Category: English

1 When the hospital called to demand my daughter’s overdue medical fees again, my ex-husband finally stepped in and cleared our entire balance. He looked at our daughter, whose lips were tinged a sickly blue with her heart condition, his eyes swimming with guilt. “Let’s get remarried. The child is innocent.” I didn’t hesitate. I merely nodded with absolute apathy. After we remarried, I stopped picking fights with his high school sweetheart. Our daughter, Lily, also stopped desperately trying to steal her father’s attention away from his sweetheart’s daughter. When his grand drone-and-fireworks show for his sweetheart’s birthday made local headlines, my daughter and I didn’t shed a single tear or make a scene. Even when we ran into them at the hospital, Lily and I merely kept our heads down and walked past them briskly. We became exactly what he had always wanted: quiet, generous, and perfectly behaved. Yet, his eyes welled with tears as he asked, “Honey, why don’t you check my phone anymore?” “Lily, why don’t you want Daddy to stay with you anymore?” … After finalizing the remarriage paperwork, I walked back to my department. Cyrus followed close behind me as we reached the door of the private pediatric suite reserved for Lily. The door was slightly ajar, and the sound of soft laughter drifted out. I pushed it open. Evelyn was sitting right by the bedside, peeling an apple for Penny. “Gillian?” Evelyn jumped up, looking flustered and helpless. “Please don’t misunderstand. Penny was having such bad chest pains earlier, and Cyrus said it was fine to use this room temporarily. We’ll move out to the corridor right now. We absolutely won’t take Lily’s spot.” Her eyes welled with tears instantly as she clutched the hem of her cardigan, though her feet didn’t move an inch. I offered a polite nod, remaining entirely silent. “Daddy!” Penny cheered from the bed, tossing the blanket aside to throw herself into Cyrus’s arms. Evelyn quickly held her back, looking terrified of angering me. “Penny, how many times has Mommy told you? That’s Uncle Cyrus.” Cyrus looked at me, his expression deeply awkward. Seeing that neither Lily nor I had any reaction, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes. The bedside table was piled high with Penny’s toys. Evelyn bit her lower lip. “Penny is afraid of bitter medicine, so I had to use these toys to coax her into taking it…” The air in the room seemed to freeze. I felt a gentle tug at the hem of my nurse’s scrub top. Lily’s lips were a sickly shade of blue. She looked up at me, her voice barely a whisper. “Mommy, I can use the extra bed in the hallway. I don’t hurt that much.” My heart clenched violently, a suffocating ache spreading through my chest. In the past, whenever Lily’s chest pains flared up, she would writhe in agony across the mattress. She would cry, smash whatever she could reach, and scream at the top of her lungs for her father to hold her. Back then, Cyrus would always scold me with a cold face, saying that as a head nurse, I was spoiling our daughter into a brat. But now, even though her little hands were ice-cold and her breath trembled with pain, she kept it entirely bottled up. She had finally realized: only children who are loved have the luxury of showing weakness when they are sick. Cyrus frowned. Evelyn hurriedly started packing up their things. “Gillian, please don’t be angry with Cyrus. We’re leaving right now…” She held Penny, trembling as though I were some kind of heartless monster. In the past, I would have been shaking with rage at her manipulative, fragile act, turning on Cyrus in an explosive argument. But today, I just stood there quietly, my eyelids barely fluttering. Cyrus spoke up suddenly. “Evelyn, pack your things and take Penny out. Lily’s heart can’t handle any noise.” Evelyn froze, her tears spilling over. Penny began to sob loudly. “Daddy, I feel sick. I want Daddy to stay with me!” Cyrus hesitated, looking at Penny with pity, then glanced at me. I curled my lips into a faint, empty smile. “Since you care so much about Penny, Mr. Porter, it’s only right that you go keep her company.” He froze, clearly not expecting me to say that. He opened his mouth but found no words. Finally, he muttered, “I’ll be back later,” and yellowed under the weight of his guilt, quickly leaving with the mother and daughter. The room finally fell silent. I expertly helped Lily change into her hospital gown and hooked her up to the monitors. A short while later, my phone screen lit up. It was a message from Evelyn. Gillian, I’m so sorry. Penny had another heart spasm just now, and she wouldn’t cooperate with the doctors unless Cyrus held her hand. He might not be able to make it back tonight. Attached was a video. In the video, Penny was sweetly holding Cyrus’s hand, calling him “Daddy” while Cyrus wiped the sweat from her brow with absolute tenderness. I didn’t even bother to reply. I locked the screen and went back to checking Lily’s blood pressure. Cyrus didn’t return until noon the next day, just as I was feeding Lily some liquid food. I didn’t demand to know where he had spent the night. Hysterics would only make him think I was being unreasonable, and ultimately, Lily would suffer for it. Once Lily fell asleep, Cyrus handed me a velvet box. Inside was a dazzling pink diamond ring. In the past, I would have wept with gratitude, thinking he had finally recognized my sacrifices. Now, looking at that ring, a wave of profound nausea washed over me. I didn’t even reach out for it. I used to love shiny things. But I could never forget the first time Lily was fighting for her life in the pediatric ICU. While I was signing one critical condition notice after another with trembling hands, Cyrus was nowhere to be found. When he finally rushed over, he threw a cold diamond necklace at Lily as an apology. At that exact moment, he had mobilized his company’s entire medical network and special clearance to secure rare, imported targeted drugs for Penny, who was only suffering from mild chest tightness. From that moment on, these expensive jewels became nothing but trash stained with my daughter’s blood and tears. Seeing me refuse to take it, Cyrus’s expression stiffened. “Didn’t you always love this brand?” I took a step back, my voice flat. “Thank you, but I’m not used to wearing things like this anymore.” His hand remained frozen in the air, his face darkening. That afternoon, when Lily felt a bit better, I took her to the mall. I wanted to pick out a thank-you gift for the wife of the hospital board director, who had helped us immensely with fundraising. Just as we stepped into the high-end baby boutique, we ran into Evelyn and her daughter. Cyrus was standing right there, pulling out his black card to pay. The sales associate beamed. “Mr. Porter is such a wonderful father. This limited-edition doll looks absolutely beautiful on Princess Penny.” Penny held the doll triumphantly, glaring at Lily. Cyrus turned around at the sound of footsteps, his face instantly flushing with panic. “Gillian, I was just passing by…” I pretended not to hear, pulling Lily straight toward the gift section on the other side. Once I picked out a gift and headed to the register, Cyrus blocked my way. He grabbed an incredibly expensive castle playset from the top shelf and tried to shove it into Lily’s arms. “Lily, let Daddy buy this for you, okay?” Lily shrank back, shaking her head in fear. Penny ran over, pointing at the castle and shrieking, “I want that! Daddy, I want that!” For once, Cyrus pushed Penny’s hand away, saying coldly, “This is for Lily.” Penny stared in shock, and Evelyn’s face paled. Cyrus furrowed his brow, kneeling to look at Lily. “Why don’t you want it? Didn’t you use to love fighting for these toys?” Lily cast a timid glance at Penny, hiding her hands behind her back. Her voice was barely a whisper. “If little sister wants it, she can have it. I have to learn to share.” It was as if Cyrus had been struck by lightning. He froze, completely paralyzed. He suddenly remembered: every time Penny snatched away Lily’s life-saving nutritional supplements, leaving Lily gasping for air and crying, he had scolded Lily with those exact words. Seeing his face go entirely pale, a small, vindictive satisfaction bloomed in my chest. I bypassed him, holding Lily’s hand as we walked out of the store without looking back. Cyrus and I used to be the golden couple everyone envied. I was the youngest head nurse at a prestigious metropolitan hospital, and he was the self-made CEO of a thriving medical equipment company, Apex MedTech. Everyone said we were a match made in heaven, and I believed our happiness would last forever. That was until Lily was diagnosed with a severe congenital heart defect at two years old. I watched over her bedside night and day, growing hollow and exhausted. It was during this fragile time that Evelyn returned to the country. She brought Penny, who suffered from the same congenital heart condition, and knocked on Cyrus’s office door. At first, Cyrus only visited them occasionally. Later, he sent his company’s latest portable monitoring devices directly to Evelyn’s apartment. He even began finding excuses to cancel the weekend plans he had promised Lily, spending all his free time with that mother and daughter. I grew suspicious and confronted him. He merely pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Evelyn is raising a sick child all on her own. She doesn’t understand medical equipment. What’s wrong with me helping her out?” I wanted to argue, but seeing the red veins in his eyes, I swallowed my words. My understanding, however, was only met with worse neglect. When Lily needed a special nutritional formula to stabilize her condition, Cyrus approved the entire stock from his company’s warehouse for Penny, even though there was plenty of inventory. I couldn’t take it anymore. We had a screaming match at home. He shattered a glass on the floor, pointing a finger at my face. “Gillian, that’s enough! You practically live at the hospital, can’t you even take care of your own daughter? Penny has no one to rely on! Can you stop being so incredibly selfish?” In that moment, I felt a deep, piercing chill. I was fighting death itself to save my daughter’s life, while my husband was busy pitying another woman’s child for having no one to rely on. The final blow came on Lily’s third birthday. Lily suffered acute heart failure, and the monitors in the resuscitation room wailed frantically. The doctor told me to immediately secure the emergency defibrillator his company had recently imported; it was Lily’s only hope. My hands shook as I dialed Cyrus’s number. Once, ten times, thirty times… Every single call was coldly declined. I collapsed in despair outside the resuscitation room, my face covered in tears and sweat. When I chanced to look up, I saw the television in the hospital lobby broadcasting a live news feed. It was a lavish charity gala called “Guardian Angels of the Heart.” On the screen, Cyrus stood in a tailored suit with Evelyn in a designer gown beside him, looking like a picture-perfect couple. Facing a barrage of camera flashes, Cyrus announced with deep emotion: “As the CEO of Apex MedTech, I am establishing a ten-million-dollar fund for congenital heart defects in Penny’s name. We will ensure no sick child is left without medicine.” The irony was like a rusty knife plunging into my chest, tearing my flesh apart. My daughter was gasping for air on a cold hospital bed, unable to even cry. My husband was under the spotlight, spending millions to play the savior for another woman’s child. I dragged myself off the floor, staring at the bloodstains on my white scrubs. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I ran out of the hospital, hailed a cab like a madwoman, and drove straight to the gala. I broke past the security guards, reeking of antiseptic and stained with blood, and charged directly onto the red carpet. The camera flashes went wild. I shoved Evelyn away from Cyrus, pointing a finger at her. “What kind of saints are you pretending to be?! Evelyn, you are draining my daughter’s blood to feed your bastard child!” Evelyn shrieked, gracefully collapsing to the ground, shrinking behind Cyrus in terror. “Gillian, please don’t hit me… it’s all my fault…” The surrounding media immediately erupted into whispers. Cyrus’s face turned livid, his pride utterly shattered. “Gillian! Have you lost your mind?!” He raised his hand and slammed a brutal slap across my face. The sheer force knocked me to the floor. My ears rang, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I held my burning cheek, looking up at the man I had loved for seven years in complete disbelief. Cyrus looked down at me, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “When I was starting my business and had nowhere to turn, Evelyn’s parents saved my life! I am repaying a debt of gratitude! As a medical professional, you don’t even have a shred of basic empathy. Acting like a common hysteric here… I was truly blind to have married you!” That single slap completely killed the last dying ember of hope in my heart. I spat out a mouthful of blood and let out a cold laugh. “Fine, Cyrus. Let’s get a divorce.” We signed the papers the very next day. But I never expected Cyrus’s cruelty to extend to a total annihilation of my life. Shortly after the divorce, my upcoming promotion to Assistant Director of Nursing was secretly blocked and given to someone else. Next, my salary and performance bonuses were slashed to virtually nothing. I knew it was Cyrus using his influence in the medical network to punish me. Just when I was on the verge of being unable to pay for Lily’s next month in the ICU, a miracle occurred. The hospital finally matched a perfect donor heart for Lily! I fell to my knees that night, weeping and praying to every deity I could think of. But the cruel reality crushed me: I couldn’t afford the exorbitant surgery and transportation fees. While I was desperately begging everyone I knew for loans, Cyrus intervened like an act of god. He threw an immense amount of money and leveraged his connections with the hospital board to bypass all procedures. He took that life-saving heart, the one meant for Lily, and forcibly had it transplanted into Penny instead! Cyrus had absolutely no idea that the child forced to give up the donor heart due to a lack of funds was his own flesh and blood. When I found out and ran to the operating theater like a madwoman, the green light indicating a successful surgery was already glowing. In that moment, I experienced a despair that shattered my entire world. I bit my lip until it bled, my tears running dry, leaving nothing but an agonizing, visceral hatred. The memory faded. I sat quietly by the bedside, touching Lily’s pale, cold face. If I didn’t remarry him, Lily wouldn’t survive until the next donor match. I swallowed my tears and blood, put on a mask of compliance, and dialed Cyrus’s number to ask him to take us back. Now, I felt absolutely nothing for this man. Whether he slept with Evelyn or bought Penny mountains of gold was none of my concern. As long as he transferred the funds into Lily’s medical account every month, he could rot in hell for all I cared. I would treat him like a dead man.

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After we tied the knot for the second time, I stopped asking questions about Ross’s life. If he took his childhood sweetheart on a trip, I didn’t throw a jealous fit. If he stayed out until dawn, I didn’t blow up his phone. Even when I found his little friend’s silicone bra petals discarded in our bathroom. I simply packed them into a neat little gift bag and reminded him to take them back to her. Ross furrowed his brow, his voice edged with frustration. “Are you quite done throwing a tantrum?” 1 I looked up at his flushed, angry face, genuinely confused about what had set him off this time. Ross looked away, rubbing his temples with an exhausted sigh. “Sophie got blackout drunk at the corporate dinner last night. She lives alone, so I had no choice but to bring her here to sober up.” “She took a shower this morning and ordered fresh lingerie through a courier. She just forgot the petals by accident.” He gave me that same helplessly exasperated look I had seen a thousand times before our divorce. “I’ve told you over and over again. We grew up next door to each other, and now she works for my firm. Her mother begged me to look out for her. Can you please stop being so petty?” I calmly pressed the little paper bag into his chest. “I’m not mad. I just wanted you to return her things. Besides…” I flashed a sweet smile. “I promised I would trust you unconditionally from now on, didn’t I?” It was like punching a cloud. A flicker of absolute shock crossed Ross’s face. He stared at me intently, searching my eyes for any trace of sarcasm or hidden rage. “…You mean that?” I offered a perfect, polite smile and broke eye contact. “Of course.” After all, you already showed me exactly what it costs to doubt you. Hearing my answer, the tension drained from Ross’s shoulders. He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his voice turning incredibly soft and affectionate. “Fiona, since you came back to me… you’ve been so wonderfully well-behaved.” “Come to the company gala with me tonight. Please?” I brushed him off effortlessly. “I think I’ll pass. You always hated mixing business with your private life. I’d only get in the way.” Before I could finish, the arm around my waist tightened like a vice. Ross’s voice was perfectly level, stripped of all emotion, but my instincts instantly picked up on his displeasure. “You used to cling to me everywhere I went. You used to say you had to supervise me to make sure no other women got too close.” I let out a soft laugh, turning around to cup his face. “Like you said, that was the old me. I trust you now. There’s no need to play the jealous wife.” His expression darkened instantly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but I ignored his shifting mood and leaned in, my tone dripping with honey. “Plus, a friend already asked me to go shopping and catch a movie tonight. I can’t cancel on him now.” “Honey, could you wire a million dollars to my account?” Ross didn’t say a word. He just stared at me, his eyes swirling with dark, complicated emotions. After a long moment, a humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Fine.” He was about to say something else, but the electronic lock on the front door suddenly beeped and clicked open. Sophie strutted into the foyer wearing a skirt so short it bordered on scandalous. Her face morphed into a mask of exaggerated surprise. “Oh! Fiona, you’re back. Since you and Ross just signed the remarriage papers, I totally didn’t expect you to move back in so fast.” Ross glared at her, dropping his hands from my waist. “Barging in here without knocking. Do you need something?” Sophie immediately bounced over to him, grabbing his arm with a sickly sweet pout. “The gala is tonight, and I still haven’t picked out my dress! Come with me to the VIP boutique to help me choose. Please?” Ross didn’t answer her. Instead, his gaze locked entirely on me, waiting for my reaction. I simply picked up my designer bag from the sofa and strolled casually toward the door. “My friend is texting me to hurry up. I’ll leave you two alone. I hate playing the third wheel.” With my hand on the doorknob, I paused and popped my head back inside. “Oh, right. Honey.” A smug, knowing smirk flickered across Ross’s face. He looked like a man who had finally proven his point. But then I beamed at him and delivered the punchline. “Don’t forget to wire that million dollars. Have fun!” I pulled the heavy oak door shut behind me with a solid thud, not sticking around to hear his reply. The world outside was perfectly quiet. As I walked down the manicured stone path through the front gardens, the bright smile melted off my face, replaced by a mask of frozen apathy. Sitting in a dimly lit restaurant that evening, I refreshed my Instagram feed and saw a new post from Sophie. It was a candid shot taken inside an exclusive boutique. Ross was sitting on a velvet sofa in the background, his eyes practically glued to her exposed, bare back. I double-tapped the photo to leave a like. Less than five minutes later, the post was deleted. A text from Ross popped up on my screen. “Are you done with your date? Are you home yet?” I stared at the words, letting the silence stretch out. Ross and I had been together for eight years. We fell in love naturally, but the massive gap in our social standing always left me feeling insecure. He was old money, and I was just an aspiring artist. That crippling inferiority complex reached its absolute peak the day Sophie entered the picture. At first, I actually bought Ross’s excuses. I truly believed she was just a naive, sheltered girl from his childhood country club circle who needed help navigating the real world. But that supposedly innocent girl managed to make Ross, a man who worshipped his work, break his own professional rules time and time again. He even reassigned the executive assistant he had relied on for eight years just to keep Sophie close to him in the office, despite her having zero administrative experience. It didn’t take long for me to realize that his boundary-breaking wasn’t just limited to the office. It bled straight into our marriage. Whenever Ross and I went on a date, Sophie would magically find an emergency that required his immediate attention. And Ross, a man who brutally guarded his private time, would always cave because it was her. The final explosion happened on the opening night of my private gallery exhibition. Half an hour into the event, Ross, who had sworn to stay by my side the entire day, got a phone call. Sophie was on the other end, crying that she felt violently ill and needed him to drive her to urgent care. Swallowing my mounting fury, I took the phone and told her Ross was hosting an important exhibition with me. Sophie scoffed, her voice dripping with pure disdain. “Your exhibition? Let’s be real, Fiona. The only reason anyone is there is because of Ross’s money and connections.” “We might not say it out loud, but you need to know your place. Without him, who would ever buy your amateur paintings? It really doesn’t matter if he stays there or not.” I was shaking with rage. My artwork had always sold well, even back when I was a struggling student. Hearing her casually invalidate my entire life’s work made me snap. I yelled right into the receiver. “You literally begged Ross for a desk job because you couldn’t get hired anywhere else! Where do you get the nerve to speak to me like that?!” “Enough, Fiona!” Ross barked, snatching the phone away. “She’s just a young girl. Why are you being so vicious over nothing?” “Her parents are vacationing in Europe. She’s home alone and she’s sick and scared. I’m going to check on her.” “Ross.” I called his name, my voice colder than it had ever been in my life. “If you walk out that door to go see her, we are getting a divorce.” He froze. A harsh, bitter laugh scraped the back of his throat as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Are you threatening me? Wow, Fiona. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.” “Fine. You want a divorce? You’ve got it.” He turned on his heel and walked out, his face like thunder. I stood frozen in the center of the gallery like a statue, bearing the weight of a hundred pitying stares from the city’s elite. To this day, I can’t remember how I forced myself through the rest of the evening, or how I managed to drive back to an empty, suffocating house. All I remember is the crushing silence of the next three days, culminating in an email from Ross’s lawyers containing the divorce settlement. My brain must have initiated some kind of trauma response, because I truly cannot recall what I felt the exact second I read those words. I only remember the endless, blinding tears, and staring at Ross’s completely empty chat log. Meanwhile, Sophie was having the time of her life on social media. She posted daily updates. One day it was a picture of Ross applying sunscreen to her shoulders in Miami. The next, it was a selfie of them pressing their cheeks together at a Michelin-star restaurant. Every single post was a calculated strike at my breaking point. Maybe it was my own stubborn pride, or maybe I was just desperately hoping he would come to his senses and beg for my forgiveness. Whatever the reason, I called him a few days later, informing him that I had signed the papers and telling him to meet me at the courthouse. A tiny, pathetic part of me still thought he would back down, just like he always used to do when we fought in the early days. Instead, Ross simply answered with a single word. “Okay.” On the day we finalized the paperwork, he brought Sophie to the courthouse. He completely ignored the dark circles under my eyes and my hollowed-out cheeks. The second the stamped decree was in his hands, Sophie wrapped herself around his arm, her voice deliberately loud and sultry. “Let’s head back to my place for the pool party, Ross.” “I bought a brand new bikini just to celebrate you finally being a free man.” She leaned up, her glossy lips brushing against his jawline. I stood there watching them, my fingernails digging so deeply into my palms that they drew blood. I prayed he would pull away. Instead, he locked eyes with me, his gaze dark and unreadable. After a torturous second, he smiled. “Sure. Let’s go.” “You younger girls know how to have a good time. It’s refreshing being around someone with so much energy. Keeps things exciting.” Sophie caught his underlying meaning instantly. She shot me a triumphant, venomous smirk and climbed into the passenger seat of his sports car. I don’t know the exact details of what happened between them that night. But after tossing and turning until 3 AM, I saw a video posted by one of Ross’s frat brothers. By the edge of a neon-lit pool, Sophie, wearing a microscopic bikini, was leaning her wet body flush against Ross’s chest. They were sharing a single glass of champagne, their lips inches apart. In the background of the chaotic party, they leaned closer and closer together. Right before they closed the gap, someone walked in front of the camera, cutting the video off. I knew Ross did it on purpose. He was deliberately flaunting her, purposely letting his friends film it, and making sure the algorithm pushed it directly to my feed. It was his twisted way of punishing me for not trusting him, for daring to utter the word ‘divorce’. That was just the beginning of my personal hell. Even though I actively tried to block his digital footprint, updates about him and Sophie constantly bled into my life through mutual acquaintances. I spiraled. I started drinking heavily. I spent my days suspended in an alcoholic haze, dissecting every single argument we ever had, putting myself on trial and desperately trying to find out where I had failed him as a wife. I tormented myself with doubts. Had I misjudged him? Were he and Sophie really just innocent friends until I pushed him over the edge with my ultimatums? But none of it mattered. I eventually realized that regardless of whether Ross was at fault, I was the only one drowning in the wreckage of our past. He had clearly moved on. After a month of absolute misery, I forced myself to put the bottle down. I returned to my art studio, determined to bury my grief in work. But my nightmare wasn’t over. A corporate client I had worked with for five years suddenly called to cancel a massive commission. Then a second client pulled out. Then a third. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew exactly whose invisible hand was choking my livelihood. I had never once used Ross’s name to secure a contract. Even when we were married, every single gallery showing and commission was earned through my own relentless networking and pure talent. But now, with a few casual phone calls, my ex-husband was systematically incinerating my career. I knew this was his sick way of forcing me to crawl back to him and beg. But I refused to break. To keep my studio afloat, I started aggressively cold-calling independent investors. I crashed every single industry cocktail hour and gallery opening in the city, desperately trying to pitch my portfolio. Despite being mocked, ignored, and blacklisted by anyone afraid of crossing Ross, I never stopped pushing. A month later, I finally secured a meeting. A wealthy art investor invited me to a private suite in a downtown luxury hotel to review my portfolio. I dressed impeccably, my heart pounding with the hope that my life was finally getting back on track. But that beautiful dream was shattered the moment the investor locked the door and slid his sweaty hand aggressively up my thigh. Pure survival instinct took over. I grabbed my heavy crystal champagne flute and smashed it directly across his face. The glass shattered, and the man roared in pain, tackling me violently to the hardwood floor. Just as I thought it was all over, the heavy mahogany doors of the suite were kicked open with a deafening crash. Ross stood in the doorway, a lit cigarette clamped between his teeth. He casually grabbed the bleeding investor by the collar and hurled him across the room like a ragdoll. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. “Unless you want your entire firm liquidated by tomorrow morning, get out of my sight.” The man scrambled out of the room, leaving me alone with my ex-husband. Ross crouched down in front of me with the slow, arrogant grace of a predator. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger tilting my chin up to force me to look at him. “Fiona.” His tone was suffocatingly superior. Beneath the coldness, I could hear a dark, twisted sense of triumph.

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1 Staring at the plate of boiled carrots in front of me, tears welled up in my eyes. “Mr. Ashford, I’ve been eating rabbit food for two weeks straight. Can I please, please request just a few slices of boiled pork?” Harry sat across the long mahogany dining table, his long legs elegantly crossed, his brow furrowed slightly. “Nonsense. Your digestive tract is far too delicate. Eating meat will cause a fatal blockage. Be a good girl and finish your carrot. I’ve scheduled the doctor to come clip your nails this afternoon.” Despondent, I picked up the orange root and began to gnaw on it. Two weeks ago, Harry, the most feared and ruthless billionaire in the city, survived a terrible car crash. Unfortunately, his brain didn’t escape unscathed. He woke up firmly believing that I was a premium, ridiculously expensive lop-eared rabbit he had purchased. To keep his “pet” healthy, he confiscated every single one of my snacks and put me on a strict herbivore diet. Clutching my hollow stomach, I made a silent vow: the exact second this system mission ended, I was going to devour ten consecutive meals of spicy Sichuan hotpot. … I sat on the plush sofa, staring in grim silence at the heavy-duty stainless-steel nail clippers in Harry’s hand. In my head, the system’s voice chimed with cold, mechanical insistence: Host, please cooperate with the target’s daily grooming routine. Current progress: sixty percent. My inner voice shrieked back: What kind of lunatic feeds a rabbit pig-sized portions of grass?! If I eat one more carrot, my skin is going to turn permanently orange! Harry stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. He wore a tailored charcoal-black designer shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing lean, pale, and powerful wrists. A look of profound, terrifying tenderness washed over his face as he expertly shook out a massive cashmere blanket. “Stay still, sweetheart. Rabbits are prone to severe stress during grooming. If I don’t swaddle you, you might thrash and break your own spine.” His tone was so gentle it made my skin crawl. Before I could utter a word of protest, darkness descended. He threw the blanket over my head and, with practiced efficiency, wrapped me up into a tightly sealed burrito. I struggled, kicking wildly inside my woolly prison, but Harry scooped me up by the waist with zero effort. He strode over to the armchair, sat down, and pinned me firmly against his lap. Even through the thick layers of cashmere, I could feel the hard, unyielding contour of his thigh muscles. Holding my waist secure with one hand, he used his other hand to patiently coax my right hand out from the edge of the blanket. “Doctor, you may begin. Watch the quick. Don’t make her bleed.” The private physician stood nearby, his expression a mix of profound regret and utter bewilderment, looking as though he were silently screaming: Are you two playing some sick roleplay game, and why am I a part of it? “Mr. Ashford, technically speaking, this rabbit’s nails are still well within a healthy length.” Harry’s gaze instantly turned arctic. He looked up, and the temperature in the room plummeted. “Are you questioning my caretaking?” The doctor shut his mouth instantly and brought down the clippers. Snap. A tiny sliver of nail fell onto the astronomically expensive Persian rug. I stared blankly at the ceiling, utterly defeated. Harry looked down at me, his eyes brimming with affection. Freeing one hand, he gently stroked the crown of my head, running his fingers smoothly down my hair with a highly professional pet-grooming technique. “Such a good girl today. You’ll get two Timothy hay biscuits as a reward tonight.” My vision went dark. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. When was this nightmare going to end? Two weeks ago, I had collapsed into a flower bed outside my office building after pulling three consecutive all-nighters. When I woke up, a bizarre voice calling itself “The System” had taken up residence in my brain. The System told me that if I successfully won the heart of the Ashford Group’s supreme CEO, Harry, I would receive a cool ten million dollars in cash. Ten million dollars! I accepted the offer before the entity could even finish its sentence. But wait, I had asked back then. Do I do the classic clumsy intern routine? Is this billionaire guy actually as brainless as the ones in web novels? If I wasn’t mistaken, the system’s tone had carried a hint of mischief. Of course not. We are a respectable, high-end system. We don’t do trashy tropes. I’ve already laid the groundwork for you. Whether you pocket that ten million is entirely up to your execution. I had been bursting with confidence. At the time, Harry’s luxury sedan was parked on the curb. With a fresh bandage wrapped around his head and a cold, ruthless glint in his eyes, he stepped out of the vehicle surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards. Just as I was preparing to fake-collapse in front of him to spark a meeting, he froze. He stared at me, his icy, chiseled features suddenly melting into a bizarre look of pure, ecstatic joy. Dismissing his guards with a wave, he strode right up to me, took off his designer blazer, wrapped it around my shoulders, and lifted me into the car. “A stray lop-eared rabbit won’t survive the winter,” he murmured softly. “You’re coming home with me.” At the time, I genuinely thought he was just playing some incredibly specific, high-society roleplay game. It wasn’t until the next morning, when the butler served me a plate of plain boiled broccoli and three raw carrots, that the horrifying reality set in. Harry wasn’t insane. He was still the ruthless corporate shark who signed multi-billion-dollar deals and drove his competitors to bankruptcy without blinking an eye. He had simply, in his own mind, placed me behind a strict species barrier. I screamed for the system in my head, but it went dead silent. I absolutely hate silent treatment, I grumbled. Late that night, as I lay in the middle of a massive, silk-sheeted bed, my stomach roared in furious protest. I couldn’t take it anymore. Tossing the duvet aside, I crept out of the bedroom, slipped down the grand spiral staircase, and sneaked into the kitchen. Two weeks of rabbit food had left me practically seeing green. I rummaged through the cabinets and finally found a pack of imported cured sausages in the back of the refrigerator. The second I tore the packaging open and the rich, savory aroma hit my nose, I nearly wept with joy. I took a massive, eager bite. Suddenly, the overhead motion lights flared to life. Harry stood in the kitchen doorway, clad in charcoal silk pajamas, his expression entirely blank. Then, his gaze dropped to my hand, and his pupils dilated with sheer terror. The half-eaten sausage suddenly felt like a ticking bomb. Harry lunged forward, covering the distance in two strides. He snatched the sausage from my grasp and hurled it into the trash can. Cupping my chin with a firm, trembling hand, his voice cracked with suppressed panic. “Spit it out!” “I already swallowed it!” I mumbled around his fingers. Harry turned pale, radiating a terrifying, suffocating aura. He spun toward the hallway and roared, “Alfred! Call Dr. Thomas immediately! Tell him to bring gastric lavage equipment!” The mansion erupted into absolute chaos. I was scooped up, marched back to my bedroom, and tucked tightly into bed. He knelt by the bedside, resting his large palm over my stomach, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Rabbits cannot digest meat,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Your digestive tract will shut down. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His hand was warm, his touch unbelievably gentle. Looking at the raw, genuine terror in his eyes, a sudden pang of guilt hit me. Ten minutes later, poor Dr. Thomas burst into the room clutching his medical bag, gasping for breath. After listening to Harry’s frantic explanation, the doctor stared at me, healthy and perfectly rosy-cheeked, and fell into a profound state of existential confusion. He checked my temperature, listened to my heartbeat, and finally, with a heavy sigh, prescribed a box of chewable pediatric antacids. Harry didn’t return to his own room that night. He sat by my bedside, and every hour, he would gently massage my stomach through the blanket. Sometime in the dead of night, in a half-dreaming state, I caught the soft murmur of his voice. “When I was eight, I had no choice. That man forced me to abandon you. But I have you back now. I’ll take good care of you this time. Sleep well.” When the morning sun filtered through the curtains, I opened my eyes. He had fallen asleep propped up against the armchair, his brow still furrowed, his fingers still clutching the foil pack of antacids. The system chimed in my mind: Affection progress: sixty-five percent. He cares for you deeply. “Obviously,” I retorted internally. “If anyone dropped a small fortune on a prized pet, they’d treat it like royalty too.” To prevent me from sneaking “toxic” human food again, Harry made a drastic executive decision: he was taking me to work. The atmosphere at the Ashford Group headquarters reached peak absurdity that morning. From the ground lobby to the executive suites on the top floor, employees barely dared to breathe. Their cold-blooded, terrifying CEO had just walked into the office holding a woman’s hand. Not only that, but he was also carrying a high-tech insulated bento box filled to the brim with boiled greens and custom-made hay cakes. Up in the executive suite, the secretaries had all changed into soft-soled slippers, gliding across the floor like silent ghosts so as not to startle the boss’s guest. Harry had ordered his assistants to clear out a large section right next to his massive mahogany desk. He had it laid with thick, plush carpeting, furnished with a giant designer beanbag chair, and even installed a solid-gold automatic water fountain. Thus, I was installed in my incredibly lavish cage. “Stay here and play, sweetheart. If you get bored, use the tablet. Don’t wander off.” After giving me a gentle pat, Harry turned back to his desk. In an instant, the warmth vanished from his face, and he was once again the terrifying Wall Street titan who ruled the business world. At two in the afternoon, department heads lined up to deliver their quarterly reports. Sitting on my beanbag, chewing listlessly on a tasteless hay biscuit, I watched them get systematically torn to shreds. That was until the head of marketing walked in. I froze. Marcus. After the New Year holidays, I had pulled ninety days of brutal overtime, eagerly anticipating the project bonus. Instead, Marcus had hijacked my entire portfolio, spread vile rumors about my personal life, and gotten me fired. Before I left, he had gloated, promising to blackball me from the entire industry. Now, Marcus stood with his head bowed, trembling as he handed over his reports, practically drenched in obnoxious cologne. Harry flipped through a couple of pages before slamming the folder onto the desk. Papers scattered across the floor. Marcus flinched, quickly dropping to his knees to gather them. As he scrambled to pick up the sheets near my play area, he looked up. The moment our eyes met, his jaw dropped. “Vivian?! What on earth are you doing here?” His shrill, grating voice shattered the quiet of the office. He scrambled to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Mr. Ashford, you can’t let this woman deceive you! Back in my department, she was a shameless gold digger. She’ll do absolutely anything for money! First you try to con me, and now you’re trying to play Mr. Ashford?” I watched his dramatic performance with a cold stare, not even bothered to defend myself. The air in the room instantly turned to stone. Harry stood up slowly, walked around the mahogany desk, and stopped right in front of Marcus. Towering over the man, his eyes were colder than ice. “You are being extremely loud.” Marcus blinked, stammering, “Mr. Ashford, I only wanted to warn you that she…” “Shut up.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried a lethal edge. “A rabbit’s hearing is incredibly sensitive. Loud noises cause severe psychological trauma. Who do you think you are, yelling in her presence?” Marcus looked utterly dumbfounded. He stood frozen for a long moment, completely unable to process what Harry was talking about. I, however, let a wicked grin spread across my face. Catching Marcus’s eye, I silently mouthed: You are so dead. Panicking, Marcus’s face twisted as he feared I would expose his past misdeeds to Harry. Desperate to cover his tracks, he doubled down on his slander. “Mr. Ashford, I’m doing this for your own good! She’s a fraud who slept her way to the top!” Harry’s brow furrowed, and he took a step back in pure disgust. “Did I not tell you to shut up? And the cheap cologne you’re wearing is offensive. A rabbit’s respiratory tract is highly delicate. Your foul scent is a hazard to her health.” He pressed the intercom button, his voice dripping with absolute malice. “Security, get up here and throw this trash out. Tell HR he is terminated immediately, effective today. Ensure he is blacklisted from the entire industry.” Pale as a ghost, Marcus shrieked and flailed as three security guards dragged him down the hall. I offered him a cheerful little wave and a sweet smile. How the tables have turned.

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I secretly funded premium climbing gear for my team, covering costs to keep everyone safe and competitive. Until Haley joined. “Twelve hundred for a set? Sarah, you’re insane!” she mocked in the group chat. Others defended me. “That’s a steal. Custom gear retails for eight grand.” “Sarah owns the company. She charges raw cost.” Haley scoffed. “Raw cost? My family’s in retail. I know the markups. Order through me. Two hundred a set.” Greed exploded in the chat. “Two hundred? Insane savings!” “Haley handles our gear now.” “Sarah, how much did you pocket under ‘friendship’?” Pocket? Years of one-of-one custom builds, engineered to their exact biomechanics, dominating rankings. Gear no amount of money could buy elsewhere. I stared at the screen, typed “OK,” and stayed silent. If they trusted their lives to two-hundred-dollar gear on a hundred-foot cliff, it was their funeral. 1 Two weeks before the regional qualifiers, my teammates texted me their latest physical metrics. “Counting on you for the gear this season, Sarah!” Before I could even type out a response, Haley tagged me in the main chat. “Wait, twelve hundred dollars for a kit? Am I reading that right?” “That price is… literally absurd.” I initially thought she was complaining that the price was too low, and I was about to explain that taking a slight financial hit was worth it for the team’s overall performance. Instead, she dropped an audio message, her voice shrill and aggressively self-righteous. “How do you sleep at night charging everyone twelve hundred dollars for something that costs maybe two hundred bucks to make?” “Sarah, I know people hustle their friends sometimes, but you are absolutely bleeding them dry!” My fingers froze over the keyboard. Two hundred dollars? Was she pricing out cheap, plastic knockoffs from Temu? Jessica, one of our lead climbers, chimed in to smooth things over. “Haley, you’re pretty new to the pro circuit, but elite climbing gear is just insanely expensive.” “Sarah runs a legit manufacturing company. She’s hooking us up at cost. A rig like this would easily run you seven or eight grand in a specialized shop.” Haley fired right back. “I know exactly how this works, Jess. My family runs retail.” “MSRP is just a made-up number. The profit margins are completely bloated.” “When my family sources inventory, even the top-tier gear costs a maximum of two hundred dollars to produce, but they turn around and sell it to suckers for ten grand.” A heavy, awkward silence descended on the digital chat room. Then Jessica typed again, but this time, she tagged me. “Sarah… maybe you should clear the air here?” “We totally get that you run a business and need to make a profit, but marking it up six times over? That feels a little… predatory, don’t you think?” Like blood in the water, the rest of the team started surfacing. “I always thought she was way too eager to handle our equipment. Makes sense now.” “This is honestly messed up, Sarah. Every time we thanked you for the ‘friend discount,’ were you just laughing at us behind your screen?” Haley dropped a fake-innocent emoji covering its mouth. “Oh no, should I not have said anything? I didn’t mean to ruin your little side hustle, Sarah…” “But I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I absolutely despise people who exploit their friends for a quick buck.” “I used to source gear for my old team, and I charged them the real baseline cost. Two hundred dollars, flat.” “If you guys want, I can lock in that price for the whole roster.” The chat erupted into absolute chaos. “Are you serious, Haley? Two hundred? That saves us so much cash!” “Thank God, I don’t have to eat instant ramen for a month just to afford a harness.” “Man, to think of all the money I scraped together, only to line the pockets of a greedy corporate shill.” Even Greg, our supposedly level-headed team captain, finally weighed in. “I blame myself for not doing the market research. I let someone take advantage of this team’s trust.” A second later, a private message from Greg popped up on my screen. “Hey Sarah. Look, the team is pretty pissed off. I need you to refund the money we sent you for this season’s gear.” “We’re going to route the order through Haley.” “It’s nothing personal, but the price discrepancy is just too massive to ignore.” 2 I replied with a simple “OK” and instantly wired the $7,200 I had collected earlier that day straight back into his account. Over in the group chat, the whining hadn’t stopped. “So she refunded this batch, but what about the past three years? We’ve placed at least eight orders with her.” “Squeezing a thousand bucks out of each of us, every single time. Six people on the roster… that’s six grand a season!” “Wow. We basically bankrolled her entire storefront, didn’t we?” I quietly closed the app, not bothering to defend myself. There was no point. Even if I laid out the financial documents proving my actual production costs were closer to ten thousand dollars per set, they wouldn’t believe a word of it. They would just accuse me of forging invoices. I pulled up the spreadsheet containing everyone’s highly specific biomechanical data and picked up my phone, dialing the factory floor. “Josh, scrap those six custom orders. Shut down the specialized line.” Josh, my lead materials engineer, practically cheered through the receiver. “Finally! Thank God you woke up, Boss!” “Running a dedicated custom line for them was bad enough, but charging them pennies? It didn’t even cover the electricity bill for the carbon-fiber molds!” “You could give some people the shirt off your back, and they’d still complain about the fabric. Good riddance!” I hung up the phone, a bitter, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. When I first joined this team a year ago, they had stared at my gear like starving wolves looking at fresh meat. “Sarah, the rubber compound on those soles is insane! The grip looks unreal.” “How is your static rope so much lighter than mine, but rated for a higher load?” Greg had looked down at his own worn-out harness, sighing in defeat. “My rig cost me three grand, and I’m still paying it off. Yours has to be pushing fifteen thousand, right?” Back then, I had been genuinely moved by their raw passion for the sport. They were broke, struggling athletes, but they had heart. So, I made an offer. I told them I could get them the exact same tier of equipment I used, for only twelve hundred dollars. I lied and said I ran a small retail shop and could get wholesale prices. The truth was, I was the founder and CEO of Apex Dynamics, the premier climbing equipment manufacturer in the country. The very first competition they climbed in my gear, we took first place. Before that, they had never even cracked the podium. From that day on, the sponsorships started rolling in. We were getting paid to do what we loved. To give them an extra edge, I started requiring their precise body measurements, engineering bespoke equipment tailored to their individual weight distribution and reach. Custom manufacturing cannot be automated. Josh had to personally oversee the calibration of every single piece. The absolute bare-minimum factory cost for one of those kits was twelve thousand dollars. When Josh told me I was insane for eating the cost, I brushed it off. I told him they were my friends. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth. Greg’s name flashed on my screen again. “Hey, make sure you send all our measurement data over to Haley so she can place the order. Don’t drag your feet on this!” “OK.” I exported the file and sent the document straight to Haley. A minute later, she replied. “Wow, Sarah. You really commit to the bit, don’t you?” “Climbing gear comes in standard sizes. S, M, L. What the hell do you need wingspan and arch depth for?” “Adding all these fake, flashy metrics just to justify your ridiculous markup. You’re a total scam artist.” 3 I didn’t dignify that with a response. Trying to explain the aerodynamics and load-bearing physics of bespoke climbing gear to a girl peddling two-hundred-dollar death traps was a spectacular waste of oxygen. My phone buzzed constantly as the group chat continued their circle jerk. Haley: [She seriously tried to sound so professional asking for our measurements, acting like she was doing us a favor while ripping us off. The data is completely useless.] Jessica: [I mean, we’re not engineers. We just trusted whatever she said.] Greg: [Honestly, if Haley hadn’t joined, who knows how long we would’ve kept getting bled dry.] Rachel: [Thank you so much, Haley. It’s so refreshing having someone genuine on the team, unlike some people… smh.] I muted the chat entirely and swiped over to an unread message from a few days ago. It was from Dominic, the captain of our fiercest rival team. Dom’s crew used to absolutely dominate the circuit. But ever since I joined Greg’s team and quietly outfitted them in Apex Dynamics gear, Dom’s squad had been relegated to permanent second place. Dom had reached out to me relentlessly. “Sarah, I have scoured every pro shop in the country and I cannot find the brand of gear you guys are running.” “Can you hook me up with your supplier? I’ll pay a premium, I promise.” Yesterday, somehow, he had finally uncovered my real identity. “Ms. Mercer. I know you’re the CEO of Apex Dynamics. Please, I am begging you, can you manufacture a batch of that custom gear for my squad? Name your price.” I hadn’t replied. Custom lines took an immense amount of time and resources, and I had been prioritizing my own team’s gear. Now, I opened Dominic’s chat thread. “Nineteen thousand dollars per set. Do you want them?” Dom replied in less than three seconds. “Ordering seven sets right now!” Before I could even blink, a business wire transfer notification hit my phone. $133,000. The $7,200 I had just refunded Greg felt like spare change in a tip jar. Suddenly, Greg tagged me in the team chat again. “Sarah, why haven’t you sent Haley your $200 for the new order?” “The qualifiers are right around the corner. Stop stalling!” I typed back cleanly. “I have my own gear. I don’t need to order hers.” Haley immediately posted a crying emoji. “Are you punishing the team just because you’re mad I exposed your little hustle?” “Even if you hate me, you can’t jeopardize the squad. We’re supposed to be a cohesive unit. If you’re wearing different gear, we look sloppy and unprofessional for the sponsors.” Greg followed up instantly, his tone authoritative and cold. “If you’re going to be this petty and selfish, you don’t belong on this roster. Pack your bags, Sarah.” Before I could even formulate a reply, the screen glitched. You have been removed from this group chat. I stared at the notification, then calmly locked my phone screen. Whatever. Did they honestly expect me to scale a vertical cliff face in two-hundred-dollar garbage just to protect their fragile egos? Unlike them, I actually valued my life. Dom quickly gathered his teammates’ precise biometrics and forwarded the massive file to my email. “Thank you so much, Sarah. But… won’t your current team be furious about this?” “They won’t care,” I replied. “They just kicked me off the roster.” The second that message delivered, my phone buzzed. I had been pulled into a new group chat: Dom’s Climbing Squad. “Got her! Everyone welcome the boss!” Dom texted. I sent a single question mark. “Had to snatch you up before anyone else did,” Dom replied with a grinning emoji. I let out a genuine laugh. The new chat was absolutely buzzing with hype. “Oh my god, Sarah’s here! Do you have any idea how long we’ve been drooling over your hardware?!” “I always wondered why Greg’s gear looked like it was literally molded to his body. Custom measurements. That makes so much sense.” “I flew to three different states trying to find those shoes! They don’t exist in retail!” “Wait, why the hell did Greg’s team kick you out?” I leaned back in my chair and typed. “Because a new girl offered them gear for two hundred dollars a set, and they decided I was an evil capitalist scammer.” 4 The entire chat erupted into crying-laughing emojis. “Two hundred bucks?! Are they suicidal?” “Bro, I saw a guy buy a cheap harness online once. The carabiner was made of pot metal. Snapped like a twig. If they use that trash on the wall, they are asking for a body bag.” “Well, guess we’re taking gold this season! Time to call our sponsors back!” Ever since Greg’s team started winning, Dom’s major sponsors had abandoned them. Competitive climbing had exploded in popularity, and a single corporate sponsorship deal could inject fifty grand into a team’s budget. That was why Greg was so quick to throw me under the bus. He had quit his day job and was living entirely off the prize money and sponsorships. With me out of the picture, that fifty grand would be split five ways instead of six. The day of the regional qualifiers arrived. At the base camp, Greg and the rest of my old team were huddled around, waiting for Haley to show up with their fresh equipment. I pulled my SUV into the staging area and popped the trunk. Before I could even grab my duffel, Greg marched over, his face twisted in a smug scowl. “What are you doing here, Sarah? I thought we made it perfectly clear. We are not buying your overpriced trash. Are you really trying to force a sale right now?” “Are you that desperate for cash? Can’t move your inventory without scamming us?” Jessica crossed her arms, shaking her head. “This is honestly just sad, Sarah.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “She really thinks we’re just dumb ATMs, huh?” I looked at them, my expression completely deadpan. “I’m here to compete. And this gear isn’t for you.” Greg barked a harsh, mocking laugh. “Compete? You’re not on our roster anymore!” “You get zero cut of our sponsor money today! If you try to force your way onto the wall, I will personally have the judges drag you out of here!” “Pack up your little bags and get out of our sight!” Suddenly, a heavy hand shoved Greg roughly out of the way. Dominic stepped squarely in front of me, glaring down at Greg. “Sarah is our lead climber today. Keep your damn mouth shut and step back.” Dom’s teammates rushed over, carefully unloading the heavy black duffels from my trunk and distributing the bags marked with their names. “Holy shit, the texture on this…” “How the hell is this helmet so light, but it feels like solid steel?” “These shoes… it feels like walking on a cloud!” Greg and his team stood there, their smugness faltering slightly into awkward confusion. But Greg quickly recovered, sneering. “A bunch of brainwashed idiots. Getting scammed and thanking her for it.” Right on cue, Haley’s bright pink sedan pulled into the gravel lot. She popped the trunk and waved excitedly. “Gear’s here, guys! Come grab your stuff!” Greg’s team practically shoved each other out of the way, shooting us dirty looks as they grabbed their plastic-wrapped packages. “Man, I almost feel bad for Dom’s crew,” Rachel giggled loudly. “Imagine dropping thousands of dollars and then seeing our two-hundred-dollar kits. They’re probably crying inside.” Jessica covered her mouth, snickering. “They’re gonna be too weak to climb after Sarah finishes bleeding their bank accounts dry.” Rachel enthusiastically ripped open the bag with her name on it. “Wow, these are so lightweight! Way lighter than Sarah’s heavy old junk!” Greg aggressively tore the zipper off his bag, eager to prove a point. Haley puffed out her chest. “I told you guys, I source nothing but the best—” Her voice was abruptly cut off by Greg. The color completely drained from his face as he stared into the bag. “What the actual hell is this?”

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1 At two in the morning, I arrived at the base of the collapsed mountain road at Blackwood Pass. The emergency floodlights washed the freezing rain and fog in a deathly, pale glow. My fingers were stiff from the cold as I texted Robin. [Honey, I am at the bottom of the mountain. Do not panic. I am bringing you home.] No reply. My hands shook as I dialed her driver. George picked up, his voice paper-thin and trembling. “Sir, did you… did you actually drive up to Blackwood?” The deafening crack of falling boulders echoed from the peaks above. I was shivering, entirely consumed by panic. “Which section of the road is she trapped on?!” A heavy, suffocating silence filled the line. “Sir, the truth is, the boss never went up the mountain.” Icy rainwater slipped down my collar, sending a violent shudder down my spine. George lowered his voice to a whisper. “She lied to you about the site inspection.” A video notification popped up on my screen. The timestamp was from tonight. In the footage, Robin stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror. She was gently fixing a man’s bow tie, a devastatingly soft smile playing on her lips. I recognized him. It was Silas. The boy her family had fostered. The same man she had sworn to cut out of her life six months ago, kneeling and weeping beside my father’s hospital bed. Robin must have forgotten that today was also our wedding anniversary. My phone buzzed again. “Sir, over the years, she never actually stopped seeing him.” George’s voice kept breaking up, swallowed by the howling mountain wind. “Tonight, she rented out the entire Cloud Room at the top of the Zenith Tower. She is throwing a welcome-home party for Mr. Silas.” Rain dripped steadily from my jaw. I stared at the highway a few hundred yards away, completely buried under thousands of tons of mud and rock. Small stones were still tumbling down the slopes. “Understood.” I heard my own voice reply. There was no screaming. No hysteria. Even I was surprised by the dead calm in my tone. I hung up on George, found Robin’s contact, and hit dial. It rang for a long time. Just as I assumed she would let it go to voicemail, the call connected. “Khobe?” Her voice was low and smooth, carrying the slight, lazy annoyance of a woman whose perfect evening had been interrupted. Deep in the background, the rich, velvet notes of a live cello drifted through the speaker. “Where are you?” I asked. “I already told you.” She let out a soft sigh, using that signature tone she reserved for coaxing a toddler. “There was a massive landslide at Blackwood. I am stuck at a little motel near the base.” “Are you hurt?” “No. The cell reception is just terrible.” She paused. “Why are you still awake? Are you scared of the thunderstorm?” I looked down at my calf. A jagged rock had sliced it open during my climb, and dark blood was washing away into the mud. “Yeah, a little scared.” A bitter smile tugged at my lips. “Does this roadside motel happen to have a live cellist?” The line went dead silent for a fraction of a second. “The motel owner is playing a vinyl record.” She let out a light, breathy laugh. “Khobe, did you really stay up half the night just to interrogate me?” “The cell towers at Blackwood collapsed three hours ago.” I stared at the yellow police tape fluttering wildly in front of me. “Your reception is remarkably good.” Robin’s tone instantly dropped into a chilling register. “Khobe, I am exhausted today. I am not doing this with you.” She always did this. She would use the calmest, most patronizing voice imaginable to gaslight me, making me feel like an irrational maniac. She played the role of the devoted, hardworking wife who had to endure her husband’s pathetic paranoia perfectly. “I am not trying to fight,” I said. “Then be a good boy.” Her voice softened again, dripping with habitual charity. “I will bring you a praline tart from Maison’s when I get back tomorrow. That is your favorite, right?” Maison’s praline tart. That was Silas’s favorite. Not only did I hate sweets, but I was severely allergic to the hazelnut dust they used on top. After seven years together, she had completely forgotten. “Okay,” I whispered. “Get some sleep. I love you.” The call ended. The exact second my screen went black, a rescue worker in a high-vis jacket frantically waved his flashlight at me. “Hey buddy! Get back! Another mudslide is coming!” I did not move. I just stood rooted to the wet asphalt, staring at a new post that had just appeared on my timeline. It was from Silas, set so only I could see it. It was a photo of a delicate, pale hand fixing his bow tie. The caption read: [She told me that even with a ring on her finger, I will always come first.] 2 By the time the rain finally stopped, the sky was bleeding into a pale, bruised dawn. I dragged my mud-caked boots into the VIP underground garage of the Zenith Tower. The heavy windbreaker I had worn to scale the mountain was soaked through, clinging to my back like sheets of ice. The security guards tried to stop me twice. I had to hand over my ID and recite the license plate of Robin’s Maybach before they threw me a skeptical look and let me pass. The moment the private elevator doors chimed open, I froze. Robin was standing inside. She was wearing the custom Milanese silk gown I had personally flown to Italy to design for her. The fabric draped flawlessly around her curves, radiating an effortless, untouchable wealth. Silas was leaning his entire body weight against her. He wore an immaculate white tuxedo, looking as polished and fragile as a porcelain doll. “Robin, my feet are killing me,” he whined, his voice sickeningly sweet. Without a second thought, my elegant, commanding wife sank to a crouch. Her long fingers gently wrapped around his ankle. “Who told you to wear these stiff oxfords?” “I wanted to look good for you.” Silas reached out, playfully twirling a strand of her hair. “You used to love watching me dance.” “That was ages ago.” Robin slipped the leather shoes off his feet and held them in one hand. Her eyes were melting with affection. “If you try dancing on that bad ankle now, I will break your legs myself.” I stood hidden behind a dim concrete pillar, watching my wife worship another man. A violent wave of nausea ripped through my stomach. It was the physical toll of wandering through freezing rain for four hours, desperately trying to save a woman who did not need saving. The elevator doors slid shut. I stepped out from the shadows and pressed the button for the service elevator. I ran into them again in the main lobby. Silas was padding across the plush carpet in complimentary hotel slippers. Robin had one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, still carrying his expensive shoes in her free hand. The hotel manager practically tripped over himself rushing forward to greet them. “Ms. Vanguard, Mr. Silas, your car is waiting right out front.” “Good,” Robin replied, not bothering to look at him. Silas suddenly stopped walking. His gaze drifted over the manager’s shoulder and landed squarely on me. He took in my ruined clothes, my matted hair, my face streaked with dirt, and the blood-soaked sneakers on my feet. He did not look surprised. Instead, the faintest, most toxic little smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “Robin.” He tugged at her sleeve, projecting his voice just enough to ensure it echoed across the marble lobby. “Look at that guy over there. He looks so pathetic. Just like a homeless beggar.” Robin did not even turn her head. She could not be bothered to spare a fraction of her attention. “Do not look at the trash, Silas.” She pulled him tighter against her side. “You will ruin your mood.” 3 Trash. I looked down at my own hands. Muddy water was steadily dripping from my jeans, blooming into dark, ugly stains on the pristine lobby rug. I really did look like garbage. I stayed completely still, watching them walk toward the revolving glass doors. But Silas clearly felt the knife had not twisted deep enough. He stopped near the exit and raised his voice again, adopting an exaggerated tone of innocent concern. “But Robin, wasn’t yesterday your wedding anniversary with Khobe? If you spent the whole night in a suite with me, will he be mad at you?” Robin’s heels stopped clicking. Her shoulders tensed, and a heavy dose of pure irritation bled into her voice. “Why are we talking about him?” “I just do not want him to be jealous. He is always so suffocating with you.” “He just has too much time on his hands.” Robin let out a cold, sharp scoff. “What else is he good for besides orbiting around my life?” She tossed Silas’s leather shoes to the valet boy, then pulled a wet wipe from her clutch, slowly and meticulously cleaning her fingers. “I only married him because he is predictable. He is quiet, he follows the rules, and he makes a decent decoration to keep at the house.” “Remember this, Silas.” She dropped the soiled wipe into a nearby brass trash can. Her tone was completely flat, but every syllable felt like a bullet to the chest. “Marriage is nothing but a business transaction. He is good on paper. But you are the only one I actually care about protecting.” Silas smiled, thoroughly satisfied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I stared at that brass trash can. Lying inside it was the limited-edition silk pocket square I had spent hours picking out for her just yesterday morning. She had told me the color matched her gown perfectly and promised she would keep it close to her heart all night. Now, it was rotting in the garbage, buried under a wet wipe she used to clean up after another man. My hand instinctively hovered over the thick gauze taped to my abdomen. The stitches underneath were brand new. I had just undergone an emergency appendectomy a week ago, and the surgeon had strictly ordered me to stay on bed rest for half a month. I had planned to tell her about the surgery at our anniversary dinner. I wanted to ask if she could hold my hand when I went to get the stitches removed. But then she vanished. Her driver said she was trapped in a deadly landslide. I had grabbed my keys like a madman, driving through blinding sheets of rain for three hours, ignoring the police barricades, and scaling a collapsing mountain on foot. I thought she was freezing in the dark, waiting for me to save her life. Instead, she was playing Cinderella with her little protégé. I slowly turned around and limped toward the opposite side of the lobby. There was a massive, velvet-lined display case sitting against the glass. It used to hold an exclusive, million-dollar timepiece called the ‘Tears of the Deep’. Robin had won it at a charity auction three months ago. She had stood in front of a dozen flashing cameras, her eyes shining with fake devotion, telling the press it was a surprise anniversary gift for her beloved husband. Right now, that exact watch was strapped to Silas’s wrist. The diamonds caught the lobby lights, blinding and utterly repulsive.

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My sister boasted the Midas touch, turning trash to gold with a flick. She livestreamed, letting viewers choose what to transform. Overnight, half our furniture became gold blocks. I noticed a chilling link. Each time she manifested gold, my digital gold portfolio dropped by the exact same value. I confronted her. She brushed it off as jealousy. “Green with envy, sis?” she sneered. “Maybe I’ll toss you a gold crumb.” Dad, wearing a gold chain she’d conjured, slapped me hard. “Can’t stand this family succeeding? Lexi cares for me. You? Bragging about investments? Where are they now?” I tasted blood, vowing to expose her. Days passed. I found nothing. My digital gold drained completely. Then came my medical report. A benign tumor. That same day, Lexi went live. “Drop those Supernovas!” she shrilled. “Keep gifting! Manifesting fifty pounds of solid gold today!” 1 Another grueling shift at the corporate firm finally ended. I slumped into the driver’s seat of my car and out of habit, tapped open my trading app to check my digital gold portfolio. My brows knitted together immediately. The numbers were wrong. It was only short by a fraction of a gram, roughly twenty bucks in fiat currency. But for someone like me who calculated every penny and watched the market trends like a hawk, this was no hallucination. Probably just a system lag or a slight slippage from market volatility. I pushed the thought away. The current commodities market was a chaotic rollercoaster, and a tiny fractional loss was a drop in the ocean for a long-term holder. Before I could lock my screen, my phone vibrated violently in my hand. It was my father, Frank. “Gwen! Get your ass home right now! We hit the jackpot!” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “What’s going on?” His manic, overly caffeinated voice blasted through the earpiece. “Your sister is a literal saint! A miracle worker! She can turn things into gold!” I let out a long, exhausted sigh, putting the car into gear. “Dad, have you been watching those fake conspiracy TikToks again? Or is Lexi just pulling another one of her prank streams?” “You stubborn brat, why won’t you just believe me? Get back here! Every minute you waste is costing the Dawson family thousands!” The line went dead. I shook my head, thoroughly drained. My younger sister Lexi had been chasing internet fame since she was a teenager. From wannabe influencer to aspiring reality star, she had drained a sickening amount of my father’s money. Whatever this new gimmick was, it was bound to be another massive headache. The moment I pushed open the front door, the stale smell of cheap beer hit me. Frank was practically doing a jig in the living room, clutching his outdated smartphone like a holy relic. “Look! I’m telling you, your sister has superpowers. She’s got the Midas touch!” He shoved the cracked screen mere inches from my nose. “Lexi just pointed her finger at the air, and boom! Five grand magically appeared in my retirement account! Five thousand bucks, Gwen!” I narrowed my eyes at the screen. The bank notification indeed showed an incoming deposit of five thousand dollars. The transaction ID was just a string of encrypted gibberish. “Look who finally showed up,” Lexi drawled from the couch. She was busy admiring her fresh acrylic nails. “Dad says you don’t believe in my gifts.” “Then open your trading app.” Under Frank’s feverish glare, I reluctantly unlocked my phone and tapped the familiar gold icon. “Watch closely,” Lexi whispered. She raised a manicured finger and tapped the empty air in front of my screen. A second later, my heart leaped into my throat. I nearly dropped the device. The screen, which had previously displayed a modest balance of a few hundred grams of digital gold, began to glitch. The numbers spun like a slot machine, completely bypassing any buy-in protocols. Three hundred and fifty. Four hundred. Five hundred! In the blink of an eye, the gold reserves in my account had literally doubled. My hands trembled as I refreshed the page three times. I even force-closed the app and logged back in. The extra gold was still sitting there, heavy and real, worth tens of thousands of dollars. “What… what exactly did you do?” I stammered, my eyes snapping up to look at her. “Told you it was real, you ungrateful wretch!” Frank slapped his thigh, his eyes bulging with greed. “Lexi is a walking goldmine! Everything she touches turns to cash!” Lexi couldn’t hide the venomous smirk curling her lips. “Believe me now, sis? It’s called manifesting.” “You always lectured me, saying my manifesting rituals were delusional and lazy. Well, look at me now. I manifested cold, hard wealth. Pretty incredible, right?” 2 The concrete proof was right there in my hands. The transaction history couldn’t be faked. I was forced to believe it. Still, a deep sense of dread settled in my stomach. I stepped forward, looking her up and down. “Does this power have a backlash? Lexi, are you feeling sick? Is your heart racing?” She rolled her eyes and shoved my shoulder. “God, you are such a buzzkill, Gwen. We’re about to be filthy rich, and you’re whining about side effects?” Frank’s eyes darted around the room as the gears in his head turned. He suddenly slapped his forehead, his face lighting up with a manic idea. “Hold on, Lexi. Your sister might actually have a point. What if there’s a limit to your magic? We need to be smart. We need to leverage this and make the money multiply! We’ll start a live stream. People eat this garbage up online!” He was already pacing the worn carpet, mapping out his empire. “We won’t use your real power every time. That’s a waste. I’ll go to the hardware store, buy some gold foil, some metallic spray paint. We’ll prep a bunch of rocks and junk wood. During the stream, we use the props for the small stuff, but for the grand finale, you do the real magic! The visual shock value will make us go viral overnight!” Lexi’s eyes widened with pure, unadulterated ambition. “Yes! We can make it a whole event. We’ll randomly select viewers and manifest gold straight into their crypto or trading accounts! Just like I did for Gwen. Once the chat sees real money hitting real accounts, the donations will flood in!” The two of them fed off each other’s frenzy, already hallucinating mansions and sports cars raining from the ceiling. I stood in the corner, the chill in my gut spreading to my fingertips. The law of conservation of energy is absolute. You cannot create something out of nothing without paying a terrible price. I had to speak up. “Dad, Lexi, stop. This is way too sketchy. If this power is real, we need to take Lexi to a specialist, or at least keep it completely offline. What if the government finds out? What if she ends up in a black site lab? And more importantly, draining her body like this could kill her!” Frank’s ecstatic smile vanished. His face twisted into a mask of utter disgust. “Listen to yourself! Your sister finally makes something of herself, and instead of being happy, you stand there cursing her?” Lexi flawlessly shifted her demeanor, gently tugging at Frank’s flannel sleeve and looking up with wide, innocent eyes. “Don’t be mad at her, Dad. She’s just jealous, I mean, worried. Honestly, every time I use the manifestation, I do feel like my soul is being hollowed out. It’s exhausting.” Before I could jump in and tell her to stop, she lifted her chin, playing the ultimate martyr. “But you know what? If it means our family stops struggling, if it means you can finally buy that house in the hills and wear a Rolex, it’s worth it. I’d gladly shave years off my own life to see you live like a king, Dad.” Frank’s eyes welled up with thick, dramatic tears. He shot me a look of pure hatred, then wrapped his thick hands around Lexi’s. “Look at your sister! This is what true class looks like! This is what family means! She’s got talent and a heart of gold. Not like you, you bitter, selfish snake.” “Always hiding your little investments while I struggle to pay the tab with my buddies! You embarrassed me for the last time. I haven’t forgotten about that!” “If you can’t stand seeing us win, then get the hell out of my house! You won’t see a single dime of this new empire!” He lunged forward, grabbing me by the collar and shoving me toward the door. The heavy wood slammed shut, opened a second later, and my purse was violently chucked out onto the porch. Through the screen door, Lexi looked down at me with absolute triumph. “I know it eats you alive, Gwen. The fact that I can just blink and manifest more wealth than you could earn working yourself to the bone for thirty years.” “But that’s just the universe rewarding the chosen ones. Are you mad? Want me to toss a few coins your way?” I took a slow, steadying breath. I didn’t reach for my purse. I just stared dead into her eyes. “I’m your older sister. I’m telling you this because I know how the world works. You admitted the manifestation drains you. Frank’s greed is a bottomless pit. Don’t end up putting yourself in a body bag just to feed his ego.” I bent down to pick up my bag, but she kicked the screen door open, her designer boot sending my purse tumbling down the concrete stairs into a muddy puddle. “Oops. My foot slipped. Have fun fetching, sis.” She leaned against the doorframe, examining her cuticles with a chilling nonchalance. “And just to clear things up,” she whispered, her smile sharp as glass. “The side effects don’t actually hurt me at all. But I hope you’re ready to work some serious overtime.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, stepping up to block the door. But she slammed it shut with brutal force, the heavy deadbolt clicking into place. 3 I stood on the damp porch, listening to the muffled voices inside. Frank asked her what the noise was about. “Nothing, Dad. Gwen was just threatening me, trying to force me to manifest gold for her. I told her no.” A string of vile curses from my father echoed through the wood. I turned my back and walked to my car. I couldn’t listen to it anymore. For the next few days, I buried myself in my corporate job. The commodities market was soaring, a massive bull run painting all the charts a beautiful, glowing green. Everyone in the office was buzzing about the gold rush. During my lunch break, I opened my trading app, expecting to see a fat profit margin. The moment the numbers loaded, the blood drained from my face. My whole body went numb. Fifty grams were gone. I rubbed my eyes, pressing my fingers hard into my temples. The market was strictly trending upward. Even if I had misread the charts, the total fiat value might fluctuate, but the actual physical weight of the assets held shouldn’t disappear. I violently tapped the transaction history. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone. Ten minutes ago. A “Sell” order had been executed. Fifty grams of gold had been liquidated, and the funds had been routed to an encrypted intermediary routing number before vanishing completely into the dark web. “This is impossible. I was in a boardroom ten minutes ago! My phone was locked in my blazer pocket!” I scrambled out of the breakroom and dialed the trading platform’s fraud department. “Hello! I need to report a massive security breach! My account was just drained of fifty grams of gold! I did not authorize that sale! My account has been hacked!” The representative on the other end sounded painfully bored and mechanical. “Ma’am, I am looking at the backend logs right now. That transaction was executed from your primary registered device. It successfully cleared both your private PIN and a live biometric facial recognition scan. According to our security protocols, this is a fully authorized, manual transaction.” “No! I swear to God, I didn’t do it!” “I want to escalate this! Your security system is deeply flawed!” I was hyperventilating, tears of sheer panic pricking my eyes. “Ma’am, if you firmly believe this is a case of grand larceny, we strongly advise you to contact local law enforcement. We will comply with any official subpoenas and get back to you within three business days.” The line clicked dead. Primary device? Facial recognition? It was physically impossible. It was like fighting a ghost. My mind was a chaotic mess. I couldn’t go back to my desk. I needed to breathe. In a desperate attempt to ground myself, I blindly opened a social media app. The very first recommended video on the homepage was Lexi’s live stream. The neon text flashed across the top: “FAN APPRECIATION EVENT! Random Drops! Live Gold Manifestation!” A morbid curiosity took over. I needed to see what she was doing. I tapped the screen. Lexi was dressed in some ridiculous, glittering high-fashion gown, sitting on a velvet throne in the middle of Frank’s living room. “Squad, the energy in this chat is insane! Thank you for the gifts! To give back to the universe, I’m pulling one lucky viewer right now and blessing their crypto wallet with solid gold! Who’s ready?” The chat was moving at lightspeed. A voice connection was accepted, and a frantic, breathless male viewer spoke up. “Hey! Lexi! I only have about ten grams in my reserve. Can you actually double it?” Lexi stared directly into the camera, her smile perfectly practiced. “Absolutely, babe. Keep your eyes on the screen. Watch the magic happen.” She raised her slender index finger, pointing directly at the camera lens, and whispered, “Manifest.” A split second later, the guy on the audio feed started screaming. “Holy shit! Holy shit! It just refreshed! It went up fifty grams! I just got fifty grams out of thin air! You are a literal goddess!” My jaw dropped. Because at that exact microscopic second, a push notification dropped down from the top of my phone screen. Alert: 50g of Digital Gold successfully transferred out of your portfolio. Before the nausea of this sick, synchronized theft could fully set in, an unknown number called my phone. It was the medical diagnostics clinic affiliated with my company’s health insurance. “Hi, is this Gwen? We have the results from your annual screening. We located a nodule on your thyroid. The biopsy confirms it’s a benign tumor. It is not immediately life-threatening, but you need to come in to discuss surgical removal before it has a chance to mutate or spread.” A jolt of electricity shot down my spine. I looked at Lexi’s glowing, triumphant face on the stream, and then down at the bank notification draining my life savings. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces violently locked into place. There was no magic. There was no divine universe blessing her. There was no Midas touch. I grabbed my car keys and sprinted for the parking garage. The engine roared to life, and I slammed my foot on the gas. I had to move. I had to get to the one place in the city that could stop this bleeding! Idling at a red light, I shoved my phone into the dashboard mount. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lexi’s viewer count rocketing past half a million. She was the number one trending stream on the entire platform. Her cheeks were flushed with pure adrenaline as heavy donation graphics exploded across the screen. “Squad, that fifty grams was just the appetizer! A huge shoutout to my VIP in the chat for dropping a hundred Supernovas! Since the energy is so high, I’m doing something crazy!” “Next up, I’m pulling a mega-winner! I am going to manifest one hundred pounds of gold! Who wants to be a millionaire today?!” The chat broke. It was a solid wall of text moving too fast to read. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I pulled the car onto the shoulder, threw it in park, and rapidly typed a single message into the chaotic chat. [Manifesting gold? Cut the bullshit, Lexi. I know exactly what you’re doing.]

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I was an ordinary girl. It took three years of relentless chasing to finally win Steve over. After we got together, the phrase he used most was: “If you can’t handle it, we can break up.” Every single time, I would swallow my pride, begging him to stay. Until the day I returned from a business trip, and no matter how many times I entered the door code, it kept saying incorrect. Steve stood there, shirtless, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “You remember Joe, right? The one I couldn’t get back then. She came back, begging for another chance.” “She wants this apartment. Find some time to pack up and move out.” Steve watched me, terrified I would refuse to leave. But I just kept my head down, packing my bags, feeling a strange, subconscious sense of relief. He had no idea that at my age, I was done begging for scraps of affection. I finally had the courage to text my mother, who had begged me to break up with him a thousand times. “We’re done. This time, it’s really over.” 1 When I got home from my business trip, I dragged my suitcase with one hand while typing the passcode with the other. But after several attempts, the screen kept flashing: Incorrect Code. The passcode was my birthday. There was no way I could have gotten it wrong. Just as I bent down to try one more time, the door swung open from the inside. Steve leaned against the doorframe, looking down at me. Fresh out of the shower, he was shirtless, displaying his lean, muscular chest, with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Having not seen him for over two weeks, my eyes lit up, and I instinctively threw my arms around him. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me? Why wouldn’t the passcode…” Before I could finish, I glanced past his shoulder and realized the apartment was in complete disarray. The decorations and soft furnishings I had spent months choosing were packed away, some piled haphazardly in the corner. The cozy home we had shared now looked barren and cold. I paused, asking softly, “Are we moving?” Steve had always complained that this place was too small, mentioning several times that we should upgrade to a penthouse. I figured he had finally made up his mind. If he wanted to move, I would go along with it. I had always been quick to compromise when it came to him. “Which neighborhood are we moving…” Before the words could leave my mouth, Steve wrapped his arms around me from behind with an unusual, gentle warmth. He murmured lazily into my ear: “Not us. Just you. I’ve transferred the title of the Mayfair Place apartment to your name, and I’ve already had your things sent over there.” My fingers tightened into fists. “What is that supposed to mean?” He turned me around to face him. There was a flicker of pity in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. I had seen that look once before, five years ago. Back then, he looked at me like I was a fool willing to throw herself into the fire. Now, he looked at me like a stray dog he was about to abandon. Steve lowered his gaze. “Joe is back. She likes this apartment, and it’s close to her new office.” “To be honest, if she hadn’t rejected me back then, I never would have ended up with you.” “Now that she’s back, we’re done.” My mind went blank. It took me a long time to process his words. Years ago, when Steve told me to choose an apartment, he offered grand penthouses in prime locations, but I fell in love with this modest place at first sight. It wasn’t huge, but the layout felt cozy. I had spent over six months decorating it, slowly turning a blank concrete box into a warm home. Though our relationship over the years had always been undefined and messy. I had always believed that when Steve came back to this apartment, he belonged to me alone. To me, this place was sacred. He should have known. He should have understood. 2 Over the years, Steve never lacked women throwing themselves at him. One day it was an actress, the next a model or an influencer. On the rare occasions his conscience flared up, he would frown and reject them. But most of the time, I knew the truth: he welcomed them all. I thought this was just another phase, that he had set his sights on some new face. Actresses and influencers didn’t bother me much anymore. But this was Joe, the only woman who had ever turned Steve down. I didn’t know her, but over the years, Steve’s friends loved to bring up her name to tease him. The great, wealthy Steve had failed to win over a girl on his first try, making him the butt of their jokes for years. When people spoke of Joe, they always used words like “aloof” and “proud.” She looked down on his wealth, once telling him: “Don’t insult me with your dirty money.” Steve had never met anyone like her, so it made sense that she became his obsession. I didn’t know what to say, standing there in silence. She was Joe, and against her, I stood no chance. I murmured softly: “So… we’re breaking up, then?” Steve let out a soft chuckle, leaning down to meet my eyes. “We were never public, Maria. How can we break up?” “Come on,” he muttered, brushing a tear from my cheek. “You didn’t lose out here. You got to sleep with me for years. Don’t act like the victim.” I always knew we wouldn’t last forever. But hearing him put it so callously still sent a sharp ache through my chest. He stood straight. “She’s proud. If she finds out I’ve been fooling around with you all these years, she’ll be furious.” His gaze swept over me, searching, warning. Maybe I really was getting older. I just didn’t have the energy to fight for him anymore. A few years ago, I would have thrown a tantrum and fought him over her. Now, I simply pulled my hand back. “I understand. I’ll call a cab and head over to the new place tonight.” I had already noticed that the master bedroom was stripped bare. None of my belongings remained. “The things in the living room…” I pointed to the decorations. “Just throw them away. They’re old anyway. It’s time for something new.” Steve followed my gaze, staring at the cozy space. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he opened the door wider. “I’ll have my driver take you.” I took a final look at his bare torso, his toned abs, and his lean waist. I used to think that when the day we parted finally came, I would drag him to bed for one last passionate night. But that was out of the question now. He loved Joe far more than I had realized. When the driver arrived, I left carrying only the suitcase from my business trip. Steve suddenly grabbed my arm, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You’re acting too calm. Are you playing hard to get, planning to sabotage things behind my back?” “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve pulled something like that.” I stared at him for a long, quiet moment. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “I won’t say a word.” Aside from his close circle of friends, no one even knew we existed. But he was still uneasy, his brow furrowed with irritation. “You’re not getting any younger. I know plenty of guys. Want me to introduce you to someone so you can settle down?” I fell silent for a beat, a faint smile touching my lips. “Sure. Make sure to share my contact with them.” Steve’s expression darkened at my response. I didn’t look back, stepping into the waiting car. 3 By conventional standards, I was entirely ordinary: average background, average looks. But I possessed an abundance of confidence. In school, my academic records were stellar, consistently ranking at the top in a highly competitive state, which earned me a spot at a prestigious university. At work, I was highly capable, tackling projects others deemed impossible simply by putting in more hours. I didn’t smoke or drink, and my moral compass was solid. From a young age, I understood that if you wanted a good man, you had to pursue him actively; otherwise, you’d only get the leftovers. So, before Steve, I had successfully pursued a few handsome men. But once I got them, their flawless faces couldn’t hide their empty minds, and I would quickly grow bored of them. Until I met Steve. He was exceptionally handsome, highly capable, well-educated, and sophisticated. He was the perfect target, ticking every single box on my list. I didn’t know back then that Steve purposely maintained a low profile in public. Nor did I know his family was so wealthy that buying million-dollar jewelry was like picking up cheap trinkets for him. I assumed he was just a good-looking guy with a bit of money, and that winning him over was only a matter of time. So, I walked up to him, tilted my head, and confidently asked with a grin: “Are you single? If so, mind if I try to win you over?” He blinked, leaning against the wall and laughing for what felt like forever, amused by my boldness. There were too many women chasing him at the time, and I was just a nameless face in the crowd. But I excelled at the long game. Over three years, I outlasted wave after wave of rivals until Steve finally noticed me. That night, in hindsight, was probably the third day after Joe had left the country. Alcohol blurred Steve’s judgment, and we spent our first night together. When he woke up, he leaned against the headboard, staring at me for a long time before saying: “Move in with me.” Just like that, undefined and unofficial, our relationship continued for five years. In our most intimate moments, I would push my luck and ask him what we were. When he was in a good mood, he would placate me, saying: “Why worry about a label? You think just any woman can live here?” During our years together, Steve wasn’t terrible to me. He learned to cook for me, held my hand through the night when I was sick, helped me pick nail polish colors while teasing my choices, and held me close on the sofa when I cried during movies. He was so sweet at times that I almost believed he was falling in love with me. I thought if I just stayed patient, he would eventually settle down and want to build a real home with me. I knew I was shameless, that I had practically forced this relationship into existence. And I knew that one day, the tension would snap. But I never expected it to happen so suddenly. Without a single warning, I was cast out of Steve’s world. Maybe it’s for the best, I thought, leaning my head against the car window, watching the blur of streetlights. If I had to make the decision to leave him on my own, I probably never would have found the strength. When I unlocked the door to my new apartment, I gasped. The place was decorated exactly in my preferred style, spanning nearly three thousand square feet. It was massive compared to our old apartment. Yet, it felt incredibly hollow. I stood frozen in the entryway for a long time until my phone chimed. I opened the message and played the voice note. “If he won’t marry you, leave him! How much longer are you going to waste your life?” “Maria, you’re not a kid anymore. You can’t keep wasting your time on a man who won’t give you a future…” Usually, I would laugh off these messages from my mother or give a vague reply. This was the first time I gave her a straight answer. “We broke up. It’s over.” “Are you lying to me again?!” I sighed. “It’s true this time, Mom. It’s really over.” 4 The next morning, I dragged myself to work with dark circles under my eyes. In the adult world, one night of grieving is all you get for a broken heart. Corporate drones have to keep grinding; there’s no time to stop for water, let alone self-pity. My manager walked past my desk and tapped my shoulder. “Maria, the bidding meeting in three days is all on you.” Despite being fully prepared, a flutter of nerves hit me. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” As I sat down, my screen lit up with several persistent messages. “Seriously, are you sure you won’t consider joining my company?” “Now that you’ve split with Steve, why stay there?” “Just say the word, and I’ll match whatever terms you want. The pay is way better than your current gig.” I smiled, typing back: “Since when did you start moonlighting as a headhunter? I’m not interested. I have my career path planned out, and I don’t want to make sudden changes.” I had never considered quitting just because Steve and I had broken up. After all, he wasn’t the reason I had joined Astra Technologies in the first place. Astra was a massive corporate giant, and I had fought hard against hundreds of applicants to land this position. The following evening, just as I was packing up after working late, my phone rang. The screen showed a call from Steve’s close friend, Beckett. I declined the first call, but it rang again immediately. After a brief hesitation, I picked up. Beckett’s voice came through. “Steve is wasted. Come pick him up.” “He has a girlfriend, and it’s not me,” I replied flatly. “You dialed the wrong number.” “Wait, don’t hang up! What girlfriend? He’s the one who insisted I call you. He refuses to leave. If you don’t show, we’re just going to leave him here on the street.” As I drove toward the club, I realized I was still incredibly weak when it came to him. I hadn’t slept a wink for the past two days, staring at the ceiling until dawn. It was only when this call came that I realized what I had been waiting for. I was actually hoping that maybe Steve had regretted his decision. Maybe he had realized that Joe was no different from any of the other women. Maybe he found her boring and was using this as an excuse to crawl back to me. If he apologized, then I… I wouldn’t make it easy for him. With these thoughts swirling in my head, I pushed open the door to the private room. Only to see a perfectly sober Steve sitting comfortably beside Joe. 5 I froze in the doorway, but before I could react, an arm draped around my shoulders. I turned my head to see Beckett, who casually announced to the room: “Hey everyone, meet my girlfriend, Maria.” He pressed his hand over mine, whispering rapidly into my ear: “Joe suspects there was something between you and Steve. She demanded to see you to clear the air. You know how protective Steve is of her right now. Just bear with it for a bit and pretend to be my girl.” My entire body went rigid. A wave of humiliation washed over me, threatening to drown me. I looked at Steve. He was leaning back against the sofa, his eyes locked on mine, flashing a clear warning. This meant he had approved of this setup. My fingernails dug deep into my palms, the pain grounding me as I pulled myself together. I forced a smile, slowly wrapping my arm around Beckett’s. Looking at the group, I said clearly: “I’m Maria, Beckett’s girlfriend. Nice to meet everyone.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Steve’s hand stiffen slightly. This was my first time seeing Joe in person. She wore a designer white dress, looking effortlessly beautiful even with minimal makeup. Believing the lie, Joe smiled warmly and reached out to shake my hand. “We’re all friends now. Make sure Beckett brings you out with us more often.” I smiled back. “Of course, whenever we have time.” She seemed genuinely happy, even standing up to pour me a drink. Before I could speak, Beckett raised his hand to block the glass. “She’s allergic to alcohol. She can’t drink. I’ll have it for her.” The room fell quiet at his words, and I turned to look at him in surprise. Steve set his glass down, leaning his arm on the back of his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied Beckett. Beckett ignored him, draining the glass so quickly that he coughed slightly. Keeping up the act, I leaned in and patted his back gently. “Are you okay?” After a while, Joe suggested playing truth or dare, and everyone eagerly agreed to indulge her. Beckett drew the first turn and chose truth. “How did you and Maria get together?” someone asked. Beckett easily spun a lie. “I pursued her for three years before she finally agreed to date me.” A few rounds later, it was my turn for a dare: pick a man in the room and give him a deep kiss. My eyes instinctively darted toward Steve. Joe watched me, her smile faltering slightly. “Well, Beckett, looks like you’re the lucky guy. Better make your move.” Beckett instinctively glanced at Steve. But the man sitting at the center of attention acted entirely detached, refusing to spare us even a single glance. I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Beckett is handsome anyway. I won’t lose out on this. I steeled my resolve, pulling Beckett close and tilting my head up to kiss him. Suddenly, Steve’s voice cut through the room, slow and deliberate. “That’s enough,” he said, shooting a warning look at Joe. “Keep the games within bounds. Since when do you get to boss Beckett around?” Joe bit her lip, shooting us a frustrated glance. The kiss never happened, but we had to play our roles to the end. In the end, Beckett had to drive me home. When the car pulled up to my building, I opened the passenger door, ready to leave. Suddenly, a hand caught my wrist. I turned back to see Beckett looking at me with a lazy, playful grin. “Honestly, you’re pretty interesting, and I’m definitely not a downgrade from Steve.” “How about giving me a shot?” My brow furrowed, but before I could reply, a violent crash slammed into the rear of our car. The impact threw me forward. Gaining my bearings, I looked up at the rearview mirror. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the car behind us was Steve, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel, his face completely devoid of warmth.

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1 A week before our wedding, I stood in the lobby of the Grand Regency Hotel and watched my fiancée, Vivian, passionately kissing my childhood best friend, Marcus. She was supposed to be out of town on a business trip. They held each other in the center of the lobby, completely lost in their own world. Only an hour earlier, my phone had buzzed with a video call from an unknown number. When I answered, the screen showed a young boy, maybe six or seven years old. His face was stained with tears, his voice raw as he begged me to save his father. But the moment he saw my face, he froze, staring at me in stunned silence. After a few seconds, he whispered, “Daddy? You’re my daddy from seven years ago, aren’t you?” I frowned, shaking my head. The boy certainly had my eyes, but the idea of time travel was too absurd to believe. Then he turned the camera toward a dark corner of the room. I saw myself seven years in the future. My future self was a wreck. His hair was matted, his eyes dull and hollow. He huddled in the corner, clutching his knees, looking as if he lacked the strength to even lift his head. Scabs and jagged scars covered his arms and legs. When he looked up and saw me, there was no surprise in his eyes. He only managed to wheeze out a few words. “Logan, don’t marry Vivian. She will destroy your life.” The screen panned back to the boy, who was holding a faded, leather-bound journal. He began reading the entries aloud, his voice trembling. “May 21st, 2017. Vivian lied about her business trip. She went to the Regency Hotel to hook up with Marcus.” My heart stopped. Today was May 21st. Vivian was my fiancée, the woman I was supposed to marry next week. Marcus was my closest friend, a brother I had known for over twenty years. “Daddy, go to the hotel and see for yourself,” the boy sobbed. “Mom was already betraying you back then. She has been with Uncle Marcus all along.” My mind went completely blank. Driven by a morbid, desperate urge, I hailed a cab and rushed to the hotel. The moment I stepped through the grand glass doors, I ran straight into the nightmare. The scene unfolding before my eyes matched the boy’s description perfectly. A heavy ringing filled my ears, and my body went entirely numb, frozen in place as if struck by lightning. Just as Vivian started to turn her head, I instinctively ducked behind one of the large ornamental planters near the entrance. “What’s wrong?” I heard Marcus ask her, his voice dripping with familiarity. “Why the sudden look back?” “I thought I saw Logan just now,” Vivian murmured. “No way. That idiot would never find this place,” Marcus scoffed, letting out a low chuckle. “We’ve been doing this for almost two months and he hasn’t suspected a thing. Don’t ruin the mood.” Vivian pulled him back by his collar and kissed him hard. “Let’s go upstairs. I can’t wait.” “Calm down,” Marcus teased. “You’re marrying him next week.” “I’ll leave the back door unlocked for you on our wedding night,” she whispered back. “We can talk about it then.” Their raw, shameless words felt like poisoned needles piercing my chest. I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms, trying to anchor myself to reality. They walked into the elevator, their arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists. I leaned heavily against the cold wall, my fingers icy, my phone burning against my palm. I could not comprehend it. How could they do this to me? When Vivian proposed to me at the edge of the volcanic crater in Hawaii, she looked me in the eyes and swore I was the only man she would ever love. And Marcus? We had been inseparable since grade school. He had once gotten into a fight to protect me, landing himself in a holding cell. He had even lost a job once because he stood up for me. How could he crawl into bed with my fiancée? I desperately wanted it to be a nightmare. On my phone screen, my future self let out a bitter, hollow laugh. His eyes were filled with an absolute, bottomless despair. “They’ve been lying to you for years, Logan,” he said, his voice raspy. “By the time you discover the truth on your own, you’ll end up just like me, a ghost of a man. Run while you still can. Cancel the wedding. Don’t let her drag you to hell.” I grit my teeth, my throat tightening as I fought back the tears. I remembered the nights Vivian and I lay on the hood of my car, watching the stars and planning our future. We had already picked out names for our future children: Lily for a girl, Tyler for a boy. The little boy on the screen was Tyler. He reached out, his tiny fingers pressing against the glass of the screen as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Younger Daddy, you have to leave her. I don’t want to watch you take handfuls of pills every day anymore. I don’t want to see you crying in the dark. It’s okay if I’m never born. I just want you to be safe.” A crushing weight settled on my chest, making it hard to draw breath. “I promise,” I whispered to the screen. “I won’t marry her.” After hanging up, I stood outside the hotel doors as the sun went down and a torrential downpour began to flood the streets. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Vivian. I answered, my voice thick and raw. “Hey, babe,” she said, her voice sweet and entirely normal. “I see it’s pouring over there. Make sure to grab an umbrella when you leave the office. Don’t get wet. My business trip is going to take another couple of days. I just wired you fifty-two hundred dollars. Buy yourself something nice. Love you.” A second later, a notification popped up on my screen, confirming the bank transfer. “Vivian,” I asked, keeping my voice as flat as possible. “Are you really on a business trip?” There was not a single tremor of guilt in her voice. “Of course. I’m just having dinner with the regional managers right now. I have to go, babe. Love you.” She hung up. Almost immediately, Marcus sent me a dozen silly memes, followed by a wire transfer of thirteen hundred and fourteen dollars. His message read: Bro, consider me your second husband. Take the cash and buy yourself some drinks. I stood in the freezing rain, the cold seeping deep into my bones, far sharper and more terrifying than the storm around me. 2 When I got back to the apartment, the first things I saw in the living room were two garment racks. One held Vivian’s white mermaid-style wedding dress. The other held my custom-made dark suit. Standing side by side, they looked suffocatingly perfect. In the past, looking at them would fill my heart with warmth, making me believe in a lifetime of quiet happiness. Now, they were nothing but a mockery. I marched over to the hallway closet to grab a pair of shears. In my haste, my knee slammed against the sharp edge of the console table, scraping the skin until it bled, but I barely felt the sting. Clutching the heavy metal shears, I stormed back into the living room. I grabbed the sleeve of my suit, but my hand froze. The sheer weight of seven years of memories crashed over me, and my tears began to splash against the dark fabric. My mind screamed at me to shred everything to pieces, but a seven-year relationship cannot be severed with a simple click of a blade. On the media console sat a framed Polaroid of Marcus and me, taken on our college graduation day. Through three moves, I had always kept it with me. In the photo, we had our arms slung over each other’s shoulders, laughing like we ruled the world. Now, it was just a sick joke. How could the two people I trusted most in the world conspire to humiliate me like this? I could not swallow this poison quietly. Like a madman, I spammed Vivian and Marcus with calls and texts, but neither of them replied. It felt as if the entire world had gone silent, leaving me alone in my quiet fury while they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing at how gullible I was. I sat on the hardwood floor, clutching the suit, and stared into the dark until dawn. The next morning, my head felt heavy and congested when I heard the front door click open. Vivian walked in and wrapped her arms around me from behind. The sharp scent of her designer perfume immediately made my stomach churn. I used to think she was just fastidious about smelling nice. Now, I realized the truth: she was using it to mask the scent of Marcus’s cologne. She rested her chin on my shoulder, her voice dripping with affection. “Missed me, handsome? You called so many times last night. I was so caught up with work that I couldn’t check my phone. I rushed back the second the meetings ended.” Her warm breath brushed against my neck, sending a wave of revulsion through my body. “Don’t touch me,” I barked, twisting out of her embrace. Vivian blinked, momentarily startled, but quickly forced a playful pout. “What’s wrong, babe? Are you mad at me? Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll write you a three-thousand-word apology essay, deal?” She looked so utterly innocent. If I hadn’t seen the truth with my own eyes, I would have fallen for it again. “Vivian,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “I’m going to give you one chance. Is there anything you’re keeping from me?” Seven years. Even after her betrayal, I wanted to know if she had a single shred of honesty left in her. Vivian’s playful smile vanished. She looked at me with mock solemnity. “Well, yes. I actually changed the bridesmaid lineup. I was worried they’d look too pretty and steal my spotlight. You don’t mind, do you?” The final, fragile thread of my hope snapped into dust. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She answered it quickly, her voice louder than usual. “Mr. Harris? An issue with the contract? I’ll be right over.” She hung up and turned to me, adjusting her bag. “Babe, there’s an emergency at the office. I have to run, but I’ll make it up to you tonight, okay?” Without waiting for my reply, she kissed her fingers, pressed them to my cheek, and hurried out the door. Almost simultaneously, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Marcus saying he was leaving the country. 3 Marcus’s message was incredibly detailed: Hey man, I met this amazing girl from the UK and I’m heading to London to chase her down. If I can’t make it back in time for the wedding, don’t hate me. I’ll send the biggest gift on your registry. You and Vivian are going from high school sweethearts to husband and wife, I’m so jealous. Wish you guys a lifetime of happiness. The pieces clicked together instantly. Vivian wasn’t heading to the office. She was rushing to stop Marcus from leaving the country. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. I let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. I walked into the bedroom and began packing my bags. I was never coming back to this place. While I was folding my shirts, my phone screen lit up with another video call from Tyler. I swiped to answer immediately. On the screen, the little boy was sobbing hysterically, his hair damp with sweat. “Daddy, Mom came home today,” he cried. “But she brought a little girl with her. She said it’s Uncle Marcus’s daughter, but she’s Mom’s child too. She said we’re all going to live together now. You couldn’t take it, Daddy. You started coughing up blood. You’re in the hospital now, and I’m so scared.” My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. He turned the camera toward the hospital bed. There lay my future self. At only thirty-two years old, he looked like a man in his late fifties. His face was gaunt and hollowed out, an oxygen mask strapped over his nose as he clung to a thread of life. His lips parted slightly, trying to speak. Tyler quickly scrambled onto the bed and gently pulled the mask down. “Logan,” my future self whispered, his voice cracking like dry autumn leaves. “Seven years ago, you thought you were the luckiest man alive. You never suspected Vivian and Marcus were together before the wedding, did you? And you’ll never guess what happens next. In our second year of marriage, when Mom passed away in the ICU and you were crying yourself to sleep, Vivian was in the next wing giving birth to Marcus’s child. They had their own family all along. Now, they don’t even bother to hide it.” The air in my room felt thick, like poison. Each breath I took burned my lungs. “So,” I whispered, staring at my hollow reflection on the screen. “Is this how I end up? Dying before my thirty-fifth birthday?” He coughed violently, his chest rattling. “Once I found out the truth, I started swallowing sleeping pills and antidepressants by the handful. My mind went hazy. I took so many bad falls. I don’t have much time left. Vivian always claimed I was faking my sickness to get attention. She never cared. She spent every day with Marcus and their daughter.” The woman I had loved with every fiber of my being had turned out to be a monster. Suddenly, the heart monitor on the screen began to emit a shrill, continuous beep. I watched in horror as my future self began to seize. Tyler ran toward the door, screaming for the doctors, his voice breaking. “Daddy! Don’t leave me! What am I going to do without you?” The boy’s agonizing cries tore through my soul. Finally, my future self’s hand slipped from the bed, and his eyes closed forever. Tyler wept until he lost his voice, eventually collapsing into unconsciousness on the hospital floor. My hand trembled, and my phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the floorboards. I had just watched my own lonely death in a sterile hospital room, leaving behind a terrified child with no one to protect him. Then, a shadow fell across the screen. Someone walked into the camera frame. As I recognized the face, my fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. 4 It was Vivian. This was the first time I had seen her thirty-two-year-old self. She looked just as radiant and polished as she did now, showing none of the wear and tear of the years. She was thriving, a stark, sickening contrast to the broken man who had just died on the bed. Marcus stood right beside her, their fingers locked together. Looking at my lifeless body, Vivian’s eyes welled with a few superficial tears, a performance so shallow it made me sick. “Don’t worry, Logan,” she said softly, her voice light and unbothered. “Marcus and I will take good care of Tyler. You were always so tired. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re finally free.” The connection severed. But in the final second before the screen went black, I saw Marcus drape his arm around her shoulders, squeezing out a few fake tears while muttering about what an idiot I had been. I clutched my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had to leave. I had to get as far away from these two monsters as possible. I would not allow myself to die in some lonely hospital bed, and I would not let a child of mine suffer that kind of torment. As I searched my desk for my passport, my fingers brushed against an old journal from my high school days. I opened it. The pages were covered in scribbles of Vivian’s name. She scored three three-pointers in the basketball game today. We both ranked in the top three on the AP science exams. She switched seats today and sat right next to me. I couldn’t stop smiling all day. Looking at those words, I thought of the journal Tyler had held, the one filled with Vivian’s betrayals. She left me when I had a hundred and three fever to go see Marcus. She screamed at me for hours because of Marcus, calling me insecure and jealous. Two journals, written by the same hand. One filled with the sweet, innocent hope of youth; the other poisoned by the toxic reality of a shattered life. I grabbed my suitcase and headed downstairs, only to run right into Vivian and Marcus as they walked through the front gate. The moment they saw me with my luggage, their faces instantly smoothed into their usual masks. Marcus clapped me on the shoulder, acting as if nothing was wrong. “Logan! Where are you off to with that heavy suitcase?” Vivian frowned, her eyes wide with hurt. “Babe, where are you going? Did I do something to make you mad?” Marcus playfully nudged Vivian with his knee, giving her a mock stern look. “Come on, tell me! How did you upset our Logan? Let me tell you, you guys are getting married next week. If you treat him badly, I’ll personally help him run away from the altar!” Marcus had always played this role, pretending to be annoyed with Vivian for “stealing” his best friend. I used to think he was just looking out for me, acting like a protective brother. Now, I saw it for what it was: a cheap theater act to keep me blind. Vivian grabbed my hand, her voice incredibly soft. “See, Logan? You have a whole support system here. You can’t run away. Is this just pre-wedding jitters? If you want to go visit your parents, I’ll come with you, okay?” I saw a flicker of panic in Marcus’s eyes before he masked it, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. “Hey, if you’re really feeling stressed, come crash at my place for a few days. We’ve crashed in the same bed before, my place is plenty big.” My fingers shook with a cold, violent rage as I watched them play their parts, treating me like a fool. I let out a soft laugh and looked at them. “Don’t worry. I made sure to prepare a special wedding surprise for both of you.” They both froze. I pulled out my phone, opened the massive group chat containing all our family, friends, and wedding guests, and uploaded the video I had taken at the hotel yesterday. Once the upload completed, I looked up and met their eyes. “Vivian, the wedding is off.” As their phones buzzed with notifications, their faces drained of color, and they stumbled back a step in sheer terror.

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1 Back at eighteen, I found myself sitting next to the school rebel once again. He still hated studying. He spent classes sleeping, skipped school to play basketball, and slipped away to the local internet cafe the second he got a chance. Unlike my past life, I didn’t chase after him to nag. Until one day, I caught a glimpse of the parent signature on his test paper. Two elegant, sweeping words caught my eye: John. I froze in my tracks. So, John’s son and mine was already this big? When I saw that signature, my mind went completely blank. The bad boy sitting next to me wasn’t John after all. It was his son. I finally understood what the system meant by “returning to correct the timeline.” Years ago, I transmigrated into this world and personally dragged a rebellious delinquent to the pinnacle of success. That boy had been John. After I left, I heard he did incredibly well for himself, achieving wealth and fame at a young age. Believing my mission was fully complete, I had returned to my original world in peace. Who would have thought that years later, his son would follow in his footsteps? The kid had even surpassed his old man, becoming the town’s ultimate troublemaker. I sighed softly. Now I had to straighten out this little sapling all over again, keeping him from going off the rails and wrecking his future. When I first left this world, I died in childbirth. The system had never told me the baby survived. Time moved differently in my real world. It had only been three years for me, yet the baby I left behind was already a teenager. Before I could sink deeper into my thoughts, a flash of red burst through the classroom door. The boy stood against the light, tall and lean, with pale skin and sharp features. He sported a shock of vibrant red hair, a gleaming black stud in his ear, and his trademark scowl. He walked over to me with that same moody expression, his voice cutting through the air like ice. “Move.” I looked up, meeting his dark, heavy gaze, and froze again. He looked so much like John, only taller, colder, and even more defiant than his father ever was. I quietly stood up to let him pass. Ryder slid into his seat, crossed his long legs, and buried his face in his desk to sleep. I stared at his profile. This was the first time I had seen him since my return. He hadn’t shown his face at school for two weeks. Rumor had it he was either rotting away at the internet cafe or getting into trouble on the streets. But John was incredibly wealthy. With enough donations to the school, his son stayed enrolled despite everything. I let out a quiet sigh. A stubborn father and an equally obstinate son. What a handful. 2 Ryder slept through the entire math class. When the bell rang, he suddenly clutched his stomach, his face pale and strained. A sudden wave of maternal instinct washed over me. I leaned closer. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” He shot me a sideways glance and spat out a single word: “Beat it.” So rude. How on earth had his father raised him? My hand moved faster than my brain. Before I could stop myself, I smacked the back of his head. A sharp smack echoed through the room. The entire classroom fell dead silent. Every eye was pinned on us. My hand hovered in the air, awkward and frozen. I forced myself to make up a ridiculous excuse. “Ryder, your hair is too bright. It’s distracting me from my studying.” Ryder’s knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched so hard his face looked rigid, anger burning in his dark eyes. Just as he was about to explode, the warning bell saved me. The homeroom teacher walked in, catching him with his hand half-raised. “Ryder, do you want me to call your father in for another meeting?” He swallowed his rage, forcing himself to back down. He slumped onto his desk, radiating pure fury. The student behind me tapped my shoulder, his glasses practically gleaming with excitement. “No way. You actually made Ryder back down.” I managed a weak smile. Ryder wasn’t the type to let things slide. Before he put his hand down, he had leaned in and hissed, “Wait until school ends.” Fine, I would wait. But when the final bell rang, Ryder bolted out the door. He was in such a rush that he left his jacket behind. I waited and waited until the classroom emptied completely and the security guard started his rounds. Finally, I decided to leave. I picked up my backpack, but just as I turned to go, the jacket left on his desk began to vibrate. He had forgotten his phone, too. What was this kid in such a hurry for? I pulled the phone out of his pocket. The screen lit up, displaying a single name: John. I didn’t want to answer it, but the calls kept coming back-to-back. At the very last second, I swiped to answer. “Where are you?” John’s deep voice came through the receiver, heavy and commanding. “Mr…” I cleared my throat, unable to bring myself to call him by his name. It took a long, burning moment before I managed to find my voice. “Hello, sir. I’m Ryder’s…” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “Tell him to get home. Now.” The line went dead. I stood frozen, staring at the screen. John, are you really still this impatient? While I was trying to figure out how to return the phone, a text message popped up on the lock screen. “Hey Ryder, the cake is ready. Come pay for it.” “Ryder, where are you?” An address followed. I tried to unlock the phone. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. I tried his father’s birthday. Incorrect. I tried the dog’s birthday. Still wrong. On a strange whim, I entered my own birthday. The phone unlocked. A sudden tightness gripped my throat, and my eyes stung with tears. Eighteen years. Even after all this time, someone still remembered me. I wiped my eyes and headed toward the address. When I arrived, Ryder and a group of his friends were being ushered out by a furious bakery owner. The owner pushed him, looking completely disgusted. “Get out of here, you little freeloaders! Kids these days will lie about anything. If you don’t have the money, just say so. Don’t give me that ‘I forgot my phone’ crap!” Seeing their leader insulted, a few of his colorful-haired friends reached for wooden bats, ready to start a fight. I rushed forward, grabbing Ryder’s arm before things could escalate. “Don’t fight. I brought your phone.” Ryder stared at me with a complicated expression. Without a word, he took the phone and paid the bill. The owner’s demeanor shifted instantly. He muttered a quick apology and quickly packed the cake. I stood off to the side, catching the whispered conversations of his friends outside. “Is that his new girl?” “Doubt it. He was out with someone else last week.” “They probably broke up. He never keeps a girl for more than a week anyway.” I frowned. Who taught him to be so reckless with people’s feelings? I looked up to see Ryder sitting quietly at a table, meticulously writing on a small card. I assumed he was writing a note for some girl. But as I stepped closer, my heart stopped. Happy Birthday, Dad. The words were written, crossed out, and written again, the ink bleeding into the paper. He didn’t know what to say. In the end, he left only a simple line: Wishing you great success, Boss. A mix of frustration and sorrow washed over me. This boy wasn’t nearly as rebellious as he pretended to be. He remembered his father’s birthday. He remembered that John hated sweets; the cake had almost no frosting, customized to the lowest sweetness level. He was far more sensitive and caring than I had ever imagined. Before we left, I looked at him and said softly, “Your dad is waiting for you at home to have dinner.” John hated being alone, especially on his birthday. “Go home and keep him company.” Ryder didn’t answer. He turned to leave, but then paused, looking back at me. His voice was as soft as a breeze. “Thanks.” 3 Watching his retreating figure, I couldn’t help but think of John. That was a lifetime ago. When John had been a young punk, he was far wilder and rougher than his son. Foolish and untamed. He could never grasp the tutoring material, and the moment his friends called, he would run faster than the wind. Nine times out of ten, I would catch him in that alleyway downtown and drag him back by his collar. We lived across the hall from each other back then. Once I started tutoring him, his mother gladly handed full authority over to me. She had given me a feather duster. She had used it on him so many times that all the feathers had fallen off, yet he never changed. By the time it reached my hands, it was just a bare wooden stick. Yet, somehow, that plain stick worked wonders. John was terrified of it. Every time I held it up, he would quietly follow me back to study. During his senior year, he finally settled down and worked hard, eventually getting into a good college. The day the results came out, both he and his mother broke down in tears. John held me tight, his tears soaking into my shirt. His quiet thank-you carried a weight that left me breathless. “I’ll listen to you from now on,” he had whispered. During our early years together, whenever he stayed up playing video games, I would cut the internet cable. If he skipped class to go to a gaming café, I would drag him back to the classroom myself. When he got a fake sleeve tattoo, I grabbed his ear and threatened to scrub it off. He had scrambled to peel off the sticker, begging, “It’s fake, it’s just a temporary tattoo! Please, I surrender, babe!” I kept him on a tight leash like that for four years. By graduation, John had won numerous academic awards and secured recommendation letters from top professors. Everyone knew he had a notoriously strict girlfriend. But that was the only way. Pulling a delinquent up to the top was never an easy task. After graduation, he started his own business. Once the company began to grow, his way of blowing off steam became drinking. The pressure was immense, and he spent night after night drowning his stress in alcohol. His medical reports were covered in red ink: severe stomach lining damage, frequent bleeding. One night, I dragged him out of a bar. Before I could even speak, he violently threw my hand off his arm. He glared at me, his eyes cold. “Brooke, you’re suffocating me. Don’t you ever get tired?” I stared at him, unable to speak. After a long silence, he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, Brooke. These years under your thumb… I’m exhausted.” Tears welled in my eyes, but John no longer had the patience to comfort me. He turned and walked away without another word. I stood there alone, watching his shadow disappear as tears dripped onto the back of my hand. I thought about it for a long time after that night. Truth was, during all those years of keeping him in line, he wasn’t the only one who was tired. I was exhausted too. I knew what people called me behind my back: overbearing, aggressive, nagging. I even knew that he had once agreed with those voices in quiet conversations, murmuring, “I’m tired too. I should have ended up with someone gentler.” Once he became successful, his circle expanded, and rumors started finding their way to me, even when I tried to ignore them. I never asked, and he never explained. I simply kept quiet, retreating further and further into my own shell. Then, I got pregnant. I thought the baby would bring us back to how we used to be. Until one day, I went to his office to find him. A young girl was sitting there. She looked gentle and sweet, speaking in a soft, timid voice. When she saw me, she scrambled to her feet, her eyes instantly turning red. I asked her a single question: “How long have you been with him?” She burst into tears of panic. When John rushed in, his jaw was tight and his fists clenched and unclenched. The look he gave me was heavy and cold. In the end, he said nothing. He simply took my hand in silence and led me home. That night, he slept in the study. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes. Some things didn’t need explanations anymore. At that moment, I made up my mind to leave this world. From eighteen to twenty-six, I had stayed by his side, watching him go from having nothing to having everything. I was done. 4 I pulled myself back to the present. I finished the last bite of the cake and prepared to leave. Outside, Ryder’s friends were still waiting. When they saw me step out, they crowded around. “Hey, it’s getting late. Ryder told us to make sure you get home safe.” I glanced at the flickering streetlights and didn’t refuse. Along the way, their chatter allowed me to piece together what Ryder’s life had been like all these years. “Ryder’s actually got it rough. His mom passed away when he was tiny.” “His dad’s always working. There’s basically no one at home.” “He lives in this massive house, but when he got incredibly sick once, there wasn’t even anyone to bring him a glass of water.” My fingers clenched tightly around my backpack straps. John, you absolute jerk. Is this how you took care of my son? “But Ryder cares a lot about family. Even though his dad ignores him, he still buys him a birthday cake every single year.” “He looks tough, but my mom always says he’s actually the most responsible one out of all of us.” I remembered how quickly he shut down in class when the teacher threatened to call his father. He wasn’t scared of getting in trouble. He just knew how busy his father was, and he didn’t want to force him to clean up his messes. He dyed his hair red and acted like a rebel just to get his father’s attention. A wave of sorrow hit me, and I squeezed my hands shut. “Just watch, his dad won’t even touch the cake. It’s the same every year. Ryder always brings it back the next day for us to eat.” “His dad won’t eat a single bite. I don’t get how anyone can be that cold.” My chest tightened with a sharp, dull ache. All these years, my baby had been hurting like this. I tossed and turned in bed that night, unable to shake the image of Ryder’s lonely eyes. The pain in my chest made it hard to breathe. System, I called out in my mind. I want to use one of my chances to see what Ryder is doing right now. The system had granted me three lifelines upon my return. Once they were gone, I would be forced back to my original world. But I couldn’t stop worrying about my boy. The vision showed Ryder arriving home, holding the cake. He looked toward the figure sitting on the sofa. A man in a tailored suit sat there, buried in his tablet, not even sparing a glance toward the door. After a long silence, Ryder tightened his grip on the cake box and called out softly to his father’s back, “Dad… I’m home.” He called out twice. No response. Ryder lowered his gaze, standing in the middle of the foyer, looking completely lost. My heart shattered into pieces. I wanted nothing more than to break into that room and slap some sense into John. You bastard. Finally, John put down his tablet and looked back. His gold-framed glasses gave him an air of quiet sophistication. But his eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. His face remained entirely expressionless even when looking at his own son. “Let’s eat,” he said simply. Several dishes were laid out on the table. It was clear he had been waiting for a long time.

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1 The moment high school graduation ended, I sent Jasper a hundred-thousand-dollar invoice for ten years of living expenses and tuition. It all started when a text message suddenly popped up on my old, long-forgotten flip phone. “If you can see this message, please do not choose the same university as Jasper.” I showed it to Jasper as a joke. He was furious, insisting on calling the number back to scream at whoever was playing such a sick prank. But that night, another message and a handful of photos froze me right where I stood. “I know you can see this. I am actually Jasper, ten years in the future.” Most of the photos were intimate, candid shots of him and my best friend, Tessa. The last one was a family portrait of the two of them, holding a pair of toddlers. “If you hadn’t been in the way, Tessa and I would have been together a long time ago.” “I’m sick of living under your family’s charity. Even without your money, I can get into Briarwood on my own.” A cold realization washed over me. I suddenly remembered the travel mug of warm herbal tea and the gourmet breakfasts that mysteriously appeared on Tessa’s desk every morning, and the extra strength pain relievers Jasper always kept in the front pocket of his backpack. I shut off the phone, opened my laptop, and quietly changed my college application. Then, I had our family lawyer draft an itemized bill for every single cent we had spent on him over the past ten years. If that was his dream future, he could have it. I was bowing out. … That night, I tossed and turned, my head pounding with questions I couldn’t resolve. Unable to sleep, I powered up the old phone again. I drafted and deleted the text several times before finally hitting send. “When did you fall in love with Tessa? Why didn’t you just tell me?” I clutched the phone, my fingertips trembling, a sudden and heavy dread settling in my chest. The reply came almost instantly, flat and agonizing. “I thought I was obvious enough.” “At least Tessa treated me like a human being.” “Paige, I’m sick of playing the grateful charity case. My parents’ death was a tragic accident, but I never needed your family’s pity.” “You have no idea how exhausting it was to pretend to be happy in your house every single day.” He sent a few more photos, showing him and Tessa sharing a cozy dinner at a dim restaurant. I didn’t reply. My grip on the phone turned my knuckles white. Through the crack in my bedroom door, I looked out into the hallway. The lights were still on. Jasper was sitting at the kitchen table, working late into the night to finish a handmade leather journal for my birthday. If his parents hadn’t volunteered to take a double shift at the chemical plant for my parents ten years ago, they wouldn’t have been caught in the explosion. Neither of them survived. On the day of the funeral, not a single one of Jasper’s relatives volunteered to take him in. It was my mother who knelt on his porch, and my father who bought groceries and packed his things. I had followed them, carrying a basket of fruit to welcome him. That day, Jasper had wept, promising he would put his life back together and treat our home as his own. He integrated into our family quickly. He used to tell me he would look after me for the rest of his life, that I was more important to him than anything else in the world. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady my shaking hands. Before I could type another word, the “future Jasper” sent a barrage of explicit, intimate photos. The timestamp on them read: Yesterday. “You didn’t know, did you? The very first day after graduation, Tessa and I checked into a hotel room.” My blood ran cold, and my face drained of color. Yesterday, I had planned to visit our retired high school counselor with Tessa. She had bailed at the last minute, claiming she had severe cramps and needed to stay in bed. She wasn’t in bed. She was with Jasper. My fingers hovered over the call button, desperate to confront him, but the phone chimed again. “Don’t bother calling to accuse me. It won’t work.” “Paige, if you don’t play along this time, ten years from now, you and your entire family will pay with your lives.” I bolted upright in bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. What did that mean? Our family had fed him, clothed him, and loved him like a son for a decade. Now he was threatening our lives? Anger and panic choked me. I could barely find my footing as I stood up. Receiving no response, he sent one final photo. I zoomed in. Hanging around Tessa’s neck was a silver St. Christopher medal. That was the medal my mother and I had traveled miles to secure from a historic cathedral, kneeling at every altar to pray for his protection. He had promised me he would never take it off. I swallowed my tears and typed back. “If I don’t go to the same university as you, will all of this stop? Will my family be safe?” “I’ll step aside. I’ll let you and Tessa be together.” There was a long pause before the text bubble popped up, the words laced with mocking amusement. “Of course.” “And I don’t need your permission. Tessa and I have been soulmates for three years. We’ve been official behind your back this whole time.” “Oh, and tomorrow is your birthday, right? That’s the day our first child was conceived in the future.” I looked up through the door crack. Jasper was walking toward my room, holding the hand-stitched leather journal. He tapped on the door and handed it to me, along with a smaller, more delicate matching coin purse. “Give this smaller one to Tessa next time you see her, so she won’t try to steal yours.” I used to think he was just thoughtful and attentive. I had no idea he was constantly thinking of Tessa, keeping her in his plans right under my nose. I pushed his hand away, my voice hollow. “Give it to her yourself. I’m not celebrating my birthday this year.” Jasper’s smile faltered, but he didn’t press for a reason. Instead, he left the house early the next morning. My mother tried to wake me with a bright smile. “Jasper must be setting up a surprise for you. He’s such a good boy, Paige. I’ll be at peace knowing you’ll marry him someday.” At peace? I gripped the edge of my blanket, my fingers ice-cold. By noon, Jasper and Tessa arrived together. They each handed me a gift bag. Inside were two hand-thrown clay mugs, clearly designed as a matching couple’s set. I didn’t reach for them. My mother leaned in to examine them, murmuring, “These look like a set for a couple. You and Tessa usually don’t agree on anything, but your tastes are remarkably similar.” My father let out a quiet cough, signaling her to drop the subject. I sat on the sofa, keeping my face completely blank. When Jasper called my name, I acted as if he were invisible. His eyes darkened, while Tessa tried in vain to break the ice. When the conversation shifted to college registration, she looked down, smoothing her skirt. “Have you guys decided on a school? Your grades are practically identical, so you’ll definitely end up at Briarwood together. My scores are a bit lower, so I’m still figuring out my options.” “Of course we are,” Jasper answered smoothly. “Even if Tessa can’t get into the main campus, we’ll find a way to stay in the same city.” He always spoke in half-truths. If he was that confident, he had already mapped out a plan to be with her. Listening to his easy lies, I shook my head and spoke clearly. “No. I’m not applying to Briarwood.” Jasper bolted upright, staring at me in disbelief. My parents looked over, their faces filled with worry. He hadn’t expected this. After all, my biggest birthday wish since childhood had always been to go to college with him. Jasper spent the rest of the day in a tense, brooding silence. By evening, he finally cornered me in the hallway. “Paige, did I do something wrong? If I did, just tell me. I can change.” “Going to the same college has been our dream for years. How can you just throw it away?” “Is there something you aren’t telling me?” He let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Please just talk to me. This silent treatment is exhausting.” My chest ached with a dull, throbbing pain. I opened my mouth to speak, but before a word could form, Tessa stood up near the front door, preparing to leave. She cast a fleeting, helpless glance in his direction. Jasper froze, then quickly moved to put on his shoes, sighing in my direction. “I know Tessa is terrified of walking home in the dark. I’m going to escort her. You don’t mind, do you?” My face turned pale as I watched them walk out together. The last time I had told him I was afraid of the dark, he had laughed, telling me to stop acting like a child. But the moment Tessa gave him a look, he rushed to her side, using me as his convenient excuse. My chest rose and fell with silent fury. I retreated to my room and locked the door. Within half an hour, a classmate who worked part-time at a local boutique hotel sent me a photo. It showed Jasper and Tessa standing at the front desk, registering for a room. The future was matching the present, piece by piece. “Paige, you and your best friend are so close, do you share boyfriends now? Want me to send you the room number?” I replied quietly. “No, thank you. What they do has nothing to do with me anymore.” I sat on the floor, resting my forehead against my knees for a long time. Finally, I picked up the old phone and typed out a message. “Did you always hate us? Did you always think your life would be perfect if my parents had never taken you in?” There was no text reply. Instead, he sent an image of a family portrait of my parents and me. I thought he was reminiscing. But the next image was a digital copy of three death certificates, bearing my name and my parents’ names. My hands shook violently, tears finally spilling over. “How did we die? Tell me the truth.” “I won’t interfere with your life. Just tell me why we had to die.” The status bubble flickered on and off for a long time before his reply came through. “It’s simple.” “Your parents found out about me and Tessa, and they forced her to miscarry when I wasn’t around.” “Tessa forgave them, but they wouldn’t let it go. They eventually got trapped in a warehouse fire of their own making.” “And you, consumed by grief, fell into the river and drowned.” My breath hitched, a sharp pain piercing my chest. I typed back with every ounce of strength left in my fingers, my whole body trembling. “My parents would never do that!” “You know them better than anyone. Tessa is lying to you!” The response was cold and detached. “Tessa had no reason to lie. No mother would fabricate the loss of her own child.” I slid down against the wall, collapsing onto the floor. So even if he knew Tessa was lying, he chose to close his eyes and believe her anyway. My parents had spent ten years carrying the guilt of his parents’ death, giving him more love and attention than they gave me. I used to joke that I was the adopted one. And this was how he repaid them. I typed out a furious stream of accusations, but his final reply remained infuriatingly light. “Tessa and I handled your family’s funerals ourselves. If she were truly evil, why would she bother giving you a proper burial?” I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. It was amazing how easily guilt could be romanticized. I turned on my laptop, verified that my university application had been successfully resubmitted to a school halfway across the country, and finally let out a long breath. The next morning, I sat down with my parents. “Mom, Dad, I’m not going to Briarwood with Jasper. And the moment I move to campus, I want you two to pack up and move with me.” “Also, I’ve had our lawyer draft an invoice for Jasper’s tuition and living expenses. We are collecting every single cent.” My parents stared at me in confusion, but my eyes were red as I continued. “You don’t know the real Jasper. If we stay near him, he will destroy this family.” “I don’t want to see him ever again. Looking at him makes me sick.” The front door clicked open. Jasper stood in the entryway, holding a fresh strawberry cake. It slipped from his hands, splattering onto the floorboards. He froze, but as he stepped closer, I could smell the distinct flowery scent of Tessa’s perfume on his jacket. “Paige, what are you talking about?” I shook my head, my jaw clenched as I fought back the urge to scream. Jasper reached out, trying to soothe me the way he did when we were kids, his hand reaching for my hair. For a second, his eyes held a trace of genuine worry, but his words instantly turned to ice. “Did Tessa say something to you? She promised she wouldn’t mention anything to you.” Tessa. It was always Tessa. I lost all control. I swung my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Jasper, we’re over! Pack your bags and get out of our house!” I screamed with every bit of air in my lungs, looking like a madwoman. Jasper stood perfectly still, his expression smooth and devoid of any emotion. “Stop playing around, Paige. I don’t agree to a breakup.” He wiped a smear of blood from his lip, his eyes narrowing slightly. My parents rushed to my side, holding my hands. “Paige, what’s going on? Why are you doing this to Jasper?” I looked up, letting out a cold laugh. “Because if I stay with him, we will all end up dead.” The room fell into a suffocating silence. “I’m joking,” I added quietly, looking away. “I just don’t love him anymore. And I think Jasper has already found his match anyway, right?” I let the excuse hang in the air. Jasper stiffened, his eyes instinctively drifting to the framed photo of Tessa on our living room shelf. “It’s my fault,” I muttered, leaning back into the sofa. “I wish you two nothing but the best.” My words broke the tension. The tight frown on Jasper’s face slowly relaxed. That night, despite my parents’ attempts to convince him to stay, Jasper packed his bags and moved out. I didn’t say a single word to him. He stood outside my bedroom door for an hour, but I didn’t open it until he was ready to walk out the front door. I handed him a box containing every gift, card, and trinket he had ever given me. “I mean it, Jasper. I hope you and Tessa are happy.” He opened his mouth to explain, but I shut the door in his face. Over the next few weeks, Tessa sent me endless messages, pretending to act as a concerned friend, reporting Jasper’s movements to me. When I ignored them, she eventually stopped. Soon after, Jasper changed his relationship status online, making his relationship with Tessa official. Seeing that I didn’t react, my parents offered them their quiet blessings. A week before college started, Jasper brought Tessa to our house for a formal visit. Seeing that my face was calm, without a single trace of tears, he couldn’t help but ask. “I’m with someone else now. Aren’t you even a little sad?” I didn’t answer. Instead, my gaze locked onto the silver St. Christopher medal hanging around Tessa’s neck. I reached out, grabbed the chain, and ripped it off. “Give this back. If you want one, pray for it yourself.” Tessa let out a soft sob, covering her face. Jasper clenched his fists, his face dark with silent rage as he took her hand and stormed out of the house. On the morning of my departure, I retrieved the old flip phone one last time and dialed his number. “Jasper, I didn’t apply to Briarwood. I won’t be in your way anymore.” “For the next ten years, I’m letting you go. Please do the same for me.” Without waiting for his response, I tossed the phone into a trash can at the terminal and walked toward my gate. Jasper had assumed I was bluffing about the application and the invoice. He arrived at the Briarwood University registry desk, ready to sign his enrollment papers. The registrar looked at the screen and frowned. “Mr. Harrington, your tuition payment was declined. The outstanding balance is ten thousand dollars.” “That’s impossible…” Jasper pulled out his phone. But the moment he opened the PDF invoice of a hundred thousand dollars sent by our family lawyer, all the color drained from his face.

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