Category: English

For three years, I was bullied and ostracized because I refused to do the school bully’s homework. 　　Scars layered upon scars on my wrists. The doctor said I had severe self-harm tendencies. 　　My parents were heartbroken, losing sleep, vowing they’d sell everything they owned to get me better. 　　But then, the bully’s mom burst into our home with a group of people, pointing her finger in my face and accusing me of seducing her son. 　　My usually timid parents turned pale with fright, not daring to utter a single word in my defense. 　　I hid behind them, trembling, begging Mom to close the door. 　　Instead, Mom suddenly snapped, grabbing a teacup from the table and smashing it against my forehead: 　　”Flies don’t buzz around unblemished eggs. Why are you the only one out of thousands of students who always causes problems?” 　　”We can’t afford to provoke them, but can’t we at least avoid them? Why do you have to stir up trouble with people like that!” 　　”Just die, go die and we’ll all be at peace, everyone will be free!” 　　Those words, like a bolt of lightning, shattered the last defense in my heart. 　　I looked at Mom. 　　Her eyes held no tenderness, only the frantic desire to shake off a burden. 　　Then I looked at Dad. 　　He was hiding in the corner, smoking, not even daring to look me in the eye. 　　I suddenly laughed. 　　”Fine,” 　　I whispered. 　　”Since you all want your ‘reputation,’ then I’ll pay with my life.” 　　I turned and ran towards the balcony. 　　It was the fastest I had run in seventeen years. 1 　　The moment my body became airborne, I felt no fear. 　　Instead, there was a long-lost sense of lightness. 　　Finally, no more writing Chad’s homework. 　　Finally, no more enduring the mocking stares of my classmates. 　　Finally, no more seeing my parents’ timid, afraid-to-make-waves expressions. 　　As I plummeted, time seemed to stretch endlessly. 　　On the balcony, Mom still held her hand out, pointing at me, her expression shifting from anger to stunned disbelief. 　　Dad’s cigarette fell to the ground, his mouth agape. 　　Mrs. Davidson’s cold sneer froze on her face. 　　But I didn’t look back. 　　”Thud—” 　　A dull, heavy impact. 　　Followed by the sound of bones shattering. 　　The intense pain lasted only a second, then came boundless darkness and void. 　　I thought that was the end. 　　But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating in mid-air. 　　My body lay twisted on the concrete, blood spreading rapidly outwards like a morbidly beautiful bloom. 　　The wound on my forehead was still there, and with the severe trauma from the fall, my face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess. 　　Screams erupted around me. 　　”Ah! Someone’s dead!” 　　”The Millers’ daughter jumped!” 　　A crowd quickly gathered, some pulling out phones to take pictures, others covering their eyes, unable to watch. 　　I hovered above my body, watching the scene with cold detachment. 　　Rushed footsteps echoed from upstairs. 　　Mrs. Davidson and her people rushed down. Seeing the gruesome sight on the ground, she visibly flinched. 　　But quickly, she covered her nose, recoiling several steps with an expression of disgust, pulling her bodyguards behind her. 　　”How unlucky! If you’re going to die, couldn’t you do it somewhere else? Why in front of me?” 　　She even kicked one of my shoes that had flown off. 　　”I always said that girl had a weak constitution, such a drama queen. It’s truly an eyesore.” 　　I wanted to rush over and tear her mouth apart. 　　But my hand passed through her body, only stirring up a chilling gust of wind. 　　Mrs. Davidson shivered, cursed under her breath, and left with her group. 　　”Come on, let’s go, quickly, don’t get tainted by this bad luck. She jumped herself, it has nothing to do with us. Don’t even think about getting money from us!” 　　Just then, Mom and Dad stumbled down the stairs. 　　I thought they would rush to my side, weeping. 　　I thought they would regret the words they had just spoken. 　　But I was wrong. 　　Mom rushed out of the building entrance, saw the shocking red puddle on the ground, and her first reaction wasn’t to scream or to run over and embrace me. 　　Instead, she clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around in terror. 　　She was looking at the neighbors. 　　She was looking at the crowds pointing fingers. 　　Dad’s legs were so weak he couldn’t stand, collapsing to his knees about six feet away from me. 　　His hands trembled as he tried to reach for a cigarette in his pocket, but he couldn’t find one. 　　”How… how are we supposed to show our faces after this…?” 　　Dad murmured to himself. 　　Not because he was heartbroken for me, but because he felt “humiliated.” 　　”Michael, call an ambulance!” shouted Mr. Henderson, our neighbor. 　　Dad finally reacted, fumbling for his phone, pressing several times before finally dialing 91

　　”Hello… my daughter… she fell from the building…” 　　The ambulance arrived quickly. 　　The paramedic flipped my eyelids, checked for a pulse, and shook her head. 　　”Pupils dilated, neck broken, died instantly.” 　　A white sheet was draped over my face. 　　The moment the sheet covered me, I saw Mom roll her eyes back and pass out. 　　Not from overwhelming grief. 　　It was because of Mrs. Davidson’s parting shout of “Don’t even think about getting money from us,” and the neighbors’ murmurs of “How could that child be so foolish?” 　　She had ‘fainted’ from the shock of the gossip. 2 　　The police arrived shortly after, cordoning off the area. 　　A young officer walked over to inquire about the situation. 　　”Are you a family member of the deceased? Why did your child jump? Was there anything unusual before this?” 　　Dad squatted on the ground, hands clasped over his head, dirt clinging between his fingers. 　　He didn’t dare look the officer in the eye, stammering: 　　”No… nothing unusual.” 　　”Lily… Lily had depression, she was under a lot of academic pressure, we couldn’t manage her…” 　　”It was an accident, she just… she just couldn’t cope…” 　　I floated in mid-air, watching the man who had brought me into this world. 　　To avoid trouble, to avoid being drawn into a “bullying” investigation, for his pathetic “reputation.” 　　He actually pinned the label of “depression” on me himself. 　　Washing Chad’s family’s hands completely clean of any wrongdoing. 　　I opened my mouth wide, letting out a silent scream. 　　Bloody tears streamed down my face. 　　Dad, I’m already dead. 　　Are you still going to use my innocence to buy your so-called “peace”? 　　My body was taken away by the funeral home vehicle. 　　The crime scene tape was removed, and the crowd dispersed. 　　Only a dark red bloodstain remained on the ground, glaring under the setting sun. 　　Mom and Dad returned to our apartment upstairs. 　　Mom had already woken up. She sat on the sofa, her eyes staring blankly, mumbling repeatedly: 　　”It’s over now, the whole neighborhood knows…” 　　”Everyone will be gossiping about us when we step outside from now on…” 　　The room was a complete mess. 　　The broken ceramic shards were still on the floor, the very weapon that crushed my last hope. 　　The tea spill hadn’t dried yet, mixed with my blood. 　　Dad lit one cigarette after another, filling the room with smoke. 　　”Knock, knock, knock.” 　　Someone was at the door. 　　Dad flinched, startled, the cigarette burning his hand. 　　”Who… who is it?” 　　”Michael, it’s me, Mrs. Jenkins from downstairs.” 　　A curious voice came from outside. 　　Dad didn’t dare open the door, shouting through it: “Mrs. Jenkins, the house is a mess, it’s not convenient.” 　　”Oh, we just wanted to see what happened. What a foolish thing Lily did…” 　　”Did I hear it was because of an early romance? With a rich kid?” 　　”I knew it, she looked innocent, but she was probably a troublemaker…” 　　Even through the door, I could hear the malicious glee in their voices. 　　Mom jumped up from the sofa like a cat with its tail stepped on. 　　”No! No early romance! My Lily was just under too much study pressure!” 　　She screamed at the door, her voice shrill and slightly distorted. 　　The voices outside quieted, turning into hushed whispers, then the sound of footsteps fading away. 　　Mom gasped for breath, turning around to face the living room. 　　Her gaze fell on the bloodstain on the floor. 　　It was from when the teacup smashed my head. 　　”Quick, clean this up.” 　　Mom frantically grabbed a mop and rags, knelt on the floor, and scrubbed at the bloodstain with all her might. 　　As if cleaning the blood could erase everything that had just happened. 　　As if leaving no trace meant no one would know she had personally smashed her daughter’s head. 　　”Sarah, don’t clean it…” Dad said, his voice hoarse. 　　”What do you mean, don’t clean it? What will the neighbors think if they come in tomorrow!” 　　Mom cried as she scrubbed, her tears falling onto the floor, mixing with my blood. 　　”This damn girl, even in death she can’t make things easy for us…” 　　”She just had to make a scene at home, just had to make a scene in front of Mrs. Davidson…” 　　”Now look, everyone’s laughing at us, are you happy now!” 　　I floated on top of the wardrobe, watching her coldly. 　　Even at this moment, she was blaming me. 　　Blaming me for being disobedient, blaming me for embarrassing her. 　　Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. 　　This time, it was the police. 3 　　They were two uniformed officers, here to take further statements and collect evidence. 　　Mom and Dad immediately stopped arguing, their faces adopting that timid, deferential expression I hated most. 　　”Officers, please come in, have a seat,” Dad said, bowing slightly. 　　The officers stepped inside, looking around. 　　Their eyes immediately landed on the broken ceramic shards and the bloodstain that hadn’t been completely wiped away. 　　”What happened here?” one officer asked, pointing at the floor. “Was there an argument?” 　　My heart leaped to my throat. 　　Tell them! 　　Tell them Mrs. Davidson broke in with her people! Tell them she attacked me! Tell them you forced me! 　　If you just tell them, the police will investigate, and Chad won’t get away with it! 　　But Mom spoke first. 　　”No… no argument.” 　　”My hand slipped, and I accidentally broke the cup.” 　　”Lily… she accidentally stepped on a shard and cut her foot.” 　　The officer frowned: “Cut her foot? The medical examiner’s preliminary report indicates a blunt force trauma to the deceased’s forehead.” 　　Mom’s face instantly turned ashen. 　　Dad quickly interjected, speaking rapidly: 　　”She… she was agitated and hit her head herself! She ran into the corner of the table!” 　　”Officers, it really was an accident. Lily had always been sick, we even took her to see doctors…” 　　To cover up the lie, Dad even pulled out a bottle of his own sleeping pills from a drawer. 　　”See, these are the pills she used to take.” 　　The officer took the pill bottle, glanced at it, and looked suspiciously at the sweating couple. 　　But because it was a suicide, and the family insisted there was no dispute, actively trying to smooth things over. 　　The officers eventually just sighed, making a few brief notes. 　　”Since the family has no objections, please proceed with the funeral arrangements as soon as possible.” 　　The police left. 　　The moment the door closed, Dad seemed to deflate, losing all his strength and collapsing onto the floor. 　　He pulled something from his pocket. 　　It was my phone. 　　The screen was completely shattered, the casing bent. 　　It was one of my belongings the police had found downstairs and given to him. 　　Dad tried to turn it on. 　　The screen flickered a few times, let out a screeching electrical sound, then went completely dark. 　　Dad let out a long sigh of relief. 　　He actually sighed with relief! 　　He stood up, walked to the trash can, and unhesitatingly threw the phone inside. 　　”It’s better if it’s broken,” 　　he mumbled under his breath. 　　”So no one finds anything scandalous inside. If the police find any evidence of a secret relationship, how are we supposed to show our faces?” 　　He piled rotten vegetable leaves on top of the phone, then tied the trash bag shut. 　　My heart, along with that trash bag, died completely. 　　Even before the seven-day mourning period was complete, the house no longer felt like a place where someone had died. 　　Mom became like someone with OCD, frantically cleaning the house. 　　She packed all my clothes, books, and stuffed animals into large black plastic bags. 　　She wanted to erase all traces of me from the house. 　　As if by not seeing my things, life could return to the “normal” that pleased her. 　　”Let’s just throw all this out, keeping it just brings bad luck,” 　　Mom muttered to herself as she tidied up. 　　She picked up my backpack, the one I hadn’t been able to part with even in my last moments. 　　The zipper wasn’t fully closed. 　　”Clatter.” 　　A notebook fell out. 　　The cover was covered in large red X’s drawn with a marker, and in the middle, two menacing words: “BITCH.” 　　Mom froze. 　　Her hand hung in mid-air, her gaze fixed on those two words. 　　It was my math notebook. 　　She picked it up with trembling hands and opened the first page. 　　The once neat homework was now marred by charred holes from cigarette burns. 　　On every page, next to every problem, disgusting insults were scribbled. 　　”Why are you acting so holier-than-thou?” 　　”It’s an honor to do Chad’s homework.” 　　”Meet me at the field tonight. Don’t come, and I’ll make you regret it.” 　　A crumpled piece of paper fell from a hidden pocket. 　　It was Chad’s handwriting. 　　Just one short line, but vicious enough to make one’s blood run cold: 　　”Lily Miller, your dad’s a coward, your mom’s a snob, and you, a piece of trash from a trash family, aren’t even fit to tie my shoes. Come to my room tonight, or I’ll post your naked pictures online.” 　　Mom’s hands began to shake violently. 　　That note was like a resounding slap across her face. 　　She recognized Chad’s handwriting. 　　She remembered that day when Mrs. Davidson pointed at me, calling me a “seductress.” 　　She remembered that day when I knelt, begging her: “Mom, I really didn’t, he forced me.” 　　Memories flooded back like a tide. 　　That day, to appease Mrs. Davidson, she slapped me across the face and told me to shut up. 　　That day, she raised the teacup and told me to die. 　　”Ugh…” 　　Mom clutched the notebook, a wounded animal-like whimper escaping her throat. 　　She suddenly collapsed to her knees, staring intently at the phrase, “your mom’s a snob.” 　　”No… it’s not like that…” 　　Dad came in from the balcony, alerted by the sound. 　　”What’s wrong? Why are you crying and making a scene just for cleaning up?” 　　He walked over impatiently and immediately saw the note. 　　Dad’s face instantly went ashen, and the cigarette in his hand dropped to the floor, burning a black mark.

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1 To boost Joey’s live stream, my brothers locked me in a commercial freezer. “Three hours,” Marcus promised. “We’ll watch the temp. You’ll be fine.” Owen smiled. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll shut it down.” Desperate to belong, I agreed. But the stream didn’t end. As viewership soared, they extended it, and the temperature kept dropping. Through the window, Joey watched the numbers climb, eyes bright with greed. I tried the emergency release. It was jammed. I pounded the steel, begging for help. Marcus frowned. “It’s barely freezing. Stop the drama.” Owen nodded. “Joey’s finally happy. Don’t ruin it.” Finn waved casually. “Hang tight. We’ll let you out at a hundred thousand followers.” They didn’t understand. I wasn’t chilly. I was freezing to death. And that sweater they gave me? Not rated for extreme cold at all. The cold crept up my limbs, wrapping around my chest like iron bands. My teeth chattered so violently I could barely speak, and my legs threatened to give out. My voice was nothing but a raspy whisper. “Please, guys, I am not lying,” I sobbed, clutching my phone with trembling fingers. “I am so cold. My head is spinning, and I can not feel my hands. Please just let me out. I will do whatever you want, I promise. Just let me out.” Marcus’s face darkened through the small hatch. “Iris! Enough. I have been patient with you, but this is ridiculous. Do you think I am stupid? The thermostat says it is perfectly safe. You have really improved your acting skills, I will give you that.” “I am not…” I tried to speak, but my fingers went completely numb, and the phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the icy floor. I clawed at the heavy door, desperately pounding my fists against it. “Send someone in to check the temperature! If I am lying, I will take whatever punishment you want. Please, Marcus, I am begging you!” For a split second, Marcus’s cold expression wavered. Owen seemed uneasy as he watched my desperate clawing. “Marcus, do you think she is telling the truth? Maybe we should just let her out for a minute.” Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Joey slid over, her lower lip trembling. “Why does Iris always have to make things up? The monitor clearly shows it is a comfortable sixty degrees in there. Does she hate me that much? Does she really want to ruin my big day?” She squeezed out a few tears, looking small and fragile. Instantly, Finn stepped forward, pulling Joey into a protective embrace. “I knew it! She is faking it. Iris, you are pathetic. How could you lie about something like this just to steal Joey’s spotlight?” He glared at the window. “It is just a few hours in a chilly room. Why do you have to act like a martyr? Joey is so sweet, and you can not even do this one small thing for her. You are just bitter and jealous!” Marcus’s gaze turned completely icy. Owen sighed, giving me a disappointed look. “Iris, I know this is hard, but just bear with it. Think of it as a quiet break. I promise I will let you out in three hours. Be good.” “I am not lying! I am really not!” I screamed, biting my tongue in my desperation. “Stop throwing a tantrum,” Owen said gently but firmly. “We will get you out soon.” A sharp click echoed as they slammed the small metal viewing hatch shut, cutting off the last sliver of light and my final shred of hope. I gritted my teeth and curled into a tight ball in the corner, trying to press myself against the wall for warmth, but the surface was covered in a thick layer of frost. The cold seeped directly into my bones. High up in the corner, the security camera blinked, streaming my slow demise to thousands of strangers. With trembling hands, I picked up my phone and opened the live stream. The viewer count had reached ten thousand, and the chat was flying by. Whoa, is she actually in a real freezer? Her face looks awful. Isn’t this dangerous? She looks like a literal corpse. Streamer, be careful. Damn, I thought other channels used green screens, but this girl is actually doing it. Dedication! “Make sure to hit that follow button, guys! Of course it is real. I would never lie to my favorite followers!” Joey’s sweet, high pitched voice echoed through the stream app. The chat went wild. Aww, she is so cute. Definitely dropping a follow! I struggled to keep my eyes open, watching the colorful gift animations flash across my screen. My mind was growing foggy. I had to do something, or I was going to die here. I looked up at the digital thermometer on the inner wall. It read negative twenty degrees. And I was wearing nothing but a cheap, thin cotton shirt I bought from a street vendor for a few dollars. It offered absolutely no protection. With shaking fingers, I dialed Owen. “Owen, please,” I sobbed. “I am freezing. Tell them to turn the temperature up. Please.” “Iris, just hold on a little longer…” Owen started, but his voice was suddenly cut off as the phone was snatched away. “Iris, why do you keep lying?” Joey’s voice came through the receiver, dripping with fake innocence. “Why do you hate me so much? The remote over here says it is sixty degrees. Why are you trying to trick Owen?” “I am not… the thermostat is broken! If you don’t believe me, just come inside and feel it…” “Iris, that is enough!” Finn’s harsh voice cut in, booming through the speaker. “Joey is just trying to build her brand and have some fun. Why do you have to be so toxic? You are making it sound like we are abusing you.” “Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing. You are putting on a show to get sympathy from the viewers. Well, it is not going to work!” The line went dead with a harsh beep. When I tried to call back, the call would not go through. They had blocked my number. The icy chill invaded my chest, slowing my heartbeat. The digital numbers on the wall kept dropping. Desperate, I turned to the only link I had left to the outside world: the live chat. I typed a message: Please help me. I am locked in a real walk in freezer. The thermostat is broken and I am freezing to death. The chat went wild. Wait, is she actually trapped? This isn’t just an act? I knew she looked off. Her lips are literally blue. Streamer, let her out! Yeah, this is getting weird. Don’t let someone actually die for views. A spark of hope flared in my chest, but Joey quickly crushed it. “Don’t worry, everyone! It is all part of the act. We would never actually lock her in a real freezer. If it were real, I would be more worried than anyone!” The skepticism in the chat quickly faded. Panicking, I tried to type another warning, only to find a red notification flashing across my screen: You have been muted by the host. With the last of my strength, I dragged myself to the camera, waving my arms and screaming for help, but Joey spoke before the viewers could question it. “Don’t worry, guys! This is just our special effects makeup demonstration. Stay tuned, because she is going to show you what severe frostbite looks like soon!” The chat calmed down immediately. Oh, wow, her acting is incredible! This channel is so high effort. Definitely worth a subscribe. This looks way more realistic than other streams! Outside the heavy door, Owen stared at the screen. He watched my pale, trembling form sway and collapse onto the floor, and a seed of doubt began to grow in his mind. “Do you think the thermostat could actually be malfunctioning?” Owen muttered, stepping toward the heavy door handle. “She looks really bad. Maybe we should just let her out now.” Joey quickly grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with desperation. “No, Owen, please! I am so close to ten thousand followers! Just a little longer, please. Once I hit my goal, we will let her out.” “Besides, we checked the room beforehand. The remote says it is a comfortable sixty degrees. She has to be faking it just to make you guys feel guilty and hate me.” She looked up at him with teary eyes, the picture of vulnerability. Finn stepped between Owen and the door. “Joey is right, Owen. Joey would never let anyone actually get hurt. Iris is just playing her usual games. Have you forgotten how she pushed Joey down the stairs and threatened her? If we don’t teach her a lesson now, she will keep tormenting Joey.” Owen’s face hardened. “She pushed you?” Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Iris has gone too far this time. She deserves to spend the night in there to think about what she has done.” “But what if she gets sick?” Joey sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “You are too soft, Joey,” Finn said, patting her shoulder. “That is why she thinks she can walk all over you. Come on, let us go get some dinner and leave her to cool off.” Finn led Joey away, and Marcus followed. Owen hesitated, casting one last look at the massive steel door, but eventually, he turned and walked away too. In the virtual world, thousands cheered for my masterpiece of a performance, dropping virtual gifts and clapping for my dedication. Inside the dark chamber, I finally gave out. My knees buckled, and I crashed face first onto the frozen floor. The biting cold rushed into my body from every angle. I could not feel the impact. I could not feel the pain. There was only a heavy, crushing numbness spreading through my chest. Marcus, Owen, Finn… I was not lying to you. I am really dying. My eyes fluttered shut, and the darkness claimed me. I do not know how much time passed before a strange weightlessness washed over me. Slowly, my soul drifted upward, leaving my frozen shell behind. I floated in the air, watching the tragic farce unfold below. The stream was still active. The comments kept rolling in. Damn, she has been lying there for four hours. Talk about commitment to the role! The fake fog effect is so realistic. With acting like this, she should go to Hollywood. She would be famous instantly! A profound, hollow sadness filled my spirit. I drifted through the thick metal door, floating toward the brightly lit dining room of the mansion. The dining table was filled with food. Joey sat at the center, smiling warmly. Marcus was carefully peeling shrimp for her, placing them on her plate. Owen was busy scooping her favorite side dishes, while Finn brought out a fresh plate of sweet and sour ribs. “Joey, I made these just for you. Your favorite. Try some.” “Thank you, guys!” Joey giggled, her cheeks full of food. “Slow down, sweetie,” Marcus said softly, wiping a speck of sauce from her chin with a napkin. Watching them, a dull ache throbbed in my chest. The warmth, the love, the sense of family that I had spent my entire life craving, the things I had practically died trying to earn, were handed to Joey so effortlessly. Had I been wrong from the very beginning? Maybe I should have never let them find me. Maybe I should have never come back, trying so desperately to earn a place in their hearts. If I hadn’t, I would still be alive. “By the way, Iris must be hungry by now,” Owen muttered, looking at the leftover food. “Maybe I should bring her a plate.” Owen, if only you knew that I am already a corpse in that freezing room. Before Owen could pick up a plate, Joey stopped him. “I already asked the housekeeper to take some food to her earlier. She is fine, Owen.” Owen paused. Finn frowned in annoyance. “If she already ate, she won’t want any more. Besides, I only made a small batch of these ribs. If you give them away, what is Joey going to eat?” “It is okay, Finn,” Joey said sweetly. “No way. My little sister needs to eat well. You are already too thin.” Tears slipped silently down my ghostly cheeks. I was already dead, so why did my heart still hurt so much? For the rest of the evening, my name was never mentioned again. They finished their dinner and headed upstairs. “Should we really leave Iris in there all night?” Owen asked, hesitating near the stairs. Marcus scowled. “Leave her. She needs to reflect on her actions. Besides, she has plenty of warm clothes, and the temperature isn’t that low. She will survive a night of discomfort.” “Exactly, Owen,” Finn agreed. “She targeted Joey. She needs to learn that her actions have consequences. We can not let her bully Joey just because she shares our blood.” Joey sniffled, hanging her head. “Please don’t fight because of me. Finn is right. I am not your real sister anyway. It is only natural that you would care about her more. I shouldn’t be here. I will just pack my things and leave.” She wiped her nose and ran toward the front door, but Finn quickly caught her. “Joey, stop. You are our sister, and you always will be. We only brought Iris back because we felt obligated to. Owen, tell her!” A flash of conflict crossed Owen’s face, but it quickly faded. “Finn is right, Joey. You will always be our only little sister. Now, stop crying and go get some sleep.” After they took turns comforting her, Joey finally returned to her bedroom, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips when they weren’t looking. The next morning, a blood curdling scream shattered the peace of the mansion. A worker hired to clean the storage units ran into the main hall, gasping for air. “Help! Someone is dead! There is a frozen body in the walk in freezer!” Marcus, who was walking down the stairs, froze. Owen and Finn, right behind him, stared in shock. Joey stepped out of her room, her face pale but her voice sharp. “A dead body? You are probably just another actor Iris hired to pull another one of her pathetic stunts!” As if snapping out of a trance, Finn sneered. “Exactly. The temperature in there was barely cool. How could anyone freeze to death? Did Iris tell you to say this to get our attention? Tell her she is not fooling anyone.” Marcus crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “Go tell Iris that if she wants our attention, she needs to find a better way than this tasteless prank.” Owen adjusted his glasses. “There is a manual release valve inside that freezer. Anyone could open it from the inside at any time. Your story makes no sense.” “What are you people talking about?” the worker yelled, his hands shaking. “I don’t know any Iris! I am just a cleaning guy! Why would I lie to you? The temperature in that freezer was minus thirty degrees all night! The body is stiff as a board! And the manual release valve is completely broken. It was sabotaged from the outside! If you don’t believe me, go look for yourselves!” But his words didn’t bring fear, only deep annoyance. “That is impossible,” Marcus snapped. “I checked it myself! It was working perfectly!” Finn ran a hand through his hair, his temper flaring. “I am going to see what kind of game she is playing this time. She is in so much trouble.” They marched to the freezer. Finn kicked the heavy door open. “Iris! Get out here! Do you think this is funny? You hired a guy to lie to us just because we locked you in for one night? If you keep acting like this, don’t bother coming back!” Marcus sighed. “Iris, stop this. Come out.” “Yes, Iris, please come out,” Joey whimpered behind them. “It is all my fault. I will leave, just please stop fighting with the boys.” My ghost hovered nearby, watching them. A bitter pang hit me. Even now, they would rather believe I was a manipulative liar than accept that I was gone. With no response from inside, Finn stormed into the freezing chamber. “Iris! Stop playing dead! Do you really think hiding in here is going to solve anything?” His eyes swept across the dark, frosty room, finally landing on my slumped figure right in front of the camera. He marched over, grabbing my shoulder roughly. “Iris, you…” But the moment his bare hand touched my skin, he froze.

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1 My own daughter locked me outside on our seventeenth floor balcony ledge. We had been trying to cut down on household expenses. That was why I was out there in the freezing cold, risking my neck to clean the exterior windows myself. I was almost finished when I asked my daughter to hand me a dry rag. She stomped over, her face twisted in annoyance. “Why do you always need so much help? Who cleans windows without bringing a rag in the first place?” I swallowed my frustration and spoke to her gently. “Dad just forgot it inside. It is right there on the coffee table. Just pass it through the gap, please.” But her next move nearly stopped my heart. She grabbed the window handle and slammed it shut, locking it from the inside. Panic flooded my chest instantly. I yelled through the glass, begging her to open it, but she just looked at me with pure disgust. “You can just stay out there. Uncle Tyler is coming over soon, and you always just get in the way when he is here!” Tyler was supposed to be my best friend. My brother from another mother. Why would I be getting in the way in my own home? Before my brain could even process the thought, a vicious gust of icy wind slammed into my back. My body swayed violently. My center of gravity vanished. Pure survival instinct took over. I threw my arms out, plastering my palms flat against the freezing metal window frame. I didn’t even dare to exhale. Half of my boots were hanging off the edge of the concrete ledge. Seventeen stories up. If my fingers slipped even a fraction of an inch, I would be nothing but a splatter on the pavement below. “Lily! Sweetheart!” My voice was shaking so hard I barely recognized it. “Open the window! Daddy is begging you! This isn’t a joke, I could fall and die!” Lily acted like she could not even hear me. She just looked down, tapped her screen, and loaded up her mobile game. “Nobody is joking with you. All you do is nag me about my screen time anyway. You are so annoying! Uncle Tyler never yells at me about my games. You can just chill out there for a while!” Without another word, she spun on her heel, walked back into the living room, and yanked the heavy curtains shut. A second later, I heard the heavy thud of the sliding glass balcony door locking into place. All sound from the inside was completely cut off. I was spreadeagled against the window frame, completely paralyzed by gravity. The winter wind howled against my spine, sinking its teeth into my jacket. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. The curtains were not pulled completely tight. Through a narrow gap, I could see Lily curled up comfortably on the plush sofa. Her thumbs were flying across her phone screen, a giddy little smile playing on her lips. Looking at her, a sickening wave of grief washed over me. This was the daughter I had busted my back to raise. Just because I restricted her video games, she locked me on a freezing ledge seventeen stories in the air. She didn’t care if I lived or died. She even compared me to Tyler. Of course Tyler didn’t discipline her. He wasn’t her father. He got to be the fun uncle with zero responsibilities. While my mind spun, the front door swung open. Judging by the time, it had to be my mother in law, Helen. I was just about to risk freeing one hand to bang on the glass when I saw two more figures walk in behind her. My wife, Rachel, and my best friend, Tyler. The moment Rachel walked in, she looked at Lily. “Did your dad go out for groceries?” Lily didn’t even look up from her game. Her tone was completely casual, laced with an easy lie. “Yeah, he left. He said he was going to the big market and wouldn’t be back for an hour.” Rachel nodded, supporting her swollen belly as she sank onto the edge of the sofa. “When Tyler gets settled, let him heat up some of that rich bone broth for you. You need your strength,” Helen fussed, taking Rachel’s coat. Tyler sat down right next to Rachel, his eyes locked on her pregnant belly with a look of absolute adoration. “It might be her second pregnancy, but we still have to treat her like a queen.” When Rachel first got pregnant this time, I had practically begged her not to keep it. Her health was incredibly fragile. Having Lily had nearly killed her. Going through another high risk pregnancy was like playing Russian roulette with her life. I didn’t want to lose my wife over a second child. But Rachel was adamant. She claimed it was a miracle and insisted on going through with it. Eventually, Tyler stepped in. He said he was worried I would not be able to handle the stress of caring for a high risk pregnant woman alone. He started coming over every single day. He cooked, he cleaned, he catered to her every whim. I never had an issue with it. He was my best friend. I trusted him with my life. But staring through that narrow gap in the curtains, the blindfold was finally ripped off my eyes. The way my wife and my mother in law looked at him. The gentle touches. The soft smiles. They treated him with far more intimacy than they ever showed me. 2 But I didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on their twisted dynamic. My fingers were going numb. I slammed my fist against the glass. The muffled thud echoed into the apartment. Helen frowned, standing up and looking toward the balcony. “What was that noise?” A surge of wild hope flared in my chest. I hit the glass three more times. But Lily suddenly jumped up from the sofa and grabbed her grandmother’s arm. “Nana, don’t go look! It’s almost Christmas. It is definitely just those bad kids downstairs setting off loud fireworks again. They have been doing it all morning.” Helen nodded immediately, her suspicion evaporating. “Kids these days have no manners. Just making a racket and giving people migraines.” The blood in my veins turned to absolute ice. My own flesh and blood. My daughter. She actively covered for my absence and lied to keep them from finding me. Staring at her through the glass, I felt completely sick to my stomach. Tyler reached out and rested his hand gently on Rachel’s swollen abdomen. It was a deeply intimate gesture. “This kid is kicking hard. Gonna be a real fighter.” Rachel nudged him playfully, a dark blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah. Honestly, we are so lucky to have you around taking care of us. When the baby is born, I am definitely making you the godfather.” Tyler reached up and pinched Rachel’s cheek. His voice was thick with implication. “Why settle for godfather? It is only a matter of time anyway.” “Besides, Cole is completely useless in that department. You need someone strong. Someone who actually knows how to make a woman happy.” “When the time is right, we will make our move.” Those words plunged into my chest like a jagged knife. When Rachel and I were first married, I was young, reckless, and completely uneducated about her medical history. I accidentally caused a severe internal hemorrhage during intimacy. It was the greatest regret of my life. Ever since then, no matter how desperate I was, I would take freezing cold showers and suppress every urge just to ensure I never hurt her again. I treated her like glass. I never in a million years thought my restraint would become the reason she found me disgusting. Fat, wet flakes of snow began to fall from the gray sky, landing on my shoulders. But the snow was nothing compared to the absolute winter inside my heart. Lily finished her round of gaming. She tossed her phone aside, ran over to Tyler, and grabbed his hand. “Uncle Tyler, you are the best. You are a million times better than my dad. When are you going to be my real dad?” Tyler’s face flushed with fake modesty. He put on a show of looking embarrassed. “Lily, don’t say things like that. Your mom and I aren’t… we aren’t like that.” Rachel stroked her belly, her eyes darting over to Tyler with a look of pure, hungry longing. Helen sat in the armchair, watching the three of them with a warm, approving smile. Looking at them, you would think they were the perfect, happy family. Witnessing this sickening domestic bliss, the tears finally spilled over my freezing eyelashes. I tried to tell myself Lily was just a kid. She didn’t understand the gravity of what she was doing. I ground my teeth together and began hammering on the glass with both fists. Helen finally snapped. The relentless noise was grating on her nerves. She stood up, her face flushed with anger, and marched toward the balcony. “Who do these little brats think they are?! Setting off fireworks right against our windows! I am going to give them a piece of my mind!” Lily’s face went pale. She tried to grab her grandmother, but she was too late. Helen yanked the sliding door open and tore the curtains back. Our eyes locked. Time completely froze. Helen’s jaw dropped open in absolute shock. Rachel and Tyler snapped their heads toward the balcony. When they saw me plastered against the exterior wall, shivering violently, their faces went blank. “What the hell are you doing out there?” Helen shrieked, finding her voice. “Lily said you went to the market!” Lily’s eyes darted nervously. Then, a manipulative little spark lit up her face. It was the exact expression she made right before she spun a massive lie. “I locked him out there! And he deserves it for talking trash about Uncle Tyler!” Lily pointed a dramatic finger at me, doubling down on her sick fantasy. 3 “Mom, he was acting totally crazy! He said he hated that you guys were nice to Uncle Tyler. He called him a cheap gigolo who only comes around for free food!” “I was so mad I locked him out to teach him a lesson!” My eyes went wide. The blood rushed so hard to my frozen ears I thought they would explode. When had I ever said a single word like that? Tyler immediately clutched his chest, taking a theatrical step backward like he had been physically struck. “Cole… how could you say those things about me? I thought we were brothers. I have broken my back helping your family, and this is how you insult me?” Rachel’s face darkened into a scowl. The look she gave me was filled with pure venom. “Cole! I cannot believe I ever married someone so pathetic!” “If Tyler hadn’t stepped up during this pregnancy, I would be entirely miserable right now!” “You don’t have an ounce of gratitude in your body. How dare you insult him like that?” “Lily did the right thing! You need to stay out there and seriously reflect on your toxic behavior!” Helen immediately moved to stand next to Tyler, glaring at me like I was a convicted criminal trespassing on her property. “I never said that!” I screamed over the howling wind, my voice cracking with desperation. “Lily is lying! I swear to God I never said a word against him! Please, just open the window! My hands are going numb, I am going to fall!” Rachel looked at my trembling body. A flicker of genuine hesitation crossed her face. She reached for the handle. But then, her face suddenly contorted. She clutched her stomach and let out a piercing wail. “Oh God! My stomach. It hurts so bad. The baby…” The entire room went into an instant panic. Tyler and Helen rushed to her sides, holding her up. “Rachel, honey, look at me! Don’t panic! We are taking you to the ER right now!” Tyler shouted, playing the hero flawlessly. Helen and Lily hovered around her in tears. The three of them guided Rachel frantically toward the front door. Not a single one of them looked back at the balcony. Right as Tyler reached the threshold, he paused. He turned his head and shot me a look of pure, absolute malice. “Enjoy the weather, Cole.” The front door slammed shut. I was left clinging to the exterior wall, the last of my adrenaline draining away. I was completely abandoned. Left to die on a ledge seventeen stories in the air. But I refused to die here. I hadn’t lived enough yet to let them win. The primal instinct to survive sparked a fire in my freezing blood. I looked over at the neighbor’s balcony. It was a completely insane idea. The concrete ledge connecting our apartments was barely the width of a human hand. It was slick with fresh snow. One wrong shift in weight, one slip of a frozen boot, and I would plummet to the concrete below. But staying here was a guaranteed death sentence. Wait for Rachel and Tyler to come back? They only cared about each other. They probably hoped I would fall so they wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. It was climb or die. I sucked in a lungful of freezing air. I peeled one hand off the window frame and pressed it flat against the icy brick wall. I began to shuffle. Inch by terrifying inch. My boots sliding dangerously on the snowy concrete. I kept my eyes locked onto the neighbor’s balcony rail. I refused to look down. I have no idea how long it took. Time lost all meaning. Finally, my frozen fingers wrapped around the metal railing of the neighbor’s balcony. I dragged myself over the rail and collapsed onto their deck. I used the last ounce of my strength to bang weakly on their sliding glass door. The living room lights flicked on. A second later, the curtains were thrown back. The elderly couple inside jumped in terror when they saw a half frozen man sprawled on their balcony. They scrambled to unlock the door and hauled me inside. The moment I hit their carpet, my body gave out completely. I lay there gasping for air, unable to form a single word. The neighbor rushed to get me a mug of boiling water. I forced it down my raw throat. The heat spreading through my chest was the only proof I was still alive. It took me twenty minutes to stop shaking enough to speak. I gave them a heavily edited version of the truth. I left Lily out of it entirely. I just said the wind had blown the window shut while I was cleaning, locking me out by accident. I thanked them profusely, borrowed a jacket, and walked back to my own apartment. Right as I unlocked my front door, I heard the elevator ding down the hall. 4 They were back. Tyler was practically carrying Rachel down the hall. Lily was trailing right behind them, holding Tyler’s coat. Rachel’s color had returned. She was leaning heavily against Tyler’s shoulder, whispering something that made him chuckle. They stepped into the apartment and froze. Rachel frowned. She didn’t even bother to ask how I survived or how I got back inside. She just waved her hand dismissively. Tyler was the one who broke the silence. “Oh, you got back in? Perfect. Go start dinner. Rachel just got back from the hospital and she is exhausted. She needs that bone broth.” His tone was completely flat. He was speaking to me like I was the hired help. Lily peeked around Tyler’s leg. I saw the flash of guilt in her eyes before she muttered under her breath. “How did he even get back in? Why didn’t he just fall and die.” That was it. The final thread holding my sanity together snapped. I closed the distance between us in three strides, raised my hand, and slapped Lily hard across the face. The crack echoed through the apartment. Lily grabbed her cheek, staring at me in absolute shock. “You locked your own father outside on a freezing ledge, and then you lied to cover it up! Today is the day I finally teach you some basic human decency!” Before I could say another word, Tyler shoved his way between us, spreading his arms wide to shield Lily. “Cole! What the hell is wrong with you?! Even if a kid makes a mistake, you do not put your hands on her!” “She is just a little girl! How can you be so violently abusive?” “Yeah! He is a monster!” Lily shrieked, hiding behind Tyler’s back and glaring at me with pure hatred. “You are a terrible man! I don’t want you to be my dad anymore! Get out of my house! Get out!” Rachel rushed forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tyler, forming a human barricade to protect the child. Looking at them, they looked exactly like a family. “Cole, have you completely lost your mind?!” Rachel screamed. “You are abusing a child now? You are entirely unfit to be a father!” She paused, taking a deep breath, and looked over at Tyler. “Starting tomorrow, Tyler is moving in with us.” “That way, he can keep an eye on my health, and he can be here to protect Lily from your violent outbursts.” I stood perfectly still, my brain struggling to process the absolute audacity of her statement. “We only have three bedrooms. If Tyler moves in, where exactly is he going to sleep?” Rachel didn’t even hesitate. “He needs to monitor my pregnancy. He will sleep on a floor mattress in the master bedroom with me.” “You can take the couch in the living room.” Tyler waved his hands, putting on a sickening display of fake humility. His eyes, however, were dancing with arrogant triumph. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. I am just a guest. I cannot kick a husband out of his own bedroom.” “You are not a guest, Uncle Tyler!” Lily grabbed his sleeve, dragging him toward the hallway. “You have to stay! Stay tonight! I want you to read me my bedtime stories!” Tyler looked down at Lily, then shot me a long, mocking look. “Alright, sweetie. Uncle Tyler will stay. I will read you stories all night long.” He turned back to me, looking the picture of polite distress. “Cole, you see how much the kid needs me. I really can’t say no.” “Then stay.” I forced the words past the massive lump in my throat, cutting off his pathetic performance. The moment I agreed, all three of them broke into matching smiles of relief. Those smiles were blindingly painful. I let out a dark, silent laugh in my head. I kept the second half of my thought to myself. If he is moving in, then I am moving out. Helen immediately hurried into the master bedroom to set up fresh sheets for Tyler. Lily clung to him like a barnacle, dragging him into her room for her stories. I didn’t spare them a second glance. I turned around, walked into the guest room that I was now supposed to vacate, and quietly packed a duffel bag. My plan was simple. Wait until the house was dead silent, and vanish into the night. If they loved Tyler so much, I would let them have him. I would disappear. Let Lily see what life was really like without me paying the bills. Around midnight, I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the front door. I checked my wallet and realized my marriage certificate was still in the nightstand in the master bedroom. I hesitated, but decided I needed to take it. I assumed they would both be fast asleep by now. I crept down the hallway. I reached out to turn the brass handle of the master bedroom door. But the muffled conversation leaking through the wooden panel made my blood run entirely cold.

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1 For his eighth birthday, I asked my son, Oliver, what he wanted. He shook his head and asked for three blank wish cards instead. “Just in case I ever make you mad, Mom. I can use them to get your forgiveness.” The gesture melted my heart, and I laughed, pulling him into a warm hug. But as it turned out, not a single one of those cards was ever used on me. The first card demanded I quit my job. “Brooke has an Ivy League degree,” he said. “She should be the vice president of Dad’s company, not you.” The second card asked for a smart sibling. “You’re too dumb, Mom. If Dad had a baby with Brooke, that kid would actually be smart.” The final card was the blow that shattered me completely. He wanted a new mother. “I want Brooke to be my mom. Can you just divorce Dad already?” I froze, the words knocking the wind right out of my lungs. I couldn’t speak. Seeing my silence, Oliver’s smug grin vanished, replaced by an impatient scowl. “You promised! You said you’d grant whatever I wished for! I need you to sign those papers so Brooke can come to my parent-teacher conference next week!” He puffed his chest out, waiting for the familiar flash of hurt to cross my face. He had relished seeing me break during the first two wishes. “You can’t break your promise. If you do, I’ll never talk to you again.” “Fine.” I cut off his bratty rant, my voice flat and hollow. “If that’s your third wish, I accept.” For a split second, a flicker of panic crossed Oliver’s face. But the feeling evaporated the moment the front door clicked open. Kai walked in, flanked by Brooke. She was wearing a sharp, tailored pantsuit, looking radiant and painfully young. “Fiona, I hope you don’t mind. I just came back with Kai to grab some files,” Brooke said, her lips curving into a smirk that didn’t reach her calculating eyes. Oliver’s eyes lit up. He bolted past me and threw his arms around her waist. “Brooke! Mom agreed to let you be my new mom! Can I call you Mom from now on?” A triumphant gleam flashed in Brooke’s eyes. I looked past her, locking eyes with my husband. “That’s right, Kai. I want a divorce.” Kai’s face darkened instantly. “Stop this nonsense, Fiona! What kind of sick game are you playing with our son? I’ve told you a thousand times, Brooke is my VP, my right hand. Why are you dragging her into your insecurities? If you’re mad at me, deal with me, don’t use our kid as a weapon.” Brooke’s eyes welled with tears, her lower lip trembling like a wounded animal. “Fiona, I only wanted to do my job. Kai and I are strictly professional. If my presence here causes this much trouble, I’ll submit my resignation tonight.” She let a single, perfect tear slip down her cheek. Before I could even open my mouth, Oliver charged at me like a small battering ram. Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming hard against the sharp edge of the coffee table. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my spine, leaving me breathless and doubled over. Oliver stood defiantly in front of Brooke, shielding her with his tiny arms. “Don’t you dare bully Brooke! You’re a monster!” Kai reached down, patting Oliver’s head with pride. “Good boy, protecting her like a real man.” Then, he turned his icy gaze back to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Brooke is the backbone of my company. She isn’t someone an unemployed housewife like you can slander.” “Dad, Brooke, I’m starving,” Oliver whined, tugging at Brooke’s hand with an ease that told me this wasn’t the first time they’d played happy family. “Let’s go out for dinner. I’m so sick of her cooking.” Brooke gave him a sweet, maternal smile. “Kai, let’s take Oliver out. I actually managed to secure a reservation at that Michelin-star place downtown.” She paused, looking at me with mock sympathy. “Though, they strictly enforce their guest limit, so Fiona might not be able to join us. Should we pick somewhere else?” “No, we’ll go there,” Kai decided coldly. He grabbed his coat, giving me one last look of utter disgust. “Stay home, Fiona. Reflect on your attitude and learn to watch your mouth. Stop acting like a crazy woman.” The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving the house in a suffocating silence. Through the glass panels, Oliver’s excited cheers and Brooke’s melodic giggles drifted back to me before fading away. I dragged myself onto the sofa, curled up in a ball, and closed my eyes, exhausted to my core. I wasn’t being hysterical. I genuinely wanted out. And as for my son, he could stay with them. I called my lawyer, laying out the terms of the separation. “Fiona, if you want full custody, we’ll have to make significant compromises on the division of assets,” the lawyer warned gently. “I don’t want custody,” I interrupted, without a shred of hesitation. I may have stepped down from my active role at the firm, but I still held forty percent of the company’s shares. Why should I sacrifice my hard-earned wealth to raise a son who despised me? After hanging up, I opened my social media. The top post on my feed was from Oliver’s iPad. The caption read, “My real family!” It was a selfie of Kai, Brooke, and Oliver. In the photo, Kai, usually so stern and unyielding, was smiling warmly, letting Brooke lean her head against his shoulder. I stared at it, a quiet ache blooming behind my eyes. I went to swipe away, only to find the exact same photo posted right below it, shared by Kai. He used his account almost exclusively for business networking, never personal updates. Yet here he was, posting a family portrait with no caption, letting the silence speak volumes. The comments section was already a frenzy of congratulations. Kai’s relatives were quick to chime in. “Bro, when are you bringing your gorgeous new girl home? Mom and Dad are dying to meet her!” “Son, this is the kind of woman who belongs in our family. You two should have another baby while you’re still young! A big family is a blessed family!” Kai’s parents had always resented me for only having one child. Once Kai’s business took off, their demands for a second heir became relentless. But I had stood my ground, remembering how I had almost died on the operating table giving birth to Oliver. The pregnancy itself had been a fragile miracle. Right when we found out, Kai’s startup hit a massive financial crisis, threatening to bankrupt us. I had dragged my pregnant body to endless corporate dinners, swallowing down nausea to secure the contracts that saved us. The very day our first multi-million dollar funding arrived, I was rushed to the ER with severe complications. I spent the rest of my pregnancy on strict bedrest, receiving painful daily injections to keep Oliver alive. Back then, Kai wept by my bedside, swearing he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Because Oliver was born premature and spent weeks in the incubator, I vowed to dedicate all my maternal love to him alone. No matter how much my in-laws sneered or tried to poison his mind against me, I refused to put my life on the line again. As the company flourished, Kai appointed me as the vice president. “Fiona, we wouldn’t have any of this without you. You’re the real boss,” he used to say. Yet, our son grew up believing I was nothing but a parasite. A month ago, Oliver had proudly slammed his first wish card onto my lap. I had smiled, thinking he wanted a new Lego set. Written in his messy, childish scrawl was: Mom must quit her job. I chuckled, kissing his forehead. “What’s this about, sweetie? Do you feel like Mom works too much? I’m sorry, I’ll make more time for us to play.” But he frowned, shaking his head. “You just sit around the house anyway. Why are you holding onto the VP title? Brooke went to a top school. She should have your office.” The smile died on my face. “Oliver, who is Brooke?” “She’s Dad’s assistant! She’s so pretty, and she always gives me candy when I visit,” he said, swinging his legs. “Dad’s company doesn’t need dead weight, Mom. You should do the right thing and step down so you don’t embarrass him.” His words chilled me to the bone. An eight-year-old didn’t use terms like “dead weight” or “embarrassing” on his own. Someone was feeding him these lines. The next day, I looked into Brooke. She was a fresh graduate from an elite university, hired as Kai’s personal assistant six months prior. Whenever I had brunch with other executive wives, I would leave Oliver in Kai’s office. This woman had been slowly dripping poison into my son’s ear. I went straight to Kai’s office to confront her. “Brooke, what exactly have you been telling my son?” She immediately looked like a kicked puppy. “Nothing, Fiona. I was just babysitting him.” “Save the helpless act,” I sneered. The next second, she shrieked, dramatically falling backward onto the carpet just as the door burst open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Kai roared, shoving me aside to pull her up. Brooke whimpered, wiping non-existent tears. “It’s fine, Kai. Fiona just reminded me that I’m just an assistant and that I’m a bad influence on Oliver. I’ll stay away from him from now on.” Kai’s fists clenched. “Apologize to her, Fiona.” I stared at him, unable to recognize the man I had built a life with. “I didn’t even touch her. You honestly believe her over me?” “Brooke has no reason to lie,” Kai hissed. “And she’s overqualified as an assistant anyway. Since you barely show up to the office anymore, she’ll be taking over your position as Vice President.” “You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped. Kai let out a cold laugh. “It’s my company. I decide who works here.” The sound of keys rattling in the lock brought me back to the present. The three of them walked in, laughing and chatting, looking for all the world like a perfect family. The moment they saw me, the laughter died. They exchanged glances and then let out a collective, mocking chuckle, like they shared a private joke I would never understand. “Kai, we should head back to the office. The new project files need a final review,” Brooke suggested softly. Kai nodded instantly. “Can I come too?” Oliver whined. “No, buddy. It’s past your bedtime,” Kai said, looking at me. “Fiona, put him to bed.” Brooke pinched Oliver’s cheek playfully. “I’ll play with you tomorrow, okay?” Oliver pouted but agreed. As he walked past me, he glared. “If you weren’t here, they would have taken me with them.” I said nothing. I was leaving anyway. In the middle of the night, Kai climbed into bed, smelling of cheap, sweet perfume. “Are you still throwing a tantrum?” his voice was unusually soft. “You didn’t wait up for me tonight.” He was used to me staying up until 2 AM to make sure he had warm tea after his late-night meetings. “You went too far today, Fiona. Bringing up divorce in front of Oliver? Imagine how uncomfortable that made Brooke. Don’t let it happen again.” “I was serious,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Oliver used his third wish card. He wants Brooke to be his mom, and he wants us to get a divorce.” Kai laughed, annoyed. “Are you seriously taking a kid’s game to heart?” But wasn’t he the one who had taken the cards seriously before? Two weeks ago, Oliver had practically thrown the second wish card at my face. I want a smart sibling. I had sighed, trying to explain that he would always be our only child. “I don’t want you to have one!” Oliver had sneered. “You’re too dumb, Mom. If my sibling has your genes, they’ll be a failure. Dad is a genius, and Brooke is smart. They should be the ones having a baby together.” For the first time in his life, I snapped and yelled at him. When Kai came home, Oliver threw himself into his arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom screamed at me!” Kai frowned at me. “Why can’t you talk to him calmly?” Trembling with rage, I repeated what Oliver had said. Kai laughed it off. “He’s a kid, Fiona. Why are you taking him so seriously?” “I mean it!” Oliver sniffled, pulling out a report card with a failing grade. I was stunned. Oliver wasn’t a prodigy, but he had always gotten straight A’s. “It must be Mom’s fault,” he whispered, his eyelashes fluttering nervously. I knew that tell: he was lying. But Kai bought it. “Fiona, how are you even helping him with his homework? He’s only in the second grade and he’s failing?” Three days ago, an anonymous number sent me a photo. It was Kai, standing beside Brooke in the waiting room of an OB-GYN clinic. That was the moment the last ember of warmth in my heart died. When I handed him the printed divorce papers, he tore them to shreds without looking. “You won’t do it. You grew up without a family, Fiona. You’d never break ours apart. Brooke is brilliant, and Oliver loves her. Stop this childish jealousy before you ruin her reputation.” I stared at the torn papers on the floor. He was wrong. Oliver’s first two wishes had been granted. It was time for the third. The next afternoon, I went to pick Oliver up from school. His teacher looked at me with an awkward, apologetic expression. “Mrs. Pendelton, Oliver was already picked up. He told us she was his new mother.” When I got home, the living room was filled with laughter. Brooke was helping Oliver build a Lego tower, while Kai sat nearby, watching them with a gentle smile. Brooke smiled warmly as I walked in. “Fiona, you’re back. Oliver wanted me to pick him up today, and I forgot to text you. You don’t mind, do you?” “Brooke is my real mom now,” Oliver announced loudly. “She should be the one picking me up. She’s moving in with us!” Kai coughed, clearing his throat. “Brooke offered to tutor Oliver. Besides, she’s a young woman living alone, and her apartment complex isn’t safe. I thought it made sense for her to stay in our guest room.” They all watched me, braced for an explosion. But I only smiled, walked past them, and went straight to my room. Over the next few days, Brooke acted like the lady of the house, taking Oliver out to theme parks and restaurants. I enjoyed the peace, spending my time drafting the custody and asset paperwork. Then, I saw a video Brooke posted on social media. The camera was shaking, showing Oliver struggling into a poorly fitted wetsuit with the vast, dark ocean behind him. My heart leaped into my throat. He was only eight, and she had taken him deep-sea diving! Panic overriding everything, I drove straight to the marina. I rented a speedboat and raced out to their coordinates. When I arrived, only Brooke was climbing back onto the deck of their boat. “Where is Oliver?” I screamed, my voice cracking. Brooke jumped, her eyes darting around guiltily. “He… he should be up by now. I don’t know where he went…” My knees buckled. “Call search and rescue! Now!” Ten minutes later, Oliver was dragged out of the water, unconscious and deathly pale. I rushed him to the hospital, refusing to leave his side until the doctor assured me he was out of danger. For a brief second, my resolve to give up custody wavered. How could I leave my child with a monster like Brooke? Slap! The force of Kai’s hand knocked my head to the side. “How could you be so careless!” he roared, his face contorted in rage. “You almost got him killed!” My ears rang as I forced myself to stand up. “Kai, your precious VP took him into the open ocean!” “Stop lying! You’ve been terrified of deep water ever since Oliver fell into the lake as a toddler. You would never go near the sea, let alone take him there!” Kai’s face flickered with a sudden, uneasy realization. “Fiona, I…” Just then, Oliver groaned, his eyes fluttering open. I ignored Kai and rushed to the bedside. “Oliver, does anything hurt? Tell Mom.” Oliver looked at me, and his eyelashes began to flutter rapidly. A wave of dread washed over me. “Dad,” Oliver whimpered, “Mom made me go into the water. The ocean was so scary…” I stared at my own son in sheer disbelief. He quickly averted his eyes, burying his face in his pillow. Brooke burst into tears right on cue. “Fiona, I was the one who jumped in to drag him out! How could you accuse me of such a horrible thing?” “I can’t believe I married someone like you,” Kai said, his eyes filled with absolute disgust. “To get rid of Brooke, you’d risk our son’s life? You are a sick, twisted woman.” His words no longer hurt. My heart was entirely dead. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and tossed them onto his lap. “Sign them.” Kai hesitated, but Brooke whimpered, “Fiona, I know my presence is the issue here. I’ll resign. Kai, thank you for everything. Please don’t let her use Oliver’s life to control you anymore.” That was all it took. Kai grabbed a pen and signed his name in sharp, aggressive strokes. “Are you happy now? You thought you could use this divorce to threaten me, but I’m done playing your games.” I took the signed papers and walked out without looking back. The day Oliver was discharged, I blocked Kai’s number, packed my bags, and boarded a flight to a quiet, misty town on the Oregon coast. For ten years, my life had revolved around that house. It was time to start living for myself.

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1 At twelve, my mother found a fatal flaw in a jet’s hydraulics and refused takeoff clearance. Richard Blackwood, Vanguard Aviation’s billionaire owner, screamed in her face, accusing her of drama and threatening to replace her. She gripped the manifest, knuckles white, and stood her ground. By morning, she was framed for stealing aviation parts and blacklisted before noon. Disgraced and broke, she jumped from our apartment roof. Years later, fueled by spite and student loans, I fought my way into the National Aviation Academy. Graduating as the FAA’s most ruthless airworthiness inspector, I now held Vanguard’s ten-billion-dollar fleet expansion on my desk. Test data was perfect, the board ready to sign. Only my pen was missing. I opened the dossier. Under software supplier, the parent company was Vanguard Tech. CEO: Richard Blackwood. I closed the file, picked up my pen, and wrote my verdict: Approval denied. Fleet grounded indefinitely. The atmosphere in the conference room was suffocating. The entire inspection board was present. A row of Vanguard Aviation executives sat in the gallery, barely hiding the smug anticipation on their faces. This certificate meant their massive ten billion dollar investment was finally hitting the global market. All the preliminary data was perfect. Every single sub category had the bright red stamp of approval. It all came down to this final hurdle. The lead inspector’s signature. Every eye in the room was locked onto me. I flipped to the second to last page of the thick binder and let my eyes linger on the text. Vanguard Tech. Legal Representative: Richard Blackwood. My fingers tightened around the barrel of my pen. When I was twelve, my mother, Eleanor, was a senior quality control engineer at Vanguard Aviation. She was meticulous. She obsessed over every single valve and wire. One night, she noticed an abnormal pressure fluctuation in the hydraulic system. After running the math three times, she concluded it was a catastrophic risk. She locked the system and refused to sign the release manifest. She truly believed she was saving lives. But all Richard Blackwood saw was a delayed departure. He only saw the massive penalty fees for a missed schedule. He only saw a disposable quality control worker daring to stand in the way of his cash flow. “Stop using safety as an excuse to be dramatic! If you won’t fly it, pack your bags and get the hell out!” That was what he screamed at her. My mother held her ground. She kept the manifest and refused to back down. The next day, there was no safety investigation. Instead, a termination notice arrived, accusing her of embezzling high grade titanium parts. An eight year veteran of the industry, completely blacklisted overnight. I still remember that final evening. She washed my school uniform, hung it up to dry by the window, and stood there staring up at the sky for a very long time. “Sloane, I didn’t do anything wrong.” That was the last thing she ever said to me before she stepped off the roof. Over the years, Richard’s airline empire grew into a global powerhouse. And I took out crippling loans to get through the academy. Four years of undergrad. Three years of graduate school. Two years of brutal certification exams. I bled to climb into this exact chair. I had been waiting for this exact day. I closed the file. I pressed my pen to the paper and wrote my decision. “Approval denied. Fleet grounded indefinitely.” “Inspector Sloane! What is the meaning of this?” Arthur, the head of the review board, slammed his hands on the table and stood up. “The flight data is perfect. The entire board voted to approve. On what grounds are you vetoing this?” Marcus, the Vice President of Vanguard Aviation, shot up from the gallery. “Sloane, do you have any idea what you are doing? Do you know how much interest this company bleeds every single day this ten billion dollar project sits on the tarmac? Can you afford that kind of liability?” I calmly opened my folder and pulled out the inquiry sheet I had prepared hours ago. “The flight control software source code validation report is missing three critical parameter logs. Furthermore, Vanguard Tech’s vendor certification expired last month and has not been renewed.” I looked directly at Marcus. “According to Agency Regulation Part 21, incomplete documentation mandates an automatic denial. As the lead inspector, I have absolute veto power. This is entirely lawful and compliant.” Arthur’s face turned purple. “These are… these are clerical trivialities! It is just a matter of filing a late addendum! You are grounding the entire fleet over a paperwork delay?” “Incomplete is incomplete. There are no trivialities when it comes to aviation safety.” I pushed my chair back and stood up. “If you have an objection, file for an administrative review. Until that review concludes, the aircraft remains grounded.” I turned and walked out of the room without a single backward glance. Behind the heavy oak doors, I could hear the muffled sounds of men cursing my name. 2 The next morning, I received an urgent summons to the Agency’s VIP reception lounge. I pushed the door open. Richard Blackwood was sitting comfortably on the leather sofa. Director Mitchell, the head of our entire division, was sitting right next to him, playing the gracious host. Seeing me enter, Richard stood up and adjusted his expensive suit. “Inspector Sloane. I have heard incredible things about you.” He wore a practiced, media ready smile. But when he reached out to shake my hand, his fingers barely grazed mine before pulling away quickly. Like he was touching something filthy. “Mr. Blackwood,” I said, keeping my voice perfectly flat. “Inspector Sloane is young, brilliant, and the absolute backbone of this agency,” Mitchell chimed in, laughing nervously. Richard kept smiling, but his eyes were scanning me top to bottom, calculating my worth. He didn’t recognize me. How could he? When I was twelve, I threw myself onto the marble floor of the Vanguard Aviation lobby and wrapped my arms around his legs. I begged him to retract the firing. I begged him to clear my mother’s name. He didn’t even bother to look down at me. “Security. Drag this trash out into the street.” He was a god in his own mind. Why would he ever remember the face of an ant he crushed under his heel? Richard sat back down and pulled a thick, pristine envelope from his breast pocket. “Inspector Sloane, I understand you relied heavily on student loans to finance your impressive education. I also hear you are currently living in cramped public housing?” His tone was dripping with manufactured sympathy. “Vanguard Aviation recently established a young talent foundation. We specifically sponsor brilliant young professionals who come from… difficult backgrounds.” He slid the envelope across the glass table. I could clearly see the check inside. “Five million dollars. Consider it a private grant from Vanguard to support the future of aviation.” He leaned forward, dropping the corporate speak. “Look, we all know this inspection is just a formality. The missing files are basically typos. We will patch them up next week. There is no need to be so rigid. You sign that paper today, and this money goes straight into your personal account. No one will ever know.” He didn’t even care that the Director of the Agency was sitting two feet away. I reached out and pushed the envelope right back across the glass. “Mr. Blackwood. The documentation is incomplete. I cannot sign.” Richard’s smile twitched. “Sloane, listen to me. You are barely in your thirties, and you are already a lead inspector. The sky is the limit for you.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have already spoken with the upper management. If you just play ball on this one project, Vanguard will personally endorse your promotion to department chief.” He tapped the envelope. “You had a rough start in life. You swallowed a lot of glass to get to this chair. Do not throw your entire future away over a minor bureaucratic technicality.” The corners of his mouth curled up just a fraction. It was a look of absolute, arrogant pity. He was silently telling me: People like you are incredibly lucky just to be allowed in the building. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. “Mr. Blackwood, I appreciate the generous offer. But until those files are submitted in full, my pen stays in my pocket.” Richard’s smile vanished. The polite, wealthy gentleman routine evaporated instantly. His eyes turned dead, cold, and full of raw contempt. It was the exact same look I saw when I was on my knees in his lobby twenty years ago. “Sloane. When I throw you a bone, you take it.” He stood up, towering over the coffee table. “You really think a low level paper pusher can hold my empire hostage?” “I have survived storms that would drown you in a second. If you refuse to sign that certificate today, I will personally guarantee you never work in this industry again.” He buttoned his suit jacket. “You just wait.” I looked right back into his dead eyes. No anger. No fear. Not a single flinch. I had been waiting for this day for nearly two decades. You want me to wait? Richard Blackwood, I am the one who has been waiting for you. 3 At three o’clock that afternoon, I was summoned to Director Mitchell’s private office. Marcus, Vanguard’s Vice President, was already sitting on the sofa. Twenty years ago, Marcus was the Director of Maintenance. He was the man who wrote “Reviewed, hold for now” on my mother’s critical safety warning. Mitchell stood by the window, staring out at the runway, completely silent. Marcus glared at me. “Inspector Sloane. Have you bothered to run the math on the daily interest for a ten billion dollar loan?” “You are not hurting Mr. Blackwood. You are holding a knife to the throats of twenty thousand Vanguard employees who need this launch to feed their families.” “If this company goes under, can you carry that kind of blood on your hands?” I didn’t blink. “Marcus, the paperwork is missing. When it is complete, I will sign. It is that simple.” “Sloane, you are young,” Marcus sneered, the threat bleeding through his teeth. “Think very carefully about your career trajectory. It would be a real tragedy if you were permanently stripped of your inspection credentials.” “I suggest you wise up. Mr. Blackwood’s patience is entirely gone.” He stood up, straightened his tie, and walked toward the door. As he passed me, he patted me hard on the shoulder. A physical reminder to know my place. Once the door clicked shut, it was just me and Mitchell. “Sloane.” He sighed, sounding like a disappointed father. “The agency recognizes your technical brilliance. Truly.” “But in this line of work, you cannot just look at the code. You have to look at the big picture.” “The mayor’s office is heavily invested in this Vanguard project.” He paused, letting the political weight sink in. “Can we not show a little flexibility on these minor procedural hiccups?” “Just draft a conditional approval letter. Let them promise to submit the code later. As long as the optics are fine, there is no need to enforce the letter of the law so brutally.” “You have a long career ahead of you. Being this stubborn… it does not end well for anyone.” Every word he spoke was legally safe. But every single syllable was an order to surrender. My voice was like ice. “If it is missing one single page, I will not sign.” “Tell them to submit the code.” Mitchell looked at me, his face hardening. “Think about this, Sloane.” I turned and walked out. The very next morning, a mass agency memo hit every inbox. “To optimize our review mechanisms and expedite critical airworthiness projects, the administration has restructured the oversight committee. Inspector Sloane is hereby removed from the position of Lead Inspector. All final approvals will be handled directly by the executive review board.” I was boxed up and banished to the basement archives. At ten in the morning, I carried a cardboard box into the dusty archive room. A few clerks watched me, whispering behind their hands. No one stepped up to defend me. Committing career suicide by crossing Vanguard Aviation was not contagious. Down the hallway, Mitchell walked toward me. As we passed each other, he didn’t even stop walking. He just muttered under his breath. “Think it through, Sloane.” I knew exactly what he meant. Grovel now, and you might get your desk back. I adjusted my grip on my cardboard box and kept walking. That afternoon, Brenda from Human Resources came down to the basement to “check” on me. “Sloane, what exactly is your endgame here?” “The entire board approved the Vanguard project. You were the only one playing hero.” “Now look at you. Stripped of your title, rotting down here with the mold.” “Do you regret it yet?” I looked up from the stack of old boxes. “It isn’t over yet.” Brenda froze. She walked to the door, turned around, and looked at me like I belonged in a psych ward. Once she was gone, I opened my laptop and pulled up the encrypted review logs. She was right. It wasn’t over. The trap was just beginning to close. That evening, an old college friend sent me a link. “Sloane, what the hell is going on?” I clicked the link. It was a massive investigative article by a prominent aviation blogger. Headline: “The Strictest Inspector or the Most Corrupt? A Deep Dive into Sloane’s Dictatorship at the Aviation Agency.” “The test flights were flawless. The entire board voted yes. Only Inspector Sloane vetoed the project. Are we looking at a blatant shakedown for bribes?” “According to anonymous insiders, Sloane frequently hints that airlines need to provide ‘supplemental materials.’ What exactly she wants them to supplement is anyone’s guess.” The comment section was an absolute bloodbath. “How is this corrupt witch still employed?” “Investigate her bank accounts immediately!” “Holding a ten billion dollar project hostage all by herself? If you think she isn’t fishing for a payout, you are delusional.” There were dozens of hit pieces multiplying by the hour. Another headline screamed: “Delaying the Billion Dollar Launch: Heroic Standards or Petty Revenge?” This one dug into my personal life. It listed my student loans, my single parent household, the fact that my mother died young and in disgrace. The implication was dripping from every paragraph. A desperate, poor girl climbs into a seat of massive power. Put ten billion dollars in front of her, and of course she is going to hold her hand out for a cut. I clenched my jaw and turned off my phone. 4 One week later. The heavy metal door of the archive room creaked open. A junior admin assistant stood there, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Sloane, the airworthiness certificate was officially signed by the executive board.” “Vanguard rented out the entire Continental Hotel. They are doing a global live broadcast of the maiden flight at two o’clock. Mr. Blackwood is personally boarding the plane for the test run.” I turned the page of the dusty manifest in my hands. “Got it.” At one thirty in the afternoon, I drove to the tarmac. The Agency had mandated that all review personnel be present for the historic launch. The tarmac was a sea of people. Vanguard executives, city politicians, Wall Street investors, and dozens of media cameras were all aimed at the massive, gleaming silver jet. Richard Blackwood stood at the center of the press podium, soaking in the glory. “Today marks a historic turning point for Vanguard Aviation!” “This aircraft represents the absolute pinnacle of global aviation technology. It has passed the most rigorous safety inspections on earth. In a few moments, I will personally board this flight to prove that Vanguard stands behind its quality!” The crowd erupted into deafening applause. I stood at the very back of the crowd, my face entirely blank. Richard walked up the boarding stairs, turning at the top to give a victorious wave to the cameras. Then he stepped inside the cabin. The entire tarmac held its collective breath, waiting for the roar of the engines. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds. Through the cockpit glass, a row of green indicators blinked once. And then, every single warning light flashed a blinding, violent red. System Diagnostic: FAILED. Hydraulic Valves: SAFETY LOCK ENGAGED. Engine Ignition: DISABLED. The global live feed kept rolling. The ten billion dollar marvel of engineering sat dead on the runway, completely unresponsive. Panic rippled through the media pit. Through the window, Richard’s face came into view. The arrogant smile was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic as he stared at the sea of red warning screens. The crowd broke into chaotic murmurs. Ten agonizing minutes later, Richard walked out of the cabin. His face was a mask of pure, murderous rage. He marched down the stairs, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator. They locked right onto me. I knew that exact look. It was the look he gave my mother twenty years ago. The day he screamed in her face while she clung to that safety report. The very next day, she became a thief and a pariah. And now, he was aiming that exact same weapon at me. Right on cue, Richard stormed through the crowd, heading straight for me. The cameras pivoted instantly, tracking his every move. He stopped two feet away from me. “Sloane.” “Just because I refused to pay your extortion fee, you think you can sabotage a commercial airliner?” “You are destroying the livelihoods of thousands of innocent people!” In one breath, he crucified me. He told the entire world I had tampered with the plane because he wouldn’t pay my bribe. The journalists started whispering frantically. “Did she hack the plane?” “Can an inspector even lock down the flight systems?” “That is actual terrorism…” Director Mitchell materialized at my side, playing the devastated leader perfectly. “Sloane, if what Mr. Blackwood is saying is true, do you have any idea what you have done?” “Thousands of jobs. Ten billion dollars. Can you survive the consequences of this?” He sounded like a man pleading with a criminal to surrender. Every word was designed to pile the guilt squarely on my shoulders. The camera crews surged forward, shoving microphones in my face. “Inspector Sloane! Did you tamper with the flight control system?” “How do you justify holding a ten billion dollar project hostage?” I could only imagine the live chat on the broadcast feed. “This chick is psychotic! Lock her up!” “Even if she didn’t hack it, abusing her power like this is disgusting.” “Investigate her bank accounts! She is a menace!” “She ruined thousands of lives just to throw a tantrum!” Richard looked at me with deep, theatrical sorrow. “Inspector Sloane. What could you possibly say to defend yourself now?” He had dragged me into the town square to be executed. He wanted me to be the villain. The criminal. Just like he made my mother the thief. I looked at the blinding flashes of the cameras. I looked at the angry faces of the crowd. I looked at Richard’s towering, arrogant stance. And then, I smiled. The entire crowd went dead silent. I took one deliberate step forward. “Mr. Blackwood.” “Do you want to know exactly why I am doing this?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silence like a scalpel. “Twenty years ago, a quality control engineer named Eleanor discovered a fatal anomaly in the hydraulic systems. She refused to sign the release manifest.” “The very next day, she was framed for stealing titanium parts and permanently blacklisted from the aviation industry.” “She was my mother.” “I was thirteen years old when the shame drove her off the roof of a building.” Richard’s pupils dilated in raw shock. I stared him down. “You used your power to frame my mother and push her to her death.” “And today, you thought you could use the exact same playbook to dump your toxic waste onto me.” “But this time, you won’t win.”

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1 My mother used to be the brightest jewel of the Manhattan elite—a brilliant business prodigy destined to take over her family’s empire. But love completely blinded her. She threw everything away, defied my grandfather’s warnings, and married a man with absolutely nothing to his name. Stripped of her family’s wealth and protection, she was forced to live like a glorified maid, constantly serving her husband’s ungrateful family. And in return? She endured vicious beatings and vile insults every time my father came home drunk. “You are completely useless! You could not even give me a son!” His cruelty culminated today. To clear the way for his mistress and illegitimate son, and to cash in on a massive life insurance policy, my father locked the bedroom door from the outside and set our apartment on fire. The thick, black smoke choked the air from my lungs. As my consciousness began to slip away, I used every last ounce of my fading strength to dial the one number my mother had not dared to touch in ten years. The moment the call connected, I heard my grandfather’s trembling, aged voice. “Grandpa… I am giving my life back to you. Consider it an apology on my mother’s behalf.” “Please… let my mother go back to being the untouchable Vanguard heiress she was born to be!” Beep… Beep… Beep… The call abruptly disconnected. I clung to my phone as a sea of flames swallowed the room. The toxic smoke clamped tight around my throat. “Cough… cough…” My vision blurred. In the very last second before the darkness took me, I forced myself to turn my head. My mother had thrown her body over mine to shield me from the collapse of our burning wardrobe. “Mom…” I mouthed the word, but no sound came out. Suddenly, my body felt incredibly light. My soul tore away from my physical form, floating gently toward the ceiling. Crash! The bedroom door was finally ripped open by a fireman’s electric saw. “Hurry! We still have vitals! Get the stretcher!” A team of firefighters rushed in and lifted my mother’s burned body onto a gurney. “My wife! My daughter!” A devastated, agonizing wail echoed from the hallway. Marcus stumbled blindly toward the stretcher, his hands desperately gripping the metal frame. Tears and snot smeared across his face. “How could this happen?! I only went downstairs to buy some groceries! How did a fire start?!” “Honey, wake up! How am I supposed to live without you?!” The neighbors crowded in the hallway wiped their eyes, whispering softly about what a devoted, tragic man he was. My soul hovered in the air, staring dead at him. From my vantage point, I could clearly see the corners of his mouth twitching upward in an uncontrollable, euphoric smirk. My grandmother shuffled in right behind him, wailing a hollow, theatrical, “Oh, my poor daughter-in-law!” But her hands were busy frantically swatting the air, entirely disgusted by the ash settling on her expensive silk dress. “Make way! The victim has sustained severe third-degree burns! She needs to be transported to the emergency room immediately!” The paramedics shoved Marcus aside and rushed the gurney toward the elevators. My instinct was to follow them, to stay right by my mother’s side. But the moment I floated past the apartment threshold, a violent force ripped my soul backward. I was tethered. Bound to stay within ten feet of Marcus. Marcus staggered into the emergency stairwell. The second he realized he was completely alone, the agonizing grief wiped clean from his face. He pulled out a burner phone and dialed a number. “Hey, Chloe,” he whispered, his voice trembling with sheer excitement. “It is done! Those two worthless burdens—one is dead, and the other is burned to a crisp.” “Sending her to the hospital is just a waste of money.” A woman’s sultry laugh drifted through the speaker. “Really? Did the Vanguard family not show up?” Marcus let out a cold, sharp sneer and spat on the concrete floor. “Why should I be scared? I already checked! The last number that bitch dialed before her phone melted was her old man’s, and it did not even connect!” “Ten years ago, she cut ties with the entire Vanguard family just to marry me. Those old-money elites care about their reputation more than anything. Why would they ever rescue a discarded pawn?!” “And even if they wanted to, she looks like a monster now! God himself could not save her.” He grew more animated with every word, reaching up to loosen his tie. “Chloe, get ready to become the new Mrs. Kingwell. That thirty-million-dollar life insurance payout is about to clear.” I threw my arms out, lunging violently at Marcus, desperately trying to snap his neck. But my hands sliced right through his chest. I could not touch him. “Marcus, what about little Leo getting legally recognized?” “Relax!” Marcus interrupted her. “Once the heat dies down, I will move both of you right into the master bedroom.” “Leo is the only heir to my bloodline. From now on, everything I own belongs to my son!” He hung up the phone, instantly twisting his face back into a mask of pure devastation, and stumbled out of the stairwell to meet the police detectives. “Officer, this is all my fault…” He dropped to his knees, burying his hands in his hair. “My wife has been so mentally unstable lately. She kept forgetting to turn off the stove.” “I even reminded her right before I left the apartment. I never thought…” “I failed to protect them! I should just die!” His sobbing was so utterly convincing that even the seasoned detectives looked sympathetic, pulling him up and assuring him it was just a tragic accident. An accident? I let out a desperate, hollow laugh. He bribed the building’s maintenance man to disable the fire alarms, locked our bedroom door from the outside, and stuffed oil-soaked rags into the doorframe! Suddenly, the phone in Marcus’s pocket buzzed. He turned his back to the officers and checked the screen. It was a text from a hospital orderly he had bribed. [Mr. Kingwell, I checked. The woman has burns over ninety percent of her body and is going into organ failure.] [Since you did not pay the ICU deposit, the hospital only bandaged her. They left her on a gurney in the hallway to die.] [And her maiden family? Not a single ghost showed up.] Absolute, unhinged ecstasy exploded in Marcus’s eyes. His thumbs flew across the screen as he replied: [Keep an eye on her. The second she stops breathing, text me. Tonight, I am moving Chloe and Leo in.] I stared at the glowing screen, my soul plummeting into an icy abyss. Grandpa… did you really abandon us? 2 It had only been three days since the fire. My soul was permanently chained to Marcus, forcing me to follow him back to the apartment. Chloe was sitting at my mother’s vanity mirror, wearing my mother’s favorite silk nightgown. She popped open my mother’s jewelry box, held a diamond necklace up to the light, and scoffed. “This is garbage. Only a pathetic housewife like Victoria would treat this like treasure.” “Marcus, you are taking me to buy a new diamond ring tomorrow, right?” Marcus wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Of course! The biggest one in the store! Once that thirty million clears, you can have whatever you want!” A burst of childish laughter echoed from the living room. I drifted out of the bedroom. Five-year-old Leo was standing right in front of the memorial altar set up in the center of the room. Resting on the altar was my black-and-white funeral portrait. Leo pulled down his pants, aimed directly at my face, and peed all over my picture. “Good boy! Look how far he goes!” My grandmother sat on the sofa, aggressively clapping her hands and cheering him on. She waddled over and affectionately rubbed Leo’s head. “Our Leo is so strong! You are going to be a very rich man one day!” “Not like that worthless little bitch who just took up space and drained our money. She deserved to burn!” My soul lunged at the little monster, my hands completely wrapping around his throat. I want to strangle him! But it was useless. Over and over, my hands phased harmlessly through his flesh. That evening, Marcus came home waving a preliminary claim approval from the insurance company. The entire family erupted into cheers. Marcus raised a glass of whiskey, his face flushed with triumph. “A toast! To our real family, finally reunited!” Chloe giggled, tapping her wine glass against his. She took a delicate sip, her eyes gleaming with calculation. “Marcus, what are you going to do about that woman’s funeral?” Marcus shoved a piece of rare steak into his mouth, chewing vigorously. “Oh, we are throwing one! The biggest funeral this city has ever seen!” A dark, venomous scheme flashed in his eyes. “I am going to rent out the grand hall at the Elysium Memorial Center. I will invite every news outlet in the state to broadcast it live.” “I want the whole world to see how heartbroken and devoted I am to my late wife!” “Once I solidify my image as the grieving, loyal husband, those stubborn old men on the corporate board will finally hand over complete control of the company.” “And Victoria’s shares will legally, and permanently, fall right into my lap.” Chloe dropped her fork and pouted heavily. “So how long do I have to wait to become your actual wife?” “I am already pregnant with your second baby!” Marcus dropped his silverware, took her hand, and stroked her knuckles with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Do not worry, baby,” he whispered. “At the funeral. Right after the lawyer reads the will and I take control of the shares.” “I will announce your pregnancy live to the press. I will tell them it was Victoria’s dying wish for me to move on and give Leo a complete, loving home.” “Two massive victories in one day. Who would ever dare to question me?” How could they?! How could anyone be this purely, fundamentally evil?! Just then, the television in the living room cut to a breaking news alert. A news anchor’s solemn voice filled the room. “Breaking news. The unidentified female victim from the tragic Southside apartment fire three days ago…” “…has succumbed to her severe injuries. Due to a lack of medical funding and no family members stepping forward to claim her, she passed away in the hospital corridor early this morning.” “Her remains have been transferred to the city morgue. We urge any surviving relatives to step forward…” A pixelated photo flashed on the screen. Even through the blur, I recognized it instantly. It was my mother. Marcus shot up from the dining table, staring at the television. He threw his head back and burst into maniacal laughter. “Hahahaha! She is dead! She is completely dead!” “The Vanguard family never showed up! They did not even come to collect her corpse! The old man really did completely abandon her!” “This entire empire belongs to me now!” My soul collapsed onto the hardwood floor. My mother was really dead. My grandfather never came to save her. The Vanguard family had truly left us to rot. My final, desperate sliver of hope crumbled into dust. I watched as my grandmother commanded the maid to stuff all of my clothes, my toys, and every single photograph of me and my mother into black trash bags. “Throw it all away! Everything! It is bad luck to look at!” She kicked a bag filled with my childhood memories across the room. Every single trace of our existence in this world was systematically erased. I drifted up to the ceiling. Pure, concentrated hatred materialized around my soul, radiating as a thick, black aura. Marcus Kingwell. Even if it means becoming a vengeful demon, I will drag you to hell. 3 Five days later. Elysium Memorial Center. Marcus had dropped a hundred grand to rent out the massive main mourning hall. Massive, framed portraits of me and my mother hung directly in the center of the room. Marcus was dressed in a sharp black suit, kneeling on a velvet cushion and weeping loudly. Every time a guest approached to bow their respects, he would aggressively slam his head against the floor in return, looking completely exhausted and on the verge of collapse. “Victoria… my sweet Victoria…” His assistant quickly rushed forward, rubbing his back and offering him a glass of warm water. A massive LED screen on the wall displayed the live comments from the broadcast feed. [This is so heartbreaking. Mr. Kingwell is such a good man.] [He lost his wife and his child at the same time. The trauma must be unbearable. Stay strong, Marcus!] [I heard his wife was incredibly abusive and had a terrible temper, but he still loved her unconditionally. That is true devotion.] I floated above the crowd, reading the scrolling text, violently trembling with rage. My mother worked herself to the bone for this family. She woke up before dawn and went to bed past midnight. She could not even buy a new dress without Marcus making her feel guilty. Since when was she abusive?! At that moment, the maid helped my grandmother walk over to the press section. She clutched a tissue, dabbing at her dry eyes as she sobbed into the microphones. “My poor daughter-in-law… Even though she used to beat me and scream at an old woman like me…” “Even though she refused to let me eat hot meals with the family, she was still my family…” “Marcus endured so much abuse just to keep the family together. He always had bruises from where she pinched and hit him.” “Now that she is gone, I just pray she finds some peace and calms her temper in the afterlife…” The room erupted. Reporters practically shoved their microphones down her throat to catch every word. The live chat instantly exploded, the narrative completely flipping against us. [What the hell?! So the dead wife was a total psycho?! She abused her mother-in-law?!] [And here I was feeling sorry for her. Good riddance!] [Marcus is a saint for putting up with domestic abuse just to keep the peace. Poor guy!] [Karma is real! God finally took that evil bitch out!] They were not just satisfied with murdering us for money. They were actively destroying my mother’s legacy, dragging her name through the mud while her corpse was still warm! I turned my gaze toward Chloe. She was standing near the entrance, pretending to be a “distant cousin” helping to greet the guests. “Mr. Davis, Mr. Evans, Marcus will be relying on your continued support in the future.” She flashed them a sweet, seductive smile, quietly establishing her dominance over his inner circle. The corporate shareholders exchanged a knowing look and chuckled. Marcus perfectly timed his cue. He stood up, walked over to the board members, and offered a deep bow. “Gentlemen, Victoria is gone. But I promise you, I will not let this break me.” His eyes were red, but his voice rang out loud and commanding. “Tomorrow, my thirty-million-dollar insurance payout clears.” “And I have decided to inject every single cent of that money directly into the company, completely covering the budget deficit from last quarter!” “I know Victoria is watching from heaven, and she would want to see our company thrive!” The moment the words left his mouth, a few hesitant board members immediately began clapping. “That is what I like to hear, Marcus! The company is in good hands with you!” Marcus had officially used our blood money to buy total, uncontested control of his empire. Just then, his executive assistant hurried into the hall, discreetly slipping a document into Marcus’s hand. It was the official death certificate issued by the city morgue. Marcus gripped the paper, his fingers lightly trembling. The crowd thought he was overwhelmed by grief. But from where I floated, I saw the truth. His eyes were burning with unhinged, absolute victory. He took a deep breath, preparing to throw himself back onto the mourning cushion. Clatter! A loud noise shattered his performance. Five-year-old Leo had somehow managed to sneak up to the altar. He was holding a toy truck, aggressively swatting at a fly buzzing near the flowers. He swung his foot and kicked my urn straight off the table. The ceramic box hit the floor and shattered, sending a cloud of grey ash spilling across the carpet. “Ew!” Leo shrieked, stumbling backward, stepping right into the middle of my ashes. He disgustedly wiped the bottom of his shoe against the carpet. “What is this dusty garbage? It is gross!” Dead silence fell over the hall. Every single guest inhaled sharply. Kicking over a dead person’s urn was the ultimate taboo. Marcus looked up. I thought, for just a fraction of a second, he might actually scold the boy. But he did not. He calmly walked over and scooped Leo into his arms. He turned around to face the flashing cameras. Instead of anger, a warm, fatherly glow washed over his face. “Victoria is gone, and this tragedy has opened my eyes,” he spoke directly into the microphones. “Life is entirely unpredictable. The only thing that truly matters is family bloodlines.” “Today, surrounded by the people I trust most, I have an announcement to make.” He proudly raised Leo’s small hand into the air. “Leo is my biological flesh and blood! As of today, he will officially be recognized as a Kingwell.” “He is the sole heir to my family!” 4 The crowd gasped. The media went absolutely wild, the sound of camera shutters firing like machine guns. [MASSIVE EXCLUSIVE! CEO MARCUS KINGWELL HAS A SECRET SON?!] [The wife just died and he is already adopting his bastard? Plot twist of the century!] The online narrative was entirely controlled by bots Marcus had purchased the night before. I floated in the air, staring down at my ashes, currently mixed with dirt and shoe prints on the floor. I stared at the little monster who had just trampled on my remains. My soul let out an agonizing, blood-curdling scream. “Marcus Kingwell! I will make sure you burn in hell!” I threw myself at him again and again, but every single time, I phased right through his chest. The combination of devastating fury and absolute helplessness was physically tearing my soul apart. Marcus felt like a god. He had won everything. He set Leo down and slowly walked toward Chloe. With every eye in the room locked on him. Marcus dropped to one knee, pulled a velvet box from his blazer, and popped it open. A massive, flawless five-carat diamond caught the fluorescent lights, blinding everyone near the front row. “Chloe,” Marcus spoke softly, his voice dripping with romance. “For years, I kept you and our son hidden in the shadows just to spare Victoria’s feelings. I forced you to suffer without a title.” “But now that Victoria has passed, Leo cannot grow up without a real family.” “Will you marry me, Chloe? Will you be the new Mrs. Kingwell?” He was proposing at his dead wife’s funeral. He was standing on my ashes, proposing to his accomplice in murder! How could human beings be this vile?! My soul shuddered violently, the edges of my form beginning to dissipate from pure rage. “Say yes! Say yes!” My grandmother was the first to break the silence, eagerly clapping her hands. Her face was glowing with joy as she spoke directly to the cameras. “This is a blessing! We need a happy event to wash away the bad luck!” “If Victoria is watching from above, I know she is smiling down, happy that Marcus finally has a real family!” Absurd! This was completely, utterly unhinged! But what was even more sickening was the reaction of the guests. The corporate executives, the shareholders, the high-society elites. Blinded by the incoming thirty million dollars and Marcus’s total corporate control, they actually started clapping along. “Mr. Kingwell is a man of honor! Congratulations to you both!” “A double blessing! Cheers to the happy couple!” The mourning hall was suddenly filled with cheers and applause. Chloe covered her mouth, squeezing out a few fake, theatrical tears. She offered her hand, and Marcus slid the diamond ring onto her finger. Chloe looked directly up at my funeral portrait on the altar. Her eyes conveyed a very clear message: Look at me now. Everything that used to be yours is mine. Marcus stood up and confidently waved his hand. A man in a sharp suit clutching a leather briefcase instantly stepped forward. “Everyone.” Marcus cleared his throat, barely able to suppress the ecstatic grin on his face. “Before Victoria passed, she held fifteen percent of the Vanguard family shares.” “Today, in front of the press and our closest friends, I have asked Mr. Sterling, our corporate attorney…” “…to officially read the last will and testament Victoria left behind.” Mr. Sterling pushed his glasses up his nose, pulled a thick document from his briefcase, and cleared his throat. “I, Victoria Vanguard, voluntarily decree that in the event of my passing, all of my personal assets, corporate shares, and real estate…” “…shall be unconditionally transferred to my beloved husband, Mr. Marcus Kingwell…” The will was entirely fake. Marcus had hired someone to forge her signature! I squeezed my eyes shut, completely unable to stomach this repulsive display. “…The above statements are legally binding and shall take effect immediate—” BANG!!! Just as the lawyer was about to utter the final syllable, the heavy mahogany doors of the mourning hall were violently kicked open. The entire crowd spun around in shock. Outside, ten identical, matte-black Rolls-Royces were parked in a perfect line, completely barricading the entrance. Dozens of towering men in tailored black suits poured out of the vehicles. The reporters, who were just screaming into their cameras a second ago, were instantly paralyzed with fear. The security team marched into the hall, forming two solid walls of muscle, violently parting the sea of guests down the middle. Then, the sharp, rhythmic click of stilettos echoed through the silence. Click… Click… Click… A woman, wearing five-inch designer heels, slowly stepped through the doorway. She wore a long, tailored black trench coat. A pair of oversized dark sunglasses concealed the top half of her face. The triumphant smile completely vanished from Marcus’s face. His pupils dilated in sheer, unadulterated terror. The forged will slipped from his trembling fingers and hit the carpet with a soft thud. His knees instantly gave out. He dropped straight to the floor in a dead faint. The woman walking into the room was my mother—Victoria Vanguard!

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1 On the day of my wedding, I was assaulted by my fiancé’s best friend. Afterward, everyone begged me to just let it go and sweep the whole nightmare under the rug. “They grew up in the same sandbox. They’ve been thick as thieves since childhood. If you make a scene, how is Declan supposed to face his best friend?” “Besides, you’re a woman. If word gets out, your reputation will be dragged through the mud. Think about your future.” I blocked out every single word. I bypassed the gossip and dragged the attacker straight to court. But on the day of the trial, right in front of the judge and a packed gallery, the defendant ripped open their dress shirt. “Take a good look, Mrs. Croft. We are both women.” “Why don’t you explain to the judge how exactly a woman managed to overpower and force herself on you?” I stared at the completely flat chest, my mind flatlining. But that day, in that dark room, the attacker absolutely had the physical anatomy of a man. I was sure of it. The courtroom fell into a suffocating silence for three excruciating seconds. Then, it erupted. “It’s a chick?” “So she made the whole thing up?” “I knew it sounded totally unhinged…” Quinn stood in the defendant’s stand. The shirt hung wide open, revealing tight red marks from a chest binder, the torso as flat as a sheet of paper. Quinn made no effort to cover up. In fact, Quinn leaned slightly to the side, giving the judge an unobstructed view. “Your Honor, Declan and I have been best buddies since we were kids. In his eyes, I’m just one of the guys.” A bitter smirk touched Quinn’s lips. “The bride had a little too much champagne on her big day. She grabbed my arm and wouldn’t stop rambling.” “I helped her to the VIP lounge so she could sleep it off, and I left before two minutes had even passed.” “I honestly have no idea why she would invent such a sick lie about me.” Quinn paused, and the edges of those eyes grew visibly red. “Maybe it’s because… Declan has always treated me so well?” A fresh wave of murmurs crashed through the gallery. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is all over petty jealousy?” “That is next level toxic. The defendant is literally a woman!” “Some wives just can’t stand their husbands having female friends…” The judge slammed the gavel down hard. “Order in the court.” He turned his gaze toward me, his eyes heavy with doubt. “Plaintiff. Do you have a response to the defendant’s statement?” What did I have to respond to? I opened my mouth, but the words withered on my tongue. The memories of that day came flooding back like dark water. The sound of the lock clicking shut. Being pinned down against the velvet sofa. My head spinning from the spiked drink, the silhouette above me blurred into a terrifying shadow. “You have such beautiful skin, Nora.” That was Quinn’s voice. Whispering right against my ear. I felt the weight. I felt the rough hands. And I felt that thing. Ice cold. Hard. Forcing its way inside. There was zero chance I was mistaken. “That day…” I squeezed my hands into tight fists. “You had male anatomy.” Quinn blinked in mock surprise before letting out a soft, echoing laugh. “What anatomy? I am a biological female. What exactly was I supposed to use…” The sentence trailed off. But the entire room caught the implication. A few people actually snickered. “Plaintiff, present your evidence,” the judge said, his brow deeply furrowed. Evidence. I had the medical report from the hospital. It clearly documented severe bruising and signs of forced entry. But the report also stated that no traces of DNA were found. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed Quinn had used protection. Now, staring at that flat, scarred chest, the horrifying truth dawned on me. That thing was never a human organ to begin with. “I…” “Your Honor.” Quinn’s defense attorney shot up from his chair, cutting me off completely. “The defendant is female and physically incapable of committing the crime as described. If the plaintiff cannot provide hard evidence, this is a textbook case of perjury and malicious prosecution.” “We reserve the right to countersue.” Countersue. Malicious prosecution. Just like that, the victim became the criminal. “Plaintiff?” The judge’s voice echoed from above. “Do you have anything else to add?” Every single pair of eyes in that room was glued to me. Quinn was looking at me too. Too calm. Too composed. Not like a victim of a false accusation. But like a predator watching a trapped animal bleed out. I drew in a shaky, desperate breath. “Your Honor, I request a recess.” “I need time to submit additional evidence.” The moment those words left my lips, a man stood up from the front row of the gallery. It was Declan. “Your Honor, if I may speak.” The judge frowned. “And you are?” “The plaintiff’s husband.” Declan hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. “And the defendant’s oldest friend.” The entire courtroom went dead silent. 2 Declan stood frozen in the aisle, looking at me with his brow completely knotted in distress. “Nora, sweetheart. Quinn is a girl. I kept the extent of our friendship quiet because I didn’t want you overthinking things.” He let out a heavy, ragged sigh. He sounded like a father scolding a toddler who had thrown a tantrum. “If you were feeling insecure, you could have taken it out on me at home. Yelled at me, thrown things. Whatever you needed.” “But you dragged her into a courtroom.” “She just tore her shirt open in front of a hundred strangers just to prove she isn’t a monster.” He dropped his voice, letting it crack perfectly. “How is she supposed to walk out of here with any dignity left?” The gallery immediately took the bait. “That is seriously messed up. Couldn’t they just talk it out? Why ruin someone’s life?” “How is that poor girl ever going to show her face again?” “Man, I feel bad for the husband. Stuck between his crazy wife and his best bro.” Declan acted like he didn’t hear a word of it. He just kept his eyes locked on mine, projecting nothing but exhaustion and sorrow. “Nora, I’m not mad at you.” “But you owe Quinn an explanation.” “Just apologize, and we can put this awful mess behind us. Please?” His tone was nauseatingly gentle. So gentle that anyone looking in would think I was a hysterical, paranoid housewife ruining everyone’s life for sport. But my mind was racing back to that room. That night. Pinned to the couch, my throat raw from screaming for someone, anyone, to help me. There were footsteps in the hallway outside. They paused right outside the door. And then, they walked away. I had always told myself it was just a random waiter or a lost guest. But looking at Declan’s face right now, the cadence of those footsteps clicked into place in my memory. Heavy, deliberate, familiar. I didn’t acknowledge his pathetic plea. I just stared right through him. “Declan.” “You walked past the VIP lounge that night, didn’t you?” His perfectly crafted mask of sorrow slipped for a fraction of a second. “Nora, what on earth are you talking about?” He frowned, layering on the confusion thick. “I was in the main ballroom giving toasts the entire night. Why would I be all the way down by the lounges?” “Are you sure you aren’t… misremembering things again?” His delivery was flawless. Too flawless. Like a script he had rehearsed a hundred times in the mirror. “I am not misremembering anything.” I glared at him, refusing to blink. “I know the sound of your walk. I would never mistake it.” Declan went quiet for exactly two seconds. Then he exhaled slowly, turned away from me, and looked up at the judge. “Your Honor, I need to disclose something.” “Something regarding my wife’s… condition.” The judge gave a terse nod. Declan hesitated, chewing on his lower lip like a man carrying the weight of the world. “Nora… she has been under extreme psychological stress for the past six months.” “She wasn’t sleeping before the wedding. Her moods were erratic.” He looked back at me, his eyes brimming with fake pity. “I didn’t want to bring this up. I wanted to protect her pride.” “But seeing her like this, completely detached from reality…” “I’m terrified she’s going to hurt herself or someone else.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Last October, I finally convinced her to see a specialist.” Declan reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. “This is her official diagnosis.” He handed it to the bailiff, who passed it up to the bench. “The psychiatrist diagnosed her with severe anxiety disorder, coupled with…” He lowered his voice, but kept it just loud enough for the reporters in the front row to catch every syllable. “…paranoid personality tendencies. She suffers from severe delusions.” The gallery practically exploded. “Holy crap, she’s actually psycho.” “No wonder the husband was so desperate to shut it down. He’s managing a mental patient.” “It all makes perfect sense now.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. “That is a lie!” I violently shoved his hand away as he reached out to “comfort” me. “What kind of twisted game are you playing, Declan? I have never seen a psychiatrist in my life!” He didn’t yell back. He just sighed again, his gaze growing even softer, bathing me in suffocating pity. The judge scanned the document, his lips pressing into a thin line. I lunged forward and snatched it from the desk. Right there, printed in crisp black ink. “Anxiety disorder with paranoid personality tendencies. Immediate pharmacological intervention and aggressive cognitive therapy recommended.” The header bore the official seal of Mercy General’s psychiatric ward. The city’s top facility. I stared at the paper. White noise filled my ears, drowning out the murmurs of the courtroom. October twelfth of last year… I had gone to Mercy General that day. But not for the psych ward. I was there to accompany my father for his pre-op cardiology screening, and I decided to get a routine blood panel done while I waited. I never stepped foot on the psychiatric floor. This diagnosis was a complete, utter fabrication. But with the hospital seal glaring back at me, how the hell was I supposed to prove it? 3 “Your Honor.” Declan’s voice cut through the static in my brain. “I’ve kept her illness a secret from everyone, even her own parents.” “I truly believed that if I just loved her enough, created a safe environment, she would get better.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. A brilliant touch of theatrical grief. “I never imagined she would snap like this on our wedding day.” “The stress of the event, the alcohol… she had stopped taking her meds, and so…” He swallowed hard, acting as if the words physically burned his throat. “So she hallucinated.” “She took a totally innocent memory of Quinn helping her to a room, and her broken mind twisted it into… into this nightmare.” Whispers hissed through the gallery like venomous snakes. Declan took a deep breath, looking pleadingly at the judge. “Your Honor, I am not here to condemn my wife.” “I just want to take her home. I want to get her the medical help she desperately needs.” “Can we please just end this circus?” “I am begging you, stop triggering her. She can’t take much more.” A tear actually slipped down his cheek. Only I knew how rotten and hollow that tear really was. The judge sat in silence for a long moment. He looked down at me, the annoyance in his eyes replaced by clinical sympathy. “Plaintiff, do you have any evidence to counter this document?” I opened my mouth. It felt like my throat had been packed with dry cotton. What could I say? Scream that it was forged? It had the official hospital stamp. It had a real doctor’s signature. And my name was undeniably in the hospital’s visitor logs for that exact date. I was utterly trapped. “Court is adjourned.” The gavel slammed down, echoing like a death knell. “The plaintiff has seven days to present verifiable forensic evidence, or this case will be permanently dismissed with prejudice.” “Furthermore, given the serious concerns regarding the plaintiff’s mental competency…” He gave Declan a knowing nod. “I strongly advise the family to seek immediate psychiatric evaluation. We will need an updated, legally binding mental health assessment.” Declan nodded eagerly, his face awash with manufactured gratitude. “Thank you, Your Honor. I will take her straight to the clinic tomorrow.” He turned on his heel, walked over to me, and held out his hand. “Come on, Nora. Let’s go home.” I stared at his perfectly manicured fingers. On our wedding day, that exact hand had slid a diamond ring onto my finger. In front of hundreds of cheering guests, he had kissed my forehead and made a vow. “Nora, I will protect you from the world, until the day I die.” Now, that same hand was trying to drag me into a padded cell. I took a sharp step back. “Don’t touch me.” Declan’s gentle smile vanished for a fraction of a second. But the mask snapped right back into place. He closed the distance and clamped his hand around my bicep. It didn’t look aggressive to the crowd, but his grip was like an iron vice. I couldn’t pull away. “Nora, be good.” He leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. His voice dropped to a pitch so low only I could hear the malice dripping from it. “You know how obsessed I am with you.” “But since you want to act crazy, I guess I’ll have to lock you up with the crazies.” He pulled back and sighed, projecting the image of a long-suffering saint. “Once the doctors fix your head, we can renew our vows, okay?” My blood turned to ice. He straightened his tie, painting that lovesick, tragic expression back onto his face. “Come on. Home.” He half-dragged me down the aisle. As we passed the defense table, Quinn was still standing there. Quinn caught my eye, and a slow, triumphant smirk spread across that face. “Take care of yourself, Mrs. Croft.” The words were mouthed silently, but the message was deafening. “Next time you try to ruin me, make sure you aren’t wearing a straitjacket.” By that evening, I was the top trending topic on every social platform. #PsychoBrideCriesWolf #WifeFramesInnocentWoman The comments were a bloodbath. Thousands of strangers demanding I be locked in an asylum or thrown in jail. I shut my phone off, lay in the dark, and stared at the ceiling. My brain looped the courtroom footage endlessly. The fake psychiatric papers. The gaslighting. The perfectly executed narrative. They had meticulously woven a web so tight, I couldn’t breathe. Even if I screamed the truth until my vocal cords snapped, the world would only hear a lunatic raving. The next morning, I drove straight to Mercy General’s medical records department. I demanded to see my file from October twelfth. The receptionist typed for a minute, frowned, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There is no record of a visit or bloodwork for you on that date.” I sat in my car in the hospital parking garage, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Declan had enough power and money to scrub a major hospital’s database. Just how deep did his rot go? 4 Then, a memory hit me like a bolt of lightning. Last year’s corporate health screening. It was a joint initiative between my family’s company, Sinclair Group, and his company, Croft Enterprises. Every executive had to participate. Quinn was on the Croft payroll. Quinn had taken that physical. Declan was thorough, but he couldn’t have predicted I would dig into a boring corporate wellness archive. I grabbed my phone and dialed the head of HR at Sinclair Group. “Pull the master file for last year’s executive health screenings. Find Quinn’s file and encrypt it, then send it directly to my private email.” Ten minutes later, my phone pinged. I screenshotted the bloodwork pages and forwarded them to a trusted friend who worked as an endocrinologist. “Look at these labs. Tell me exactly what you see. Is there anything… off about this patient?” Five minutes later, my phone buzzed with her reply. I read her message. I read it three times to be absolutely sure. And then, sitting alone in the dark car, I laughed. It was a hollow, manic sound. So that was it. No wonder Quinn was so eager to rip open that shirt in a room full of people. They had bet everything on the assumption that I would never find a biological smoking gun. I leaned my head back against the leather seat and closed my eyes. I couldn’t just leak this online. Declan’s PR team would immediately flag it as a deepfake, and I would be slapped with a defamation suit. I needed Quinn to admit it. Live. In front of a crowd too big for Declan to silence. I picked up my phone and dialed Declan’s number. “I’ve been thinking.” I forced my voice to sound raspy, broken, and utterly defeated. “You were right. Maybe I am losing my mind. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.” There was a tense silence on the other end. “Are you… being serious right now?” “Yeah.” I let out a shuddering breath. “I want to host a press conference. I need to clear the air.” “This has spiraled totally out of control. I owe everyone an apology. I owe Quinn an apology.” I could practically hear the tension leaving Declan’s shoulders. “Nora, baby, I’m so proud of you. You’re finally thinking clearly. I’ll have my PR team book a venue immediately.” “Tomorrow afternoon,” I said softly. “Done.” The press conference was set up in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. Declan’s PR machine was terrifyingly efficient. Within twenty-four hours, every major news outlet and tabloid had a camera crew set up in the room. An hour before we went live, Declan cornered me in the green room, gripping my hands. “Nora, stick to the prompter. Do not go off-script. Read the apology exactly as it is.” He handed me a crisp sheet of paper. I took it, scanning the humiliating words he had written for me. “I understand,” I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast. Declan beamed, a sickeningly genuine look of relief on his face. He kissed my forehead. “Good girl. Once this is over, we’re going on a long vacation. Just you and me.” Quinn was there, too. Trading the sharp suit from the courtroom for a soft, flowy white blouse. The absolute picture of innocent, feminine grace. Sitting in the front row, radiating a quiet, triumphant glow. Seeing me, Quinn offered a gentle, forgiving smile. The eyes above the smile were mocking me. I walked up the steps to the podium, staring down a sea of flashing lenses and microphones. I took a deep breath and leaned into the mic. “Good afternoon, members of the press.” “I asked you all here today to finally address the events that have dominated the news cycle over the past week.” The room fell dead silent. The only sound was the rapid clicking of camera shutters. “First, I want to thank you all for your patience.” “There has been a lot of speculation online. Accusations of perjury. Rumors about my mental stability.” I let the silence hang for a moment. “Reading those things… has been an absolute nightmare.” I looked down at the scripted apology in my hands. “I stand here today to publicly address Quinn.” A ripple of excited whispers swept through the press pool. “Holy shit, she’s actually going to do it.” “Guess the crazy wife finally caved…” Quinn’s smile widened, practically glowing under the stage lights. Declan sank back into his front-row chair, crossing his legs, completely at ease. “On the day of my wedding, I consumed a large amount of alcohol.” I continued, my voice steady. “My memory of that night became fragmented. Distorted…” “And so…” I took a massive breath. “So today, in front of all of you, I am going to reveal exactly what happened in that room.” Declan’s relaxed posture instantly vanished. He sat bolt upright. I dropped the PR script onto the floor. “But before I do that, I have one simple question for Quinn.” The ballroom became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Quinn’s smile froze. “Nora…” Declan warned, standing up. I ignored him entirely. I stepped out from behind the podium and walked down the steps, marching straight down the center aisle until I was standing face-to-face with Quinn. I locked eyes with the monster who ruined my life. “Quinn.” “In court, you tore open your shirt. You proved to a judge that your chest matches your legal gender marker. I don’t dispute that.” I paused. The entire room held its breath. “But…” I leaned in, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper that was still picked up by the lapel mic. “What about the lower half?”

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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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