway up, the echoing silence of the stairwell began to mess with my head. I kept hearing footsteps behind me, but every time I whipped around, there was nothing but the sickly green glow of the EXIT signs. My lungs burned. My legs felt like lead. By the time I hit the twelfth-floor landing, I was gasping for air, leaning heavily against the wall to keep from collapsing. I fumbled for my keys. They slipped from my sweaty fingers, hitting the concrete floor with a deafening clang. I snatched them up, my hands trembling as I slid the key into the deadbolt. The moment the lock clicked, it hit me. The smell of Tom Ford Ombré Leather. My cologne. Drifting out from under the door. I took a deep breath and kicked the door open. The living room lights were on. Bathed in the warm glow of my floor lamp, a man was sitting on my expensive leather sofa. One leg was casually crossed over the other. He was lounging comfortably, scrolling through my iPad. He had the exact same textured fade I had just gotten at the barber last week. Hearing the door crash open, he tapped the screen off and slowly, lazily looked up. I froze. The breath was knocked out of my lungs. The face staring back at me… was my own.

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When the Henderson’s biological daughter finally came back from that strict correction boarding school, she was, by all appearances, entirely broken. During dinner, she no longer fought me for my custom velvet-upholstered chair at the head of the table—the one my parents had commissioned for their “little princess.” Instead, she clutched a battered metal bowl she must have bought for a couple of dollars, crouching in the far corner of the kitchen, eating with her bare hands. She stopped screaming in the dead of night, demanding that Mom and Dad sing her to sleep with childhood lullabies the way they always did for me. Now, she wrapped herself in a filthy, threadbare dog blanket, curling up on the cold tile floor right next to the dog door in the mudroom. She shivered in the draft, refusing to return to her bedroom no matter how much our parents pleaded. And she certainly didn’t demand that we legally swap our names anymore—a desperate scheme she had once plotted so she could marry my childhood fiancé, Luke. Instead, she kept her head low, quietly calling me “Paula” and referring to Luke as her “brother-in-law.” I thought everyone was satisfied with this version of Gemma. Until tonight. When Gemma crouched in the corner to eat again, my brother Brody didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he stared at me, his eyes overflowing with a cold, simmering resentment. And Luke—the icy, untouchable Luke whom I had spent five years trying to thaw—stood by the mudroom, his eyes fixed on Gemma as she lay shivering by the dog door. In his gaze was a profound, aching tenderness. It was a look I had never seen before. A look I had spent my entire life begging for, and had never once received. Luke came to find me with our wedding invitations just as I was finalizing the details with the transition agency. I opened the heavy, cream-colored cardstock, my eyes grazing the elegant calligraphy. A faint, hollow smile touched my lips. “The bride’s name is wrong,” I said softly, looking up. “It should say Gemma. Not Paula.” 1 Luke’s brow furrowed, just a fraction of an inch. Most people wouldn’t have noticed the shift. But I had spent my entire life studying him, molding myself into the perfect woman to stand by his side. I had memorized the map of his face. Every twitch of his jaw, every slight narrowing of his eyes—I could read his true emotions better than he could himself. “I’m just teasing,” I laughed, a light, airy sound that felt empty even to my own ears. “Why so serious?” I slid the invitation back into his hands. “It’s perfect. Go ahead and print them.” Even then, the tension in his forehead didn’t ease. He slid the invitations into his coat pocket, his fingers lingering on the paper. He didn’t leave. “Don’t make jokes like that,” he said, his voice flat and warning. “It’s not funny.” I froze for a split second, then let out a forced laugh. “Come on, Luke. Since when are you so sensitive?” He looked down at me, his eyes dark and heavy. “Gemma is suffering from severe PTSD because of the abusive discipline she faced at that school. Jokes like that will trigger her.” I pressed my lips together, offering a quiet, performative apology. “Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Luke averted his gaze, clearly unsatisfied with my response. “About the engagement party—I’ve decided we’re keeping it on the yacht. Gemma is terrified of open water, so I originally wanted to move it to the country club lawn. But she insisted we stick to your original plan. She didn’t want to ruin your night. So, we’re keeping the yacht.” I nodded slowly. “Okay. Sounds perfect.” Once Luke left, I pulled my laptop back up to resume my call with the coordinator at Elysium Transitions. “Miss Sampson,” the woman’s voice was smooth, highly professional, and entirely devoid of judgment. “Regarding your transition, we highly recommend an active, plausible accident. Because we must map and transfer your neural pathways, memories, and emotional consciousness into your new body, the transition must be seamless. Do you have a preferred method that fits your current life?” I thought of the yacht Luke had just mentioned. The top deck of the custom cruiser sat roughly thirty meters above the dark, icy ocean. “Drowning,” I said, my voice steady. “I was a competitive synchronized swimmer. Falling from a thirty-meter deck into the ocean would easily look like a tragic accident.” “Excellent choice. It fits your narrative perfectly.” “Let’s go with that, then.” I scrolled down the digital contract, reviewing my options for my new life. “What is this section? Grieving families?” The coordinator offered a detailed explanation. “Yes. We often work with parents who have tragically lost their only child and are unable to conceive again. If their psychological profile and biological compatibility match yours, we allow a mutual matching process. If both parties agree, you can step into their lives and become their new daughter.” I read through the fine print, digesting the concept. “So, it’s essentially an adult adoption?” “In a sense, yes. But our process is far more sophisticated. We require a compatibility match of ninety percent or higher to ensure emotional integration. And you have the right to terminate the contract at any stage if you feel uncomfortable.” I listened quietly, a strange warmth blooming in my chest. “Do you have any active profiles that match mine?” “We do, actually. There is one family with a ninety-eight percent compatibility match.” “Send me their file,” I said. “I’d like to see them.” Just as I disconnected the call, our family butler knocked on my door. “Miss Paula, your mother needs you in the home dance studio. Miss Gemma twisted her ankle during her practice, and your mother wants you to examine it.” 2 I hadn’t stepped foot in the home dance studio since the day I tore my Achilles tendon. When I walked in, Gemma was already drenched in a cold sweat from the pain. She was curled up in our mother’s arms, resting her head against Mom’s chest. In Mom’s eyes was a look of tender, desperate worry—a look I had never once received in all my years of broken bones and torn ligaments. My father stood off to the side, his hands trembling with helpless anxiety. When Brody saw me walk in, his first instinct was to yell, though he quickly suppressed the rage in his voice, keeping it to a harsh whisper. “Gemma was trying to learn your ballet routine and twisted her ankle. Massage it for her. You used to handle your own injuries all the time, so you know what to do.” Gemma was a complete novice. She had no basic training, no professional guidance. A sprain was inevitable. I knelt on the cold floor and gently pulled off her thick sock. There was no visible swelling yet, so I lightly pressed around her ankle joint to locate the strain. “Ah!” Gemma let out a piercing shriek of pain. Before her cry could even fade, a sharp, stinging slap landed across my face. The familiar physical shock left me temporarily dazed. My father’s hand was still suspended in the air, his chest heaving with anger. Mom cradled Gemma closer, kissing her forehead. “Oh, my sweet girl. We expected too much from Paula. You shouldn’t have to suffer the way she did.” I clutched my burning cheek, keeping my head bowed. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Brody. It was my fault. I wasn’t careful—” “Paula, shut up,” Brody interrupted, his voice dripping with irritation. “How many times do I have to say this? Gemma is no longer trying to steal your spotlight. Why do you still seize every opportunity to punish her?” I raised my head, looking at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt crossed Brody’s face. When we were kids, whenever I couldn’t solve a mountain of math problems, I would look at him with those exact same innocent, pleading eyes. But he quickly looked away, his voice cold. “Just ice her foot. She doesn’t eat until she can walk again, and neither do you.” I nodded quietly and began to apply the ice pack I had brought. As the cold plastic touched her skin, Gemma flinched, pulling her leg back. Instinctively, I gripped her ankle to keep her still. “Mom… the ice is too cold,” Gemma whimpered, her voice trembling. “It… it feels like the freezing water they threw on me at the correction academy…” Brody instantly kicked my hand away, sending the ice pack flying. “Are you deaf? Go get a fresh towel to wrap it in!” The plastic ice pack skittered across the polished hardwood, making a soft, rolling clack-clack-clack sound before stopping in the corner. My eyes followed it. I stared at the lost ice pack, a realization washing over me like ice water. So… the real Henderson daughter didn’t need to be perfect to be loved, did she? She didn’t need to win trophies, or put her body through agony, or climb to the peak of high society to be protected by her brother and cherished by her parents. She just had to exist. 3 At dinner, Luke arrived. I assumed he was here to discuss the wedding details. Instead, he barely spared me a glance before walking straight toward Brody—or rather, toward Gemma, who was leaning heavily on Brody’s arm. “Let me,” Luke said, stepping in to lift Gemma into his arms. Seeing Luke, the fragile facade of strength Gemma had been holding up finally crumbled. Her eyes welled with tears, and she looked up at him, her lashes heavy with moisture. “Luke…” she whispered. Luke let out a soft sigh, his eyes melting with pity. “Did you try to learn ballet just because you wanted to dance at the engagement party tomorrow?” Gemma nodded miserably. “I wanted the night to be special for you and Paula. She looks so beautiful when she dances… I wanted to share that with her.” She turned her wet eyes to me, her lower lip trembling. “I’m sorry, Paula. This is all my fault…” Before I could even open my mouth to respond, Luke’s sharp, warning voice cut through the air. “Watch your tongue, Paula. I don’t want you repeating any of those cruel, inappropriate comments you made earlier around Gemma.” I forced a small, polite smile. “It’s fine. I appreciate the thought, Gemma. Just focus on resting your ankle.” Luke carried Gemma into the dining room. My custom velvet-upholstered chair—the one that had been reserved solely for me—was pulled back. Luke carefully laid Gemma down on the adjoining sofa, using my custom chair as a footrest for her injured ankle. My hand hovered over the back of the empty chair next to them, freezing in mid-air. “Gemma’s foot needs to be elevated,” Brody explained, his tone dismissive. “You can sit somewhere else.” He glanced at my plate. “Actually, you shouldn’t even be eating tonight. The engagement party is tomorrow. If you bloat, you won’t fit into your custom gown, and you’ll make a laughingstock out of the Henderson family.” I let my hand drop from the chair. “Thanks for the reminder, Brody,” I said softly, stepping back. “I’ll head up to my room. Enjoy your dinner.” As I walked toward the grand staircase, Gemma’s giggles echoed from the dining room. “Look at her walk,” she whispered. “She looks like a stuffed turkey from behind.” “Don’t insult turkeys,” Brody snickered. “Paula only acts high-and-mighty because of her trophies. That custom princess chair she’s so obsessed with? She basically threw a tantrum and forced Mom to buy it after she won her first regional title. It was never hers by right anyway.” Their laughter faded as I climbed the stairs. My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a notification from Elysium Transitions: Miss Sampson, your background check and compatibility match with the Scott family have been fully approved. I texted the coordinator: Can I go see them now? Of course. We have sent the coordinates to your device. You are free to visit them at your convenience. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my keys, slipped out the back door, and drove away from the Henderson estate. The moment I arrived at the modest suburban address, I saw them. They were exactly as their file described: a warm, ordinary middle-aged couple in comfortable, faded sweaters. When they opened the door, they looked startled, but recognition quickly filled their eyes. “You must be Paula,” the woman said, her voice instantly wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Oh, sweetheart, you are even more beautiful in person.” She pulled me into the warm entryway, gently holding my hand. “You’re just in time. My husband and I just finished cooking dinner. Please, come eat with us.” The man came out of the kitchen holding a piping hot plate of homemade lasagna, a shy, gentle smile on his face. “We didn’t know what you liked, sweetheart. But our Gemma… her absolute favorite was always my homemade garlic bread and slow-simmered marinara. I hope you’ll give it a try.” 4 My engagement party to Luke was even more lavish than I had anticipated. My parents had invited every prominent figure in the tristate area. The docks were lined with luxury vehicles, and the yacht itself was a towering, multi-deck monument to excess. I sat in the bridal suite, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. The face looking back at me was mathematically perfect—every strand of hair styled to perfection, every feature painted to highlight the Henderson lineage. For my entire life, I had been molded into the ultimate trophy. I was a product designed to elevate the Henderson brand. “Miss Paula, you look absolutely breathtaking,” the stylist whispered, holding up a delicate pink-and-white diamond necklace that caught the light beautifully. Before she could clasp it around my neck, the door flew open. “Paula!” Gemma burst into the room. She was wearing a stunning, emerald-green silk gown with a dramatic train that swept across the floor. It was easily as expensive and elaborate as my own bridal gown. She spotted the necklace in the stylist’s hands and snatched it away. “Oh, this is gorgeous! It matches my green dress perfectly!” She sat down in front of the mirror, demanding the stylist put it on her. I watched our reflections side by side. She was right. The diamonds looked striking against her fair skin and dark green silk. Luke stepped into the room a moment later. “Gemma, stop playing around,” he said gently, though his eyes lingered on her. “Give the necklace back to Paula. I had a custom emerald piece placed in your suite. Go see if you like it.” Gemma’s eyes lit up. She quickly let the stylist unclamp the necklace and practically skipped out of the room. Luke watched her retreating figure, calling out, “Slow down! Your ankle isn’t fully healed yet!” “I know, I know! You’re worse than Brody!” her voice echoed down the corridor. Only when her footsteps faded did Luke turn his attention to me. He stepped up behind me, took the pink-and-white diamond necklace, and fastened it around my neck. Meeting my eyes in the mirror, a rare, soft smile touched his lips. “You look beautiful tonight, Paula.” I tilted my head, resting my chin in my palm, my gaze locked onto his reflection. “And when am I not beautiful, Luke?” The small trace of warmth on his face vanished. “You are my fiancée, Paula. On a night as important as this, please don’t act like a petulant child. It’s highly inappropriate.” A quiet, bitter laugh slipped past my lips. “You’re right. I won’t say things like that anymore.” The party officially began, and the yacht slowly drifted away from the harbor, heading out into the dark, calm waters of the Atlantic. The grand ballroom was packed to capacity. When Luke and I made our entrance, a collective murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” Luke spoke into the microphone, his hand resting on my waist. “Paula and I grew up together. To call her my fiancée is an honor, and I know this night represents the culmination of everything she has dreamed of…” As he droned on about our history, my mind drifted. The transition window was approaching. It had to be timed perfectly—not a minute too early, not a minute too late. My parents cornered me near the bar a few minutes later, keeping their voices low and sharp. “What is wrong with you, Paula? Do you have any idea how much is riding on tonight?” I knew exactly what Dad meant. My entire existence was a business transaction designed to secure the Henderson-Lance merger. One step out of line, and the illusion of our perfect family would shatter. After the speeches, the music swelled, and Luke led me out onto the open deck for our first dance. Brody stood near the brass railing, holding Gemma close. Gemma whispered something in Brody’s ear, and Brody immediately caught Luke’s eye, giving him a subtle nod. They had grown up together; they shared a silent language. Luke understood the signal instantly. As the waltz reached its dramatic crescendo, Luke suddenly let go of my hand, pushing me outward to finish my spin. At the exact same moment, Brody gently pushed Gemma forward, guiding her into Luke’s waiting arms. Luke caught her seamlessly, continuing the waltz without missing a single beat. This yacht had been my eighteenth birthday present from Luke. I knew every inch of its polished wood and brass. I knew precisely how to use the momentum of Luke pushing me away to drift backward toward the low railing. The heavy brass bar hit my lower back. My three-inch stilettos caught on a deck groove, throwing off my balance. My body tipped backward into the empty, cold night. As I plummeted toward the dark ocean, thirty meters below, a sharp gasp erupted from the few onlookers on deck. Someone rushed toward the railing, but Brody and Luke quickly stepped in, blocking their path. “She’s a synchronized swimmer,” Brody said dismissively, his voice carrying over the wind. “Paula can swim in her sleep. She’s just throwing a tantrum. She’ll climb back up in a minute.” As the freezing water rushed up to swallow me, a calm, synthesized voice echoed in my mind: “Elysium Transition protocol initiated. Please prepare for consciousness transfer. Old identity memories will be archived and replaced.”

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At two in the morning, while a tired ER resident was looping black thread through the split skin on my forehead, my husband, Luke, updated his Instagram. The photo showed his colleague, Lexie, slouched in the passenger seat of his car, cradling a warm paper cup. His caption was dripping with mock-exasperation and cheap affection: “Chauffeur duty, round twenty. Too drunk to remember where she parked. I swear I don’t know what to do with her.” It had been posted at one-thirty. Exactly when my sedan was crumpled on the shoulder of the dark interstate, thirty miles outside the city, and I was clutching a blood-soaked napkin to my brow, dialing his number for the thirty-third time. I had bargained with God in the dark. I told myself that if he answered just once, I would turn down the massive promotion at our Chicago headquarters. I would stay here, in Boston, and fight for our marriage. But he never answered. He only sent a single, clinical text. “Lexie is too drunk to get home safe. I’ll be back later. Be good.” He was terrified for Lexie’s safety. He had no idea I was stranded on a pitch-black stretch of highway with a shattered windshield and a head wound. In our single year of marriage, he had played late-night chauffeur for Lexie twenty times. I had worked late sixty-eight times. He had never picked me up once. My mind drifted back to the worst of those nights—when a drunk stranger had cornered me in our office’s underground parking garage. I’d been so terrified I’d locked myself in my car and called the police. At the station, the female officer had looked at me with deep pity and asked, “Where is your husband, sweetie? Why isn’t he here?” I had forced a polite, empty smile. “He’s slammed at work. I can handle it.” Yes. I could handle it. In seven days, I would board a one-way flight to Chicago. The divorce papers waiting on my laptop were simply the final, quiet surrender. 1 At two-thirty, I finally pushed open our front door. I pulled off my heavy knit beanie, exposing the stark white gauze taped over my temple. The wound throbbed with a dull, sickening rhythm. The living room lights were blazing. Luke was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, a wet microfiber cloth in his hand, meticulously dabbing at a stain on a delicate silk scarf. Hearing the door, he looked up, a familiar crease forming between his brows. “Why are you working so late?” Then his eyes caught the bandage, and he froze. “What happened to your head?” “I bumped it,” I said, my voice entirely flat. “How are you so careless?” He didn’t ask how I had bumped it. I looked at the women’s scarf in his hands and felt too exhausted to explain. An hour ago, I had been rear-ended by a hit-and-run driver on a dark highway, my face slammed into the steering wheel. I had called him thirty-three times. And he had been cleaning silk. “You picked up Lexie tonight?” I asked, watching his face. Luke’s expression remained perfectly innocent. He lifted the scarf slightly. “Yeah. Her department was entertaining clients. She’s young, got pressured into drinking too much. She couldn’t even find her car in the dark. If I didn’t go, and something happened to her, I’d never forgive myself. The company wouldn’t either.” He paused, looking down at the fabric. “She ruined her scarf when she got sick. I brought it back to see if I could save it.” He had thought of everything for her. He treated her cheap silk with more tenderness than he treated my life. “I called you thirty-three times,” I said. My voice was so calm it surprised me. Luke blinked, pulling his phone from his pocket. He stared at the screen, a flicker of genuine guilt crossing his face. “I’m sorry, Novia. I was driving, and I didn’t want to get distracted, so I put it on silent. Next time you work late, let me know. I’ll come get you.” Next time. In a year, he had driven Lexie twenty times because “it wasn’t safe for a girl.” For my sixty-eight late nights, his only contribution had been a text telling me to “be careful.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I simply walked past him toward the bedroom. “Get some rest,” I whispered. “I’m tired.” As the bedroom door clicked shut, my phone buzzed. It was an email from the HR director in Chicago. “Dear Novia, your transfer paperwork is officially finalized. We look forward to seeing you in seven days. Please let us know if you need assistance with relocation.” I stared at the screen and typed a two-word reply: “Confirmed. Thanks.” Seven days. That was all that remained of this marriage. 2 I woke up the next morning to a violent wave of nausea. The pain in my forehead was sharp, radiating down into my neck. I forced myself out of bed, holding the wall for support. In the hallway, Luke was already fully dressed, putting on his watch. “Luke,” I called out, my hand gripping the doorframe. My knuckles were white. “I’m incredibly dizzy. Can you take the morning off and drive me to the clinic?” He turned, and when he saw my pale face, a flash of real concern came over him. “Of course. Let me grab my keys.” A tiny, foolish ember of warmth flared in my chest. Then his phone rang. The moment he swiped the screen, his face hardened into panic. “What? Someone hit your car?” “Lexie, hey, stop crying. Deep breaths. I’m coming right now.” He hung up and looked at me, his eyes full of frantic apology. “Novia, Lexie just got rear-ended on her way to work. The other driver is some aggressive guy, and she’s hysterical. She’s just a kid, she’s terrified. I need to handle this. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to take you, okay? Just sit down.” He squeezed my shoulder, grabbed his keys, and was out the door before I could speak. Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two. By ten o’clock, the apartment was silent except for the ticking clock. I sent him a text: “Are you coming back?” Ten minutes later, a voice memo arrived. In the background, I could hear Lexie’s soft, theatrical sobbing. “Novia, I’m so sorry. The guy is being completely unreasonable, demanding a cash settlement and threatening her. Lexie is a wreck, and the police are taking forever. If you’re really feeling terrible, can you just call an Uber to the clinic? I’ll Venmo you for it later.” I stared at the message and let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. I didn’t reply. I booked my own ride to the hospital. The CT scan revealed a mild concussion. The doctor handed me a prescription and warned me to rest, strictly forbidding any physical or mental strain. As I sat in the sterile waiting room waiting for my medication, a familiar voice called my name. “Novia? What happened to you?” It was Gavin, a close friend of ours from college. He hurried over, his brow furrowed as he looked at my bandage. “Just a clumsy accident,” I said with a weak smile. Gavin looked around the empty waiting area. “Where’s Luke? Why isn’t he here with you?” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I actually just walked past the bistro across the street. I could swear I saw him in there with a young girl.” “He’s busy,” I said, my voice perfectly steady. “A colleague had an emergency and he had to help out. I can handle this myself.” After Gavin left, I stared up at the flourescent lights of the hospital ceiling. I realized then that when disappointment reaches a certain depth, you don’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. You just go numb. 3 Four days left. I had been cold, distant, and quiet. Luke, finally sensing the shift, had booked a table at a newly starred French bistro downtown—a place I had wanted to try for months. He said he wanted to make up for our missed anniversary. That evening, I put on the deep red dress he loved and arrived early. A few minutes later, the door opened. The polite smile I had prepared froze on my face. Luke walked in, and trailing right behind him was Lexie. “Hi, Novia! I am so, so sorry to crash your date!” Lexie wore Luke’s oversized trench coat over her shoulders. She looked tiny, fragile, and utterly innocent. “Luke told me it was your anniversary, and I told him absolutely not, but my roommate locked me out of our apartment tonight and it’s freezing. Luke was worried I’d catch pneumonia, so he insisted I come.” She tilted her head, her eyes wide. “You’re not mad at him, are you? You’re always so understanding.” Luke pulled out a chair for her, then gave me an apologetic shrug. “Novia, she was shivering on the street. I figured it’s just one more plate. We can still have a nice dinner.” I stared at the trench coat she was wearing. I had bought it for Luke just last month. “The coat…” I murmured. “Oh, Lexie was freezing,” Luke said dismissively. “I had it in the back seat. Here, let’s order.” He handed the menu to Lexie. She immediately selected three highly spiced, heavy dishes. Then she gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror. “Oh my gosh, Novia, can you even eat spicy food? I’m so selfish, I only ordered what I like. Luke, why didn’t you stop me?” Luke laughed it off. “It’s fine. Novia’s had a terrible appetite lately. Maybe some spice will wake up her stomach.” A cold weight settled in my chest. Only yesterday, I had texted him a photo of my discharge papers and medical instructions, explicitly stating I had to avoid spicy and irritating foods due to the concussion nausea. He hadn’t even opened the message. “Luke, I can’t eat spicy food,” I said, my voice devoid of warmth. He blinked, the realization slowly hitting him. “Oh… right. Your head. I’m sorry, Novia, I’ve had so much on my mind I forgot. Server, can we change those—” “Don’t worry about it,” I interrupted. Lexie’s lower lip began to tremble. “Novia, are you mad at me? If I’m ruining your night, I’ll just leave…” She scrambled to stand up, her movements dramatic enough that her arm caught her water glass. The glass tipped, splashing warm water directly onto her hand. “Ow!” she gasped. Luke immediately grabbed a handful of napkins. He snatched her wrist, his face tight with concern. “Are you okay? Is it burned? Does it hurt?” I sat there, watching them. I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a glass. While Luke was frantically dabbing at Lexie’s hand, I quietly stood up, grabbed my purse, and walked out of the restaurant. The autumn wind outside was freezing, but this time, I didn’t look back. 4 The morning of my departure. I woke up early, folding my remaining clothes and placing them neatly into my twenty-eight-inch suitcase. In the living room, Luke was adjusting his tie in front of the mirror. “You’re going out? On a Saturday?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah, Lexie is moving today. Her moving company is sketchy, and she has a ton of boxes. I promised I’d help her out.” He put on his coat and walked toward me, reaching out to pat my shoulder. I took a step back, slipping away from his touch. I looked into his eyes, giving him one last, silent test. “Luke, I feel really sick today. My head is spinning, and I have this awful tightness in my chest.” My voice was quiet, dead serious. “Can you stay? Just today. Stay with me.” Luke paused. For a second, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. Then his phone rang. The moment he answered, Lexie’s crying voice leaked through the speaker. “Luke… the movers are demanding double the price, and they’re getting aggressive… I’m so scared, please get here…” The hesitation vanished from Luke’s face instantly. “Don’t argue with them,” he said into the phone. “I’m on my way.” He hung up and turned to me, his voice returning to that patronizing, soothing tone. “Novia, you heard her. She can’t handle those guys alone. Just take your meds and rest. I promise I’ll be back by noon to check on you, okay?” I watched his hurried retreat. The final, microscopic spark of hope in my heart went cold. “Okay,” I whispered. The front door slammed shut. I walked over to the coffee table and placed the signed divorce agreement right in the center, where he couldn’t miss it. Next to the agreement, I laid out two documents. One was my ER diagnosis for a concussion and head trauma. The other was the police report from the hit-and-run on the highway. As I dragged my suitcase out of the apartment lobby, I popped the SIM card out of my phone, snapped it in half, and tossed it into the trash can on the corner. Three hours later, my flight touched down in Chicago. I slid a new SIM card into my phone. The moment it connected, iMessages began to flood the screen in a violent, unending stream.

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In my previous life, I was finally recognized and brought back into the Sterling family. My biological brother, Joseph, accused me of causing Grace’s illness to protect her, his adopted sister. My biological parents believed him and kicked me out. Not long after, I died on the streets from my illness. When I woke up again, I was back on the day I was taken into the Sterling family. Joseph stood in front of my parents, pointing at me and saying, “Mom, Dad, she’s not my sister at all!” My parents gave me a disappointed look, then turned and walked away. I stood there, didn’t pull out the sapphire necklace that could prove my identity, and quietly walked back to the orphanage. Twenty years later, I became a leading internal medicine specialist in the country. The man sitting opposite me handed over a medical record, his voice trembling: “Doctor Harper, please, I beg you, save my sister.” I paused when I saw the name. My gaze fell on his haggard face. After staring for a long time, I finally looked at the man and said, “I’m not taking this patient.”

Joseph froze. “What did you say?” I closed the medical record and pushed it back to him. “I’m not taking this patient.” The consultation room fell silent. Joseph stared at me, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter. Grace, in the wheelchair, looked a bit pale, but it was clear she had decent energy. Twenty years. They’d lived truly well. Joseph had become the heir to the Sterling Group, and Grace was the apple of their eye, cherished by the entire family. And they probably would never recognize that the woman sitting before them, the Head of Internal Medicine wearing glasses, was the real daughter they’d locked out of their home all those years ago. “I know you’re the most authoritative internist, and it’s not easy to get an appointment with you.” “But don’t worry, money isn’t an issue. As long as you can cure Grace, name your price.” Joseph placed a black card on my desk, held between two fingers. I glanced down, then looked up at him. “The hospital has its rules. And I’m not taking her case because her condition falls outside my specialty.” “What do you mean?” Joseph was stunned again. “I’ve made inquiries. You’ve even brought back patients with late-stage heart failure.” “Grace only has a heart murmur and occasional angina. Are you telling me you can’t treat her?” Grace coughed twice, tugging on Joseph’s sleeve. “Joseph, it’s fine… I don’t want you to have to beg and grovel for me…” This act was identical to how she looked in my previous life when she falsely accused me of pushing her down the stairs. Joseph’s heart ached for her. He squeezed her hand, then looked back at me, his gaze like daggers. “Dr. Harper, is it not enough money? Fine, I’ll propose something else.” “If you accept Grace as a patient today, tomorrow, the Sterling Group will donate thirty million to your Cardiology Department for new equipment.” “Is that condition good enough?” A few intern doctors nearby gasped, but I didn’t even bat an eye. “Mr. Sterling, when I choose a patient, I look at the illness, not the money.” “I’m not treating your sister’s condition. Take the card and leave.” Joseph scoffed, his eyes filled with extreme disdain. “You just don’t have the confidence to cure Grace, do you? ‘Top expert’? I bet it’s all hype!” “Joseph, stop talking, my chest hurts…” Grace clutched her chest, breathing heavily. “Grace!” Joseph panicked, quickly motioning for the bodyguards to push the wheelchair. As he reached the door, he turned back and glared at me. After they left, I touched the cold sapphire necklace in my pocket. The next morning, right after I finished my rounds, Director Davies, who was usually all smiles, walked into my office with a grim expression. “Harper, you’re fired.” I stopped writing and looked up at him. “Reason?” “Reason?” The director snorted coldly. “What kind of attitude did you have towards Mr. Sterling yesterday? As a doctor, do you have any ethics, any humanitarian spirit? To refuse a seriously ill patient!” My gaze shifted downwards, catching sight of the brand-new watch on his wrist, which hadn’t been there yesterday. I understood. “How much did he pay you?” My tone was flat. The director’s face changed, then flushed with anger. “What nonsense! This is the hospital board’s decision! Pack your things and get out now!”

I didn’t say anything. I took off my lab coat, folded it, placed it on the back of my chair, picked up my car keys from the desk, and turned to leave. Joseph stood by a pillar in the middle of the hospital lobby, wearing sunglasses, one hand casually in his pocket. He was clearly waiting for me. Seeing me walk over, hugging a cardboard box, he took off his sunglasses, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Dr. Harper, leaving work so early?” “Yesterday, when you rejected me, you seemed pretty tough, didn’t you? How is it that today you can’t even keep your job?” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Harper, starting today, no hospital in this country will dare to hire you.” He watched me, waiting to see a look of panic on my face, waiting for me to beg. But I didn’t. I just looked at him calmly. He frowned, seemingly displeased with my reaction. “However, I can offer you one last path.” “Come to my house, be Grace’s private doctor, on call twenty-four hours a day.” “Cure her, and I guarantee you’ll be set for life. What do you say?” I suddenly chuckled. “Joseph.” He paused. “Do you really think your family is the only one with money in this world?” I didn’t waste any more words, walking past him and out of the hospital. He didn’t know that I wasn’t just the Vice Director of this hospital or a famous internist in this city. I was also Mr. Allegri’s only adopted daughter, the head of the Allegri Medical Group. I came to this public hospital merely to hone my skills and complete the assessment Mr. Allegri had set for me. In the entire national medical field, the Allegri family was the true power. Blacklist me? Ridiculous. That evening, as I was scrolling through my phone, a trending topic about me popped up: Top Expert Refuses to Save Life, City Central Hospital’s Dr. Harper Accused of Bribery, Cold-Blooded Demon with No Medical Ethics. A video was going viral across the entire internet. It showed: Grace sitting in a wheelchair, her face haggard and distressed, constantly clutching her chest. Joseph was beside her, pleading with me to treat her: “Dr. Harper, please save my sister, we have money…” Then the camera cut to me, showing only a cold image: “I’m not taking her. Take the card and leave.” Immediately after, an account claiming to be an “insider” broke the news: “I’m an internal employee at City Central Hospital. This doctor is no good at all. She secretly demands money from patients!” “The Sterling family didn’t pay her enough, so she refused to treat the patient! The director found out about her misconduct and fired her this morning!” The comment section below was almost entirely filled with insults directed at me. “Viper! How can a woman like this even be a doctor?” “Even capitalists have more conscience than her! This doctor has no heart! Demanding a thorough investigation!” “Heard she got blacklisted across the internet, serves her right! Such scum should just die!” Grace also posted a tweet. The accompanying photo showed a pale, almost bluish wrist with an IV drip. The text read: “Perhaps my life is counting down, but I still believe there’s light in this world. I don’t blame Dr. Harper; it’s just my bad luck.” Countless people swarmed my account. My DMs were full of curses, morphed death photos, and other hateful messages. I scoffed internally. It was Director Davies who took Joseph’s bribe to fire me, yet he turned around and smeared my name. I’d experienced the same trick in my previous life. Grace had an “episode,” and he blamed it on me, then edited videos and fabricated lies to post online, ruining my reputation completely. I called Joseph. It rang several times before he picked up. His scornful and triumphant voice came through: “What? Dr. Harper finally giving up?” I didn’t respond to that. I just said, “Joseph, I agree to treat Grace.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a burst of even more arrogant laughter. “If you knew this would happen, why resist in the first place?” I cut Joseph off. “But I have one condition. I want this consultation live-streamed across the entire internet.” The laughter on the other end ceased abruptly. “Live stream?” His voice turned cold. “Harper, you’re being trashed online right now. Are you live-streaming because you haven’t been insulted enough?” I looked out the window, a slow smile forming on my lips. “A live stream. In front of millions of people, I’ll humbly treat your family member. Isn’t that what you want?” “I can use this opportunity to publicly admit my mistakes and find a way out for myself.” Joseph was silent. After a few seconds, he let out a highly amused hum. “Harper, you really know how to play the game.” “Fine, since you want to publicly embarrass yourself, I’ll allow it.” “However,” I shifted my tone, “we must keep the live stream a secret from Grace. She’s a patient; knowing so many people are watching might make her emotional.” “If anything happens to her because of that, I won’t be responsible.” Joseph didn’t think much of it and readily agreed. The next morning, I arrived at the consultation location Joseph had set: the VIP ward floor on the top of City Central Hospital. Two familiar faces stood at the door. A man and a woman, both in their fifties. The man was tall, wearing a dark gray cashmere coat. The woman wore an elegant navy trench coat, exuding grace. “You’re Dr. Harper?” Eleanor, Joseph’s mother, asked in a gentle voice. I nodded. “That’s me.” She looked me up and down, then nodded slightly. “I’m Grace’s mother. I’ve heard about you.” “Dr. Harper, Grace is a child we raised since she was small. We are sincere in inviting you here today.” She took a business card from her bag and offered it to me. I didn’t take it, and she didn’t seem bothered. “Cure Grace, and fame and fortune are no issue.” “I’ll take care of you being fired from City Central Hospital.” “And I can guarantee that the Sterling Group’s resources within the national healthcare system will be at your disposal.” “This is the Sterling family’s sincerity.” I glanced at her. Unfortunately, I lacked none of what she offered. “Mrs. Sterling, I’m here to treat a patient today. We can discuss other matters after the consultation.” Eleanor’s eyes flickered but quickly returned to composure. Richard, Joseph’s father, cleared his throat when he heard me say that. His gaze wasn’t as gentle as Eleanor’s. “Harper, what my wife said is her intention.” “My intention is, if you can cure Grace’s illness, our family will not treat you unfairly.” He paused. “Your reputation is already in tatters. This live stream today, which you requested, is your last chance.” “If you can’t cure her, there will be no place for you in the entire medical industry.” I just stood there, meeting his gaze for three seconds. “Mr. Sterling, whether I can cure her or not, we’ll only know after the examination.” With that, I walked past him and pushed open the door to the ward. He frowned slightly, as if pondering something. Then he and Eleanor followed me in. Once inside, they didn’t say another word, but sat quietly to the side. Joseph was sitting on the sofa, peeling an apple. He glanced at me, then his eyes flickered towards the air conditioning vent, and then at the decorative ornament on the bedside table. He must have hidden the camera there.

At this very moment, a live stream channel was already open online. The title read: Cold-Blooded Medical Expert Dr. Harper Publicly Submits, Live Consultation Session. Because the Sterling Group was actively promoting it, coupled with the lingering heat from yesterday’s trending topic, countless netizens were fuming. Less than ten minutes after starting, millions of people flooded in, and the comments scrolled like a blizzard. “This scumbag finally backed down! Capitalism did a great job this time!” “Let’s all watch how this quack begs for mercy!” “My heart aches for Grace, having to face this demonic doctor.” Grace lay on the hospital bed, her face still haggard and pale. Seeing me, she flinched. “Joseph…” She had no idea that millions of eyes were watching her. “Don’t be afraid. She’s here to treat you this time.” Joseph handed her the apple, then stood up and walked over to me. Knowing he was on camera, he adopted a very arrogant posture. “Harper, start now. Hurry up and treat Grace.” “If you can’t cure her, you’ll be out of the medical field forever.” I ignored him, walking straight to the medical cart beside the bed. As I put on my gloves, I gave him a cold glance. Joseph gritted his teeth, but mindful of the camera, he restrained himself from reacting, just letting out a cold scoff. He stepped back, hands in his pockets, and the room fell silent. With my back to the hidden camera, I picked up the stethoscope and placed it on Grace’s chest. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” Grace was very cooperative, her breathing especially heavy, her brows furrowed. The comments again filled with sympathy for her and insults for me. I put down the stethoscope and picked up the stack of medical reports the Sterling family had accumulated from various hospitals over the years. Late-stage heart failure, myocardial ischemia. The diagnoses were increasingly severe. I flipped through them page by page, my brows slowly drawing together. After about five minutes, I threw the stack of reports onto the bed with a smack. Taking off my gloves, I turned around. “Grace, your condition is indeed quite difficult to treat.” Joseph scoffed towards the camera. “What do you mean? Aren’t you an authority? Even you can’t cure her? I think you’re just a quack!” The comments started flooding in again: “Quack! She really is a quack!” “She’s just trying to shirk responsibility! The Sterling family should blacklist her quickly!” I ignored them and said softly, “Because your sister isn’t sick at all.”

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Seven years of marriage, and Ethan Thorne had no idea that everyone in my family, except for me, was completely unhinged. My father was a ruthless mob boss, and my brother was a twisted psychopath who collected bodies. After my mother’s death, they raised me as their princess. They always said anyone who dared hurt me would be stripped to the bone, sliced piece by piece, and left to wish for death! On the day I went into labor, Ethan’s little assistant, Sophia Davis, managed to call away every single doctor in the hospital because of a… well, a torn private part. I clutched his hand, terrified. “Ethan, please, get the doctors back. If my family finds out what you’re doing to me, you’re dead!” But Ethan Thorne just sneered and shook off my hand. “Still lying! I’m a billionaire now, even the mayor answers to me. Why would I be scared of them?” “Last time, Sophia fainted from low blood sugar, and you forced me to attend a meeting with our partners. Now it’s your turn to give birth, can’t you just suck it up?” He straightened up and said sternly, “Since you’re so ‘considerate of the bigger picture,’ just wait until Sophia recovers, then give birth. You won’t die!” The ward door slammed shut with a bang, and excruciating pain instantly ripped through my abdomen. Trembling, I fumbled for the emergency trigger button hidden in my necklace pendant, pressing it with my last ounce of strength. Ethan Thorne had no idea that hitting that button wouldn’t bring regular bodyguards. It would unleash the Shadow Raven Mercenaries, feared across the globe!

Ethan Thorne didn’t return until late into the night. Dragging my body, which was steadily leaking blood, I painstakingly crawled to the door. I looked up and saw Ethan’s secretary, Mark Stevens, leaning against the wall, his eyes as cold as ice. “Please… call a doctor… my baby… my baby is dying…” I reached out to grab his pant leg, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Mark kicked my hand away, his disgust practically dripping from his eyes. “All the doctors in the hospital have been called by Mr. Thorne to treat Miss Davis. Madam should just wait patiently here.” The blood beneath me flowed more and more, and my stomach felt like it was being sliced by a dull knife, twisting with spasms of pain. “I’m about to give birth! What kind of injury could she possibly have that’s more important than a woman giving birth?!” He sneered. “Madam, you didn’t know? Last night, Mr. Thorne had quite a session with Miss Davis, and her private parts were severely torn. Mr. Thorne was heartbroken and immediately ordered all doctors to stay by her side without leaving.” “You… said what?” My mind went blank with a buzz, as if I’d plunged into an ice-cold abyss. The excruciating pain in my stomach couldn’t even overpower the suffocating tightness in my chest. I clutched his pant leg tightly, pleading humbly. “Please call Ethan Thorne. Tell him to come see me and the baby, even if just for a moment…” “Don’t bother, Madam.” Mark’s voice was chilling. “With Miss Davis, a beauty, in his arms, why would Mr. Thorne care about you? You and this child, if you don’t die, just bear it. If you do, it’s what you deserve.” His words were like a sharp knife slicing into my heart. Yes, Ethan Thorne wouldn’t care about me. He was completely consumed by Sophia now, so how could he possibly come save me? I opened my mouth, wanting to say more. But the severe blood loss made my vision suddenly go black, and I completely passed out.

In my dream, I felt like I was falling into a bottomless abyss. When I opened my eyes again. I saw Dad crouching by the villa pool, tossing a bloody piece of meat into the water. The fish were eating until their bellies were round, their scales glowing with a strange, eerie red hue. He turned, smiling at me, and said those fish, fed on human flesh, had the most beautiful scales, perfect for my bookmarks. My brother leaned outside the glass door, showing off a bracelet he’d made from human bones. Back then, I had just experienced my mother’s sudden death right in front of me and was most afraid of the dark. No matter how late Ethan’s work dinners ran, he would always come home early to stay by my side, waking up before dawn the next day to go to work. I casually mentioned I liked the starry sky, and he immediately spent millions to buy an observatory in the city outskirts, giving it to me as a birthday gift. A wealthy heiress, wanting to be with him, offered a multi-billion dollar project, pressuring him to break up with me. To give me a sense of security, he immediately blocked her and declared publicly, “The only woman I will ever love is Eleanor Moretti.” I believed him. So I kept it from my family, accompanied him as he built his fortune from scratch, acted as his shield against countless schemes, and even proactively cut ties with my family for him. He hugged me countless times, saying, “Ellie, once the company goes public, I’ll take you on a world tour and pamper you like a princess.” But now? That man who swore he’d never betray me was watching me bleed to death in a hospital bed, all for another woman! In a haze, I heard a baby’s cry. The next moment, I was violently pulled back to reality. Looking at Mark Stevens beside me, I forced myself to speak through the pain. “Mark, my father personally picked you to be my bodyguard all those years ago. You know exactly what my family is capable of.” He didn’t speak. But his trembling hands gave away his terror completely. “What do I want to do?” My pale face twisted into a sneer. “My father and brother will be here any minute. If you don’t get the doctors now, when they arrive, you’ll have nowhere to be buried!” Mark instantly trembled all over, scrambling to go find a doctor. Just as he reached the door, he seemed to remember something. He suddenly let out a chilling laugh, then turned and viciously slapped me across the face! A sharp smack echoed, and my head snapped to the side from the blow. “This is Mr. Thorne’s private hospital, built just for you! It’s deep in the wilderness – not even satellites can find it, let alone any divine intervention!” I gasped for breath, staring at him, weak but with fierce resolve. “You’re too late, all of you. I already sent out my location.” His face instantly turned ghostly pale, his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor, his eyes wide with terror as if he’d seen a ghost. “This… this isn’t real…” I gritted my teeth, every word causing me to break out in a cold sweat from the pain. “Go get the doctors now. When my father arrives, I’ll put in a good word for you, and you might just get to keep your worthless life. Otherwise… next year this very day will be your death anniversary!” Mark was terrified out of his mind. He fumbled for his phone, scrambling on all fours, and bolted out like a madman. I lay limp on the bed, the cramping in my stomach like a knife twisting inside me. But the knot in my stomach finally loosened a bit.

When Mark finally pushed the doctor in, seeing me covered in blood, he instantly exploded! “Are you insane?!” He practically stomped his foot, pointing at my belly in exasperation. “This pregnant woman is almost gone! The baby’s in a breech position. Five more minutes, and it’ll be a double tragedy!” The doctor quickly felt my pulse, then pried open my eyelids and shouted, “Quick, get the delivery kit! And the strong stimulant! She needs to stay awake. No more complications!” A needle jabbed, and cool medicine flowed in. My mind went blank for a moment, then instantly cleared. Finally, my baby and I were saved… The doctor had just picked up a scalpel when the ward door was kicked open with a bang! Sophia’s mother, Brenda Davis, suddenly burst in and roughly pushed the doctor to the ground. “Ethan and my daughter were at it until dawn last night! Her wound tore open again, and now she can’t even stand! I order you to go save her right now, or I swear I’ll make sure you’re run out of this city!” She turned and glared at me, her face practically overflowing with triumph. “My daughter is Mr. Thorne’s favorite trophy wife! He said every doctor in this city has to prioritize her!” She then scornfully kicked my stomach, her eyes filled with utter disdain. “Eleanor Moretti, don’t think that just because you have a face that could launch a thousand ships and helped Mr. Thorne build his fortune from scratch, you’re something special! Look at what you are, do you really think you deserve to be Mrs. Thorne?” I convulsed in pain, but with my last ounce of strength, I spat fiercely at her greasy face. Brenda’s face instantly turned green with rage. She raised her hand to strike me. “You wretched btch! Today, I’ll teach you a good lesson for my daughter and show you who the real mistress of the Thorne household is!” Mark, terrified, pounced and desperately held her back. “Madam is almost gone! If you lay another hand on her, she and the baby will die!” “So what?” She let out a twisted laugh, calling two bodyguards from outside the door. “Hold her down for me! You dare steal my daughter’s man? Today, I’ll show you what it means to wish you were dead!” Two burly men rushed in, pinning my arms and legs down. I was utterly powerless, able only to watch as she picked up a solid wooden stick from the corner. “Childbirth is always painful for women, isn’t it? Whining like a stuck pig, so delicate!” “So what if the baby’s breech?” She viciously patted my face, then jabbed the wooden stick directly into my stomach. “Just roll it a few times with this stick, and the baby will come out, won’t it?” My pupils constricted, and I struggled desperately. “You wouldn’t dare! Ethan will kill you if he finds out!” She laughed even crazier, raising the wooden stick and brutally rolling it over my swollen belly! “My daughter is Mr. Thorne’s darling! You and this bastard child die, and he’ll be delighted!” The moment the stick pressed against my belly, I screamed in agony. My internal organs felt dislocated, and the baby inside struggled violently for a moment, then went completely still! “No! My baby!” I screamed with heart-wrenching anguish, tears mixing with sweat as they streamed down my face. She ignored me, continuing to roll the wooden stick over my stomach again and again. Each strike was full of force, my belly burned, and my insides felt like they were being shredded. I convulsed all over, my consciousness fading! Mark was terrified, cold sweat dripping, his legs trembling nonstop. “Stop hitting her! She’ll really die if this continues!” “Get lost!” Brenda kicked him away, then raised the wooden stick, aiming to jab it at my private parts. “Might as well finish the job! Make sure you can never have children again, then let’s see if Mr. Thorne still wants you!” Just as the stick was about to fall again, a furious roar came from behind her. “Ellie!!”

Donovan Moretti stepped forward and violently shoved Brenda Davis aside. “Mr. Thorne… why are you here?” The blood I’d lost soaked through the sheets, and my stomach was red and purple from the beating, swollen to a horrifying size. Ethan looked at me, his eyes bloodshot, then whipped his head around and roared. “Who gave you the nerve to touch my woman and my child?!” Sophia, her face streaked with tears, tugged at Ethan’s sleeve. “Ethan, please don’t blame my mom. If you’re going to punish anyone, punish me. It’s all my fault, I couldn’t stop her…” Sophia cried breathlessly, then suddenly changed her tone. “But Ellie always hits and scolds me, saying I’m a vixen and not good enough for you… When my mom came to visit, she even hit my mom! I don’t know what I did wrong, why does Ellie hate me so much?!” As she spoke, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing a few faint old scars on her arm. “These are all from when Ellie used to hit me. I never dared to tell you, afraid it would make things difficult for you. My mom was just so upset, she lost her head for a moment, she really didn’t mean it…” Ethan’s eyes instantly turned bone-chillingly cold. He stared at me intently, his voice filled with disappointment. “Eleanor Moretti, I thought you were just spoiled, but I never imagined you were so vicious!” Those words were like an ice pick plunging into my heart! And with them, my last shred of hope for him shattered into dust! Ethan’s gaze hardened. “It seems I’ve pampered you too much, allowing you to become so lawless! You need to learn a lesson and remember your place! Whatever Sophia wants to do to punish you, you’ll take it!” I stared at him, unable to believe it. “Ethan, are you blind?! They were trying to kill our baby!” Seeing this, Sophia sobbed softly. “Ethan, Ellie is just too distraught…” I lay in a pool of blood, my heart filled with despair. “Dad… Silas… where are you…?” As the last tear slipped from my eye, I stopped struggling. “BOOM—!” A sudden thunderous crash erupted from outside the door! The main door was blasted to splinters, wood shrapnel flying everywhere! My father, Donovan, burst in, covered in blood. His eyes swept over Sophia and a stunned Ethan. When they finally landed on my barely-breathing form, they instantly turned scarlet. “Looks like my fish have fresh bait again!” My brother, Silas, strolled in behind him, his eyes fixated on Sophia. “That face… if you took it off to make a lampshade, it would be absolutely perfect!”

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A week before Christmas, I fired everyone. Because in my last life, Jenny suddenly grabbed my hand, sobbing and pleading: “Audrey, please, take me home quickly! My mother ate the chocolate cake from your holiday gift box and now she’s dying!” I panicked instantly. I rushed her home and gave her a hundred thousand dollars in emergency cash. But when we arrived, her mother had already passed away. The very next day, her husband was outside my company holding signs protesting: “Killer Company, Justice for My Mother!” The video went viral, and I became a target of online bullying across the entire internet. My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reed, were also implicated. Netizens constantly threatened them, sending harassment texts and even death threats. But her entire family remained relentless. They claimed I was responsible for her mother’s death and demanded two million dollars in compensation. Eventually, I had a mental breakdown and jumped off a bridge, ending my life. When I opened my eyes again, I threw out all the prepared cake gift boxes. Back in my office, I said calmly: “Today will be everyone’s last day of work. Please go to accounting now to settle your final pay.” 1 The moment I finished speaking, the previously quiet office instantly erupted. “Ms. Reed, what do you mean? You’re kidding, right?” “Why?! Didn’t we just meet our targets this month? You’re just firing us?” “Yeah, exactly! Christmas is right around the corner. If you fire us now, where are we supposed to find new jobs?” Amidst the noisy protests, Jenny clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with confusion. She grabbed my arm. “Audrey, what is this about? Why are you firing us?” Her expression was identical to my past life. I stared at her face. In my last life, I was completely fooled by this very look. My heart had been in turmoil then. I immediately drove her home, even stopping on the way to withdraw a hundred thousand dollars in cash to give her. When we arrived downstairs at her house, the doctor who had rushed there shook his head. Her mother was already gone. The next day, she and her husband, Kevin, were blocking my company entrance, holding protest signs. “Poisonous Cake Killer! Justice for My Mother-in-Law!” A dozen relatives were behind him. Some were live-streaming on their phones, others were throwing paint on my company’s door. The video went viral on social media that very day. In no time, it racked up over 500 million views. All my personal information was leaked online. Every single comment in the comments section cursed me. My partners called that day, terminating our collaborations. I didn’t even get a chance to explain. My company’s funding dried up, and I went bankrupt overnight. Kevin even showed up at my house, causing trouble. “You killed my mother-in-law, and my wife is now suffering from mental anguish.” “You need to compensate us two million dollars. Otherwise, your whole family won’t have it easy.” My parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reed, were verbally assaulted outside our apartment building, and our front door was plastered with printed threat notes. It caused my parents to have heart attacks, and our family became pariahs. Jenny lay in bed, crying and posting videos accusing me. “Audrey, I trusted you so much. How could you kill my mother…” Under the endless online bullying and real-life pressure, I had a mental breakdown and jumped off a bridge spanning the river. Now, Jenny was still clutching my arm. Exactly the same as my past life. I pulled my arm free from her grasp. “It’s my company. I’ll close it whenever I want. Do I need to explain myself to you?” Jenny froze. Her tears still clung to her eyelashes, and her expression instantly stiffened. Brenda from the planning department quickly spoke up, agitated. “Ms. Reed, how can you say that?! Jenny is usually the hardest worker!” “Besides, you’re firing all of us right before Christmas. What are we supposed to do, starve?” I smiled. “Didn’t I say accounting would give you severance pay? Is that not enough?” Brenda’s mouth twitched, but she remained silent. Jenny regained her composure and started crying even harder. “Audrey, is there something I did wrong? I can change! Please don’t fire me…” 2 I looked at her, my lips twitching. “Like I said, the company is closing. Besides, you’re not the only one being let go.” Seeing that I wasn’t falling for her act, her face darkened, and she shouted: “But we just won the Best New Business of the Year Award last month!” This prompted others to agree. “Yeah, Ms. Reed, this is really unfair. You don’t want to pay bonuses, so you just fire everyone?” “Exactly! I was counting on this month’s paycheck for rent!” “Audrey, please reconsider. Don’t be so impulsive.” All eyes turned to me. Jenny reacted even faster. “Audrey, if you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave. I really won’t force you…” Her voice was soft and trembling: “But everyone has families to support. How can you be so heartless?” As she spoke, she seemed about to collapse. Brenda quickly rushed over to steady her, then shot me a glare. Mike also chimed in: “Exactly. Running a company isn’t playing house. You can’t just close it down like that. Do you have to be so ruthless?” Mr. Davies, the HR manager, slowly took a sip from his mug. His voice was neither loud nor soft, but just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Some people look mighty when receiving awards, but when it’s time to pay out, they suddenly want to disappear. ‘Closing down’? Who would believe that?” I didn’t say anything. I founded this company, and I considered our employee benefits to be among the best. We never lacked in material perks or care. Every holiday, including employee birthdays, we unfailingly gave everyone a $200 gift card along with a carefully selected gift box. I watched this group of people with cold eyes. But in my past life, Brenda was the first person to leak my address in the neighborhood forum. She even told neighbors, “Our boss is vicious and cruel. You should stay away from her.” Later, when someone dug up my parents’ information, Mr. Davies added, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. That whole family is rotten.” Now they stood here surrounding me. As if I truly were some cold-blooded, ruthless evil boss. There wasn’t a ripple in my heart. I simply said flatly: “I have nothing else to say. You can go.” Just then, Jenny’s phone rang. As soon as she answered, her face instantly turned pale. “Mom! Mom, what’s wrong?! Don’t scare me!” The people around her started to panic. “What’s going on?” someone asked. I was momentarily dazed. After the incident in my past life, I quickly learned everything about allergies. I read dozens of books and watched hundreds of educational videos. The videos explained that peanut allergy is an immediate allergic reaction, and severe cases can cause anaphylaxis and suffocation within minutes. But they had insisted it was because the cake I sent was problematic, and I had felt incredibly guilty and heartbroken. It wasn’t until after I died and floated in the air that I saw Jenny and her husband Kevin counting money at home. 3 “You’re so clever. Knowing your mother had a peanut allergy, you deliberately swapped out the original cake in the gift box for one with peanuts.” “Now look, the company’s ruined, and we extorted two million dollars.” Jenny had said with a laugh. “Well, she was the boss, and she was so easy to fool.” It turned out, from the very beginning, they had been waiting for me, a perfect mark, to fall into their trap. Jenny’s cries snapped me out of my memory. Jenny grabbed Brenda’s hand. “My mother ate the company’s gift box cake, and it had peanuts! My mother has a nut allergy, and now… now she’s dying!” “Audrey! What were you thinking?! I kindly took your discarded cake home for my mother to eat. Why did you poison her?” At that, the office fell silent for a few seconds. “Oh my god! The gift box Ms. Reed sent had a problem?!” Mike quickly followed up. “I knew something was up when Ms. Reed suddenly threw out all the gift boxes today! She was trying to destroy evidence!” “This is outrageous! Even if she didn’t give them to us, Jenny taking one home caused this. It’s a complete disregard for human life!” “I knew something was off when she suddenly wanted to fire us. She knew what she did and was trying to escape!” I stood there, watching Jenny. She kept repeating the same phrase: “My mother collapsed after eating it. What do I do?” Brenda hugged her, comforting her while glaring at me. “Ms. Reed! You need to give us an explanation right now! If anything happens to Jenny’s mother, you’ll be a murderer!” “Exactly! Give us an explanation!” “Call 911! Call 911 right now!” Mike pulled out his phone, making to dial 91

I frowned, taking a step closer to Jenny. She slumped to the floor, looking up at me. I looked at her, my voice flat. “Jenny, are you saying your mother ate a peanut-containing cake from my gift box and is now unwell?” Jenny’s sobs abruptly stopped. She looked at me, confused. Brenda and the others were still in the dark, and they started to protest again. “Ms. Reed, what are you doing?! Are you threatening her?” “Let’s talk this out. Why are you getting so close?” I straightened up, ignoring their shouts, and calmly looked at Jenny. “Did you call 911? Your mother needs emergency medical attention right now, not for you to be crying here.” Jenny seemed reminded, fumbling for her phone in her pocket, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t even unlock it. Mike quickly snatched the phone and dialed 911. Jenny was helped up by her colleagues, stumbling as she rushed home. Before leaving, she shot me another look, pure venom, as if she wanted to tear me apart. Less than two hours after she left, my phone started buzzing wildly. I opened TikTok, and “Evil Boss Poisons Mother” was the top trending topic. Clicking on the first live stream video, I saw Kevin standing downstairs from our company. “Ruthless Company, Snake-Hearted Boss, Poisonous Cake Murder, Inexcusable!” Jenny was wailing on the ground, surrounded by a dozen relatives. The spectacle was even more dramatic than in my past life. The number of live stream viewers still topped a hundred thousand. 4 “Damn! Another food safety issue! They have to investigate thoroughly!” “I think I’ve seen this boss before. She’s a pretty young woman. How could her heart be so cruel?” “What’s her company called? Where’s the address? We have to go after her!” In the live stream footage, Brenda and Mike were talking to the camera, exaggerating everything that had just happened. “Jenny usually works the hardest, and she’s such a good person. I can’t believe something like this happened to her.” “Our boss, Audrey Reed, she suddenly wanted to fire all of us today. I think she had a guilty conscience and was trying to escape!” “Exactly! She bought cheap, uncertified cakes that killed someone, and she wants to run away without paying compensation!” “Right! Jenny is usually so filial. She kindly brought company perks home, and now her own mother is gone. It’s too tragic!” A ripple of uproar spread through the crowd. “She’s fleeing from justice!” “Drag her out! Make her go to jail!” “She doesn’t deserve to live!” I watched the farce calmly from upstairs. My phone rang. It was my mother, her voice tearful: “Audrey, is what they’re saying online true? Come home quickly. Don’t stay out there. A lot of people are saying they’re coming for you…” “Don’t worry, Mom. They won’t have time to look for me soon.” I hung up and dialed another number. “You can start.” Kevin, with a large group of people, stormed straight up the stairs. The moment Kevin saw me, he lunged, but was intercepted by the police who had arrived just in time. “Audrey Reed! You murderer! My mother’s dead! She died after eating your cake! It had peanuts!” Jenny was behind him, crying uncontrollably. “You’ll pay for my mother’s life! Two million dollars! Not a penny less!” I looked at them and suddenly smiled. I took a USB drive from my bag and dangled it in front of everyone. Then I looked at Jenny and asked, word by word: “You said the cake I sent had peanuts?” Jenny insisted. “That’s right! It was you! You killed my mother!” I nodded and continued. “But the custom holiday dessert boxes I ordered came in vanilla, chocolate, and berry flavors. To prevent any accidents, I specifically instructed the manufacturer not to include any nut ingredients, and every batch had a quality inspection report.” “So tell me, how did your mother eat peanuts and suffer an allergic reaction?” Jenny froze, but quickly she asserted again. “My mother died after eating your gift box! Don’t try to fob me off with some fake report!” “A lousy report could be faked anywhere!” “If you weren’t guilty, why would you suddenly fire all your employees? I think you’re trying to flee from justice!” At that, everyone nodded in agreement. The lead police officer also frowned. I didn’t care, looking up at Jenny and smiling. “Jenny, you really won’t admit it until faced with undeniable proof. Then take a look at this.”

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My wife, after three months apart, pushed me away impatiently when I tried to get close. “Just got back and already focused on this? I’m sick of it.” She ran off right after saying that, and I instantly realized I’d been too pushy. I knew Ava had always been distant when it came to intimacy, and I admit I lost control this time. So I sent dozens of apologies, but my messages went unanswered. Just as I was about to go look for her, my phone buzzed with a video. In the video, Ava was kneeling in front of a man. His back was to the camera, so I couldn’t see his face, but he felt vaguely familiar. “Please, just take me, okay? See, I really didn’t let him touch me just now. He’s been starving for a month, but I only want your touch.” Watching Ava, completely different from how she was with me, all my long-buried memories came flooding back. Before, when I tried to hold her hand, she’d say, “Don’t you get it? I don’t like physical intimacy. Why do you insist on disgusting me?” Even our intimacy was rationed, a scheduled, monthly affair. At first, I felt frustrated, but eventually, I just accepted it. I never imagined, though, that it was all a lie. She wasn’t frigid; she just didn’t want me close. The thought made me sick to my stomach. It seemed she’d forgotten how our marriage even came to be.

I immediately sent Ava a SnapChat message: [Ava, do you remember who you are?] My tone was flat, devoid of emotion. Ava didn’t play dead this time. She replied instantly: [I’m your wife, but I’m also a person. If your sex drive is that strong, I don’t mind you going out to find someone to release it with.] I laughed bitterly at that reply. I immediately sent the video over: [Ten minutes. I want a reasonable explanation. Otherwise, our alliance ends here.] Yes, we were just an alliance marriage. She was just leveraging my affection to act completely without restraint. But I wasn’t desperate for her either. Since she chose another man, as her husband who once liked her, I naturally had to grant her wish. After sending the message, I went straight to the bathroom. When I came out, Ava was already back. Ava, with a slightly flushed face, reached out to hug me. I felt disgusted and instinctively recoiled. “Care to explain?” “Honey, I lost a game, and that was my punishment.” Ava batted her eyelashes at me. “Not being intimate with me was the punishment, or kneeling in front of him and begging him to take you was the punishment?” I looked at Ava expressionlessly. Faced with my questioning, Ava’s face instantly hardened. “Ethan, are you trying to humiliate me? I told you it was a punishment, and you’re still being so aggressive. Don’t you believe me?” “Then tell me, how am I supposed to believe you?” I tossed my phone onto the table. Another video was playing on the screen. I’d asked my assistant to investigate it before I showered. The man in the video was Caleb, an intern Ava managed. From his back, he seemed to be the same man Ava was kneeling for. I remembered Caleb had joined the company six months ago. Back then, Ava had told me, “Honey, Caleb is my mentor’s son. We have to give him a chance.” I hadn’t thought much of it, but I never expected she’d repeatedly ditch me because of him. In this video, the two of them were tightly embracing. I wanted to see how Ava would explain this. “You’re tracking me?” Ava’s face changed drastically the moment she saw the video. “I’m your wife, not your servant. How dare you track me? Even if I’m your wife, can’t I hug someone else?” “Ethan, your mind is so twisted.” Ava angrily turned and left. The room fell silent with her departure. Actually, our families were quite well-matched in terms of social standing, and Ava and I had known each other since childhood. Although Ava was the one who initially proposed the alliance, I wasn’t against it.

“Ethan, I know your family picked someone else for your alliance, and I don’t like the person my family picked for mine. Rather than marry that person, I’d rather marry you.” Ava then listed ten benefits of marrying her. I thought about it, and she made some good points, so I turned around and married Ava. For three years after the wedding, we got along well. Our recent frequent friction was mainly because both families wanted children. This was something Ava and I had agreed upon. I just hadn’t expected my kindness to make her get a little too comfortable, taking advantage of my kindness. I absolutely detest deceit and betrayal. Since Ava was showing signs of it, she couldn’t stay. I contacted my assistant to organize all current joint projects between our families. Divorce was fine, but it couldn’t affect the company. By the time I finished all that, it was past midnight. I crashed into bed and slept. Ava didn’t come home all night. I was woken up by noise in the morning. Ava glared at me, full of indignation. “I told you Caleb is just my assistant. Why do you have to target him? You’re the head of the company, don’t you think your behavior is beneath you?” My morning grumpiness wouldn’t allow Ava to say more. “Shut up.” I roared, and Ava instantly froze. After a long moment, she finally spoke, “You, Ethan, don’t you think you’ve done anything wrong? “Do you know that because of you, Caleb is now being criticized for using connections?” “Isn’t he?” I’d seen Caleb’s resume. With his qualifications, getting into our company wouldn’t have been easy. “I already told you, I only let Caleb in because of my mentor! But do you know how many projects he’s brought to the company since then?” Ava, at this moment, was like Caleb’s fiercest protector, completely biased towards that man. I listened as Ava painstakingly detailed the projects Caleb had supposedly closed. If I wasn’t mistaken, those projects were already secured; Caleb had only gone to deliver the contracts. Thinking of this, I grew interested. “Oh really? Then let Caleb prove himself. The North City project is currently being negotiated. As long as he closes it, I guarantee I won’t bother him.” “You said it!” I nodded, and Ava rushed out in a hurry. From that day on, Ava started staying out every night. Each time I asked, she’d say, “Busy.” She seemed to forget that I was the CEO, and she was only a VP. How could a VP be busier than me? I didn’t expose Ava, but I didn’t expect her to completely disregard my reputation. That night, I had a meeting with Mr. Davis, and Ava actually showed up. I was confused when she raised her hand and gestured for Caleb to join our table. “Mr. Davis, this is Caleb from our project department. He’s my assistant, and he’s been in charge of our company’s projects recently. He’s very young and promising. From now on, all your company’s projects will be handled by him.” Ava said all this without any regard for my presence. Mr. Davis was a shrewd one. He looked at me, then at Ava, and finally his gaze settled on Caleb. “The youth truly are promising.” But Mr. Davis didn’t agree to Ava’s proposal. She became anxious and whispered to me, “Ethan, Caleb is about to close the North City project. If Mr. Davis’s projects are now managed by Caleb, he won’t have to feel inferior anymore.” “Get out.” I couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone in the company knew Mr. Davis’s project was crucial for our company’s revenue in the second half of the year. I had warned everyone, “The most important thing right now is Mr. Davis.” No one had messed up during the project negotiations, yet I never expected Ava to pull this stunt at the very end.

My voice was soft, but Ava pretended not to hear, continuing to boast about Caleb to Mr. Davis. Caleb, too, was brimming with confidence, nodding repeatedly. “Yes, Mr. Davis, rest assured, if the project is entrusted to me, I will definitely satisfy you.” “Oh, really? How will you satisfy me?” Mr. Davis was in a playful mood, and I didn’t stop him, just watching Caleb make a total fool of himself. Once Caleb had talked himself hoarse, Ava interjected, “Mr. Davis, to show our sincerity, I’ll drink to that.” Ava blurted it out without thinking, then quickly downed several glasses. This made me think of our wedding day. My friends were teasing us into drinking, and Ava’s face had darkened. “I’m allergic to alcohol.” After that, Ava never touched a drop of alcohol in front of me. Now, she wasn’t allergic anymore. Mr. Davis, sensing something was off, finally looked at me. Without a word, I gave my assistant a look, and Ava and Caleb were escorted out. Before leaving, Ava looked at me resentfully. “You said you’d let Caleb be in charge! What’s the meaning of sabotaging it now? Are you trying to force me to side with Caleb?” Ava sounded like she’d completely lost her mind, and her words solidified my resolve for a divorce. After Ava was gone, Mr. Davis and I were finally able to discuss the project properly. An hour later, I saw Mr. Davis off and went home. When I arrived, I found Caleb there. He was curled up on the sofa, looking utterly wronged. “Mr. Grey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, but Ms. Black had too much to drink, and I didn’t dare leave her alone. I was afraid something might happen to her.” “Fine, you can take care of her then.” I left that remark and went straight upstairs to the master bedroom. I didn’t bother with Ava and Caleb that night. The two of them were quite “considerate,” sleeping together. I pushed open the guest room door and saw them lying on the bed. I calmly took pictures. Ava was startled awake and looked at me unhappily. “What are you doing?” “Taking commemorative photos of my wife and her intern.” Only then did Ava see Caleb beside her. But Ava didn’t seem to find anything wrong with it. She even complained about me. “Can’t you see Caleb is still resting? He took care of me for so long last night. What’s wrong with him sleeping a little longer now? You’re so selfish, Ethan.” The old saying was indeed true: never argue with a fool. Perhaps Ava genuinely believed that sleeping in the same bed with another man in front of her husband wasn’t a big deal, but I cared. So I immediately called my parents and told them I wanted a divorce. My parents only asked one question: “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “Alright. Just don’t let it affect the company.” During this time, I had already contacted Daniel, Ava’s elder brother. I hinted at my intention to divorce. Daniel was instantly shocked. “You cheated?” I rolled my eyes at Daniel. “Your sister cheated.” Daniel was speechless. I warned Daniel, “Don’t tell Ava about this yet. As long as it doesn’t affect our projects, Ava and I can get a secret divorce.” Daniel finally agreed. And now, only the last step remained. While preparing the divorce papers, I also traced the account that first sent me the video. It was Caleb. It seemed he was truly desperate to take my place. That day, I stumbled upon Caleb’s video account. I never expected him to be a small influencer.

His account documented his daily life with Ava. Netizens affectionately called them [The Internet Boss and Subordinate Love Story]. Everyone wanted to see their office romance. And through those posts, I confirmed that Ava and Caleb had been secretly involved for a long time. One video, in particular, caught my attention. It was Caleb’s birthday, and Ava was with him the entire time. Their intimate interactions made even me, an outsider, envious. If I weren’t Ava’s husband, I would have applauded them. That day was also my birthday, but Ava had said, “You don’t celebrate your birthday every year. How did you celebrate before we got married? You can’t live without me now? I have something very important to do. You can find anyone you want to celebrate your birthday with.” Now that we were about to separate, I didn’t feel much about it. After all, this relationship started as an alliance. If it were true love, I’d be devastated. I thought Ava might do something extreme for Caleb to get the project, but I never expected her to risk her own reputation. She told the North City project manager, “Caleb is the most important person to me, more important than my husband. If this project is assigned to him, our family will prioritize working with your company in the future.” The other party was indeed hesitant and immediately called me and Daniel to confirm. We both denied it flatly. Ava called me, furious. “Ethan, do you think your dirty tricks will make me give up? I’m telling you, targeting Caleb is targeting me! If you keep this up, we’re getting a divorce!” “Fine, let’s get a divorce.” I immediately sent over the divorce papers I had already prepared. Ava’s tone changed completely after seeing the papers. “You… you want to divorce me? Ethan, we’re an alliance. Do you know how many projects our families have tied together? What good will divorcing me do you?” “That’s none of your business. After all, even for an alliance, I don’t like being associated with filth.” “You…” Ava felt utterly insulted. She wanted to retort, but I sent her the latest video. Since we were divorcing anyway, to prevent Ava from causing trouble, I naturally had to investigate properly. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I started digging. Ava and Caleb were even more intimate than I’d imagined. She had even pulled a lot of strings for Caleb after he joined the company. And this latest video was of them sleeping together. After watching the video, Ava was silent for a long time. After a while, she stammered an explanation. “I was drunk that day. If Caleb hadn’t helped me, I might have been… with other men…” “Enough.” I didn’t want to hear such absurd claims. “Sign the papers and get out.” With that, I hung up. I thought things had reached a point where Ava would quietly sign the divorce papers, but I never expected Ava to pull a desperate stunt. My assistant called just as Mr. Davis, the North City representatives, and I were signing the contract. All three of us received calls simultaneously. We keenly sensed something was wrong and picked up at the same time. The next moment, my face changed drastically. “Could you repeat that?”

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