Category: English

On the exact day of our anniversary, Declan wired fifteen thousand dollars to his first love. In the six years we had been together, he had never once transferred a single cent to me. Grief and a suffocating sense of injustice flooded my chest. For the first time in my life, I lost my mind. I screamed. I cried hysterically. Desperate to shut me up, he panicked and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “Are you done throwing a fit?” I spent the entire night sitting on the freezing hardwood floor, clutching my swollen, throbbing cheek in a dead daze. Outside the window, the streetlights flickered on, then died out. First thing the next morning, I packed my bags and walked out of the tiny apartment we had shared for six years. Three months later, the man who had never once bowed his head to anyone was kneeling at my door, begging for forgiveness. Only to watch me come home with my new husband. 1 A cold, damp chill hung in the air of the apartment. The elaborate anniversary dinner I had spent hours cooking sat on the table, completely untouched. Today was our six year anniversary. He had promised to come home early to celebrate with me. Instead, he made a last minute detour to his first love Lauren’s art studio, making a massive spectacle of wiring her fifteen thousand dollars. He had even opened our fridge, taken the anniversary cake I baked that afternoon, and casually justified it to me. “I know you don’t really have a sweet tooth anyway. Better not let it go to waste. I did you a favor.” Lauren had immediately posted a picture of my cake alongside a screenshot of the bank transfer on her Instagram story. The caption was a blatant flex. [No boyfriend for the holidays, but someone still sent me money and a cake hehe~] It was not that I disliked cake. It was that in our six years of dating, I, his actual girlfriend, had never even received a birthday cake from him. Let alone a random wire transfer of fifteen thousand dollars. The only time I ever asked him for money was when I maxed out my own paycheck buying groceries and household supplies for the both of us. I had to swallow my pride and beg him for help. Ever since then, he rigidly transferred me exactly five hundred dollars a month for “household expenses.” Compared to the fifteen grand he threw at Lauren without a second thought, my allowance was a joke. A sharp, burning cramp seized my empty stomach. I hunched over the dining table, breaking out in a cold sweat from the pain. That was exactly when Declan walked through the front door. He noticed me doubled over, his brows pulling together in a tight frown. He poured a glass of lukewarm water and set it near me. “Didn’t I tell you to eat first if you were hungry? Why wait for me?” I looked up at him. A bitter, numb sensation spread through my chest like poison. He had completely forgotten our plans. He had forgotten today was our anniversary. The only thing he remembered on this special day was to prepare a surprise for Lauren. My phone screen lit up with a direct message from Lauren. A pure provocation. “You do know, right? If Declan hadn’t made that promise to your conservative parents back then, he would be standing next to me right now.” “Harper, he only feels a sense of duty toward you. You have to be smart enough to see that.” I had received plenty of blunt messages like this from her over the past few months. I had always brushed them off. But this time, I could not find a single word to fight back. The fragile string holding my meticulously maintained relationship together suddenly snapped. Lauren was not wrong. Declan and I getting together was the result of a drunken accident. He never actually confessed his feelings to me. The morning after our messy, alcohol fueled mistake, my parents had shown up unannounced. They were old school, traditional folks. They sat him down at the square dining table and demanded he swear an oath. He had to marry me. He had to take responsibility. Deep down, I knew my parents had their own selfish motives. Declan was exceptionally handsome. Through casual conversation, he had revealed his wealthy background and his prestigious career as a surgeon. And me? I was painfully ordinary. The kind of girl who blended entirely into the background of any crowd. I fundamentally believed I was not good enough for Declan, yet I harbored this toxic, desperate hope. I hoped he would eventually fall in love with me. Declan did not let my parents down. He swore right then and there that he would eventually make me his wife and take full responsibility. Six years had passed, and he had kept his word. No matter how many arguments we had, he never once uttered the words, “Let’s break up. We aren’t working out.” But Lauren should never have known about that private promise. There was only one possible explanation. Declan had told her himself. I did not want to overthink it, but my mind was spiraling out of control. Did he also believe that all these years spent with me were just the heavy chains of a drunken mistake? A dense, suffocating pain radiated from my heart. I looked up at him, my eyes red, and asked a very serious question. “Have you ever loved me?” The silence that followed was agonizing. My heart pounded against my ribs. I had instinctively asked if he ever loved me, not if he loved me now. I had already subconsciously accepted the reality that Declan felt nothing for me anymore. A heavy, stifling atmosphere settled over the room. Declan frowned deeper, his voice laced with annoyance. “Can you stop being so dramatic? Fine, I’ll come home earlier next time.” Truth be told, for the past six years, Declan had been a homebody. He was always busy with the hospital, rarely going out. But lately, his schedule had shifted. The GPS history in his car showed that his most frequented destination was Lauren’s art studio. Some things were impossible to ignore, no matter how hard I tried to play dumb. I stood up, willingly tearing open this bloody wound. “I know Lauren. I know you went to see her today. I saw her Instagram.” I was never supposed to know Lauren. It happened one day when I was scouting pieces for a gallery exhibition. She looked at me with her bright, wide eyes, her face lighting up with pleasant surprise. “Oh! You’re the girlfriend Declan has been dating for six years, right? I’m his first love. He talks about you sometimes.” I was entirely average looking. Barely five feet tall with a softer, fuller figure. I was quiet, introverted, and terrible at making conversation. But Lauren was the exact opposite. She was radiant, sunny, and completely unapologetic. She could stand there and openly declare she was his first love without a shred of guilt. She made my insecurities feel like glaring spotlights. Later, scrolling through her social media, I discovered that the rigid, unromantic Declan who never planned surprises for me was actually a hopelessly romantic man in her world. He bought her gifts for every minor holiday. He sent her random cash drops just to make her smile. He took her to trendy restaurants she casually mentioned in passing. They looked perfectly happy. Perfectly in love. Even the way he looked at her in those photos held a soft tenderness he had never once directed at me. My heart felt like someone was taking a dull knife to it. I could not help but wonder. If my parents had not forced his hand back then, would we have broken up years ago? Because Declan had never treated me that well. He had never looked at me with that kind of warmth. Six years. Not once. Declan did not answer my question. His frown deepened into a scowl. “What Instagram post?” He was still playing dumb. I grabbed my phone and shoved the screen in his face. The woman’s gentle, victorious smile was right there. Anyone could feel her overflowing happiness through the pixels. My eyes brimmed with tears. I broke down, demanding an answer. “Why?” Why treat her better than me? Why send her money, plan surprises for her, and even ditch me on our six year anniversary for her? He glanced away from the screen, his tone completely indifferent. “Oh. I didn’t know she posted that.” Seeing my furious silence, he casually pivoted the conversation, brushing it off like dust on his shoulder. “It’s just fifteen grand. I wanted to give it to her, so I did. Do you really need to make such a big deal out of this?” Tears spilled out of my eyes, dropping heavily onto the cold, coagulated food on the table. “You think I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it? Everything you’ve given her these past six years… have you ever given any of that to me?” I swept a dinner plate off the table. It shattered against the floor, slicing through the dead silence of the room. Declan glared at me, his patience entirely evaporated. “Can you stop acting crazy? You’re ruining a perfectly good holiday.” I lowered my head, letting out a self deprecating laugh. “So you did remember what today was.” Honestly, I really hadn’t minded before. My father was a practical engineer, and so was Declan in his own medical way. My mother had raised me on the belief that men were the pillars of the household, and women were meant to be quiet, supportive wives behind the scenes. So during our years living together, I had grown used to giving everything and expecting nothing. I got used to his blunt, unromantic nature. I never cried. I never argued. I never demanded more. I silently took over all the household chores. I cooked every meal. I washed every dish. Even if he never bought me gifts or planned dates for the holidays, I thought it was fine. My dad was the same way. I assumed Declan was simply cut from the same cloth. But then Lauren’s social media proved me entirely wrong. Declan, the man who was supposedly as rigid and unmovable as a mountain, could easily be moved by a woman like Lauren. Just never by me. Outside, a torrential downpour began to pound against the windows. The chill in the apartment thickened. I looked at Declan, realizing for the first time just how fundamentally different we were. I finally woke up to how pathetic, subservient, and exhausted I had become in this relationship. I stood up, ignoring the violent churning in my stomach. I began screaming at him, desperate to drag every hidden resentment out into the light. I wanted to resolve it. I wanted to fix it. But as the words tumbled out, my overwhelming grief took over, and I started sobbing uncontrollably. Declan had probably never seen me like this. He was frantic to make me stop. In his blinding irritation, he swung his hand and slapped me across the face. “Are you done?” Clear. Loud. It hurt like hell, but it woke me up.

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I spent thirty years battling chronic, agonizing stomach disease—a permanent condition I developed after diving into freezing water to save my drowning husband. Recently, the doctors told me it had mutated. Without immediate surgery, I would die. When my husband, Adam, heard the news, he didn’t come alone. He brought the mistress he had been hiding for decades to visit my hospital room. “Tina, the doctors ran the tests. Chloe is a perfect match. She can donate her kidney to you.” “But she has one condition. She wants a clean divorce. You walk away with nothing, and you give up custody of the kids.” He paused, a complicated expression crossing his face. “Of course, if you don’t agree to that, I could always…” “I agree.” I cut him off instantly, terrified that his mistress would change her mind. Because I wanted to live. I needed to survive to finally experience the freedom I had lost the day I married Adam thirty years ago. 01 The moment the words left my mouth, a dead silence fell over the hospital room. Adam’s expression twisted into something incredibly dark. “You’re willing to abandon your own children just for a kidney?” He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “I had no idea I married someone so heartless.” I didn’t answer. I just looked out the window. Outside, a heavy snowstorm was raging. The snow was so bright it physically hurt to look at. I squinted my eyes, feeling his heavy gaze still burning into the side of my face. I let out a long sigh and finally spoke the truth. “No matter what, Adam, I am actually grateful to you.” He frowned, looking genuinely confused. I turned my head to face him, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “I’ve been in this hospital bed for a month. I never expected you to be my very first visitor.” “And I definitely didn’t expect you to be the one bringing me good news.” Exactly one month ago. The specialist had walked into my room, his face grim, and handed me the lab results. “Tina, your kidneys are failing rapidly. Your only chance of survival is an immediate transplant.” “You need to notify your family right now. Immediate relatives, especially your children, have the highest statistical probability of being a match.” My hands shook violently as I gripped the medical chart, but I slowly shook my head. My voice was rough as sandpaper. “Forget it. Don’t call him.” The doctor froze, ready to argue with me. I turned my face to the wall, avoiding his eyes. My son, Brian, had just fought tooth and nail to secure a VP position at Adam’s firm. He was managing multi-million-dollar accounts, right at the peak of his career trajectory. I refused to drag him down with my dying body. But late that night, the tiny, pathetic sliver of hope buried in my chest won out. I opened my phone and sent him a text. “Brian, Mom is in the hospital. I’m very sick and I need a transplant. Please don’t worry too much.” I stared unblinking at the screen, terrified I would miss his reply. I couldn’t even remember the last time I saw Brian in person. He hated my guts. Every text I ever sent him vanished into the void, completely ignored. But I thought—I hoped—that maybe, just maybe, knowing I was dying would make him care. I waited. And waited. From sunrise until the sky went black. I unlocked the screen a hundred times. Nothing. Around midnight, shivering in the cold hospital bed, I swallowed my pride and sent one last message. “Brian, can you please come sit with Mom? Just for tonight. I don’t understand any of these machines, and I’m so scared. I don’t know who to ask.” This time, the phone buzzed instantly. Brian replied. I scrambled to open the message. My hands were shaking so badly, and my outdated phone lagged, causing it to slip from my fingers and crash onto the linoleum floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. Through the broken glass, I read his reply. “I’m in a board meeting. Stop blowing up my phone and annoying me.” All the strength completely drained from my body. I let the phone lie on the freezing floor until the battery died. The room plunged into total darkness. The only sound left was the rhythmic, soulless beeping of the heart monitor, keeping me company through the longest night of my life. I sat up for hours until my eyes burned. Finally, I laid back and closed my eyes. I didn’t even have the energy to cry. I survived like that for a month. I lived on agonizing dialysis treatments, waiting for a donor that never came. I watched the other patients in my ward find matches, get wheeled into surgery, and go home to their families. The panic grew every single day. The suffocating terror of my own impending death slowly ate me alive. I knew I was out of time. Driven entirely by the desperate need to survive, I opened a chat history I hadn’t touched in years. I sent a message to my husband, Adam. 02 Adam stood there in silence. A flash of genuine guilt crossed his eyes. “Get some rest. I’ll go talk to the surgical team and fast-track the prep.” As he turned to leave, I finally noticed Chloe. She had been shrinking behind him the entire time, completely silent. Adam stood frozen in the doorway for a long time, staring out into the hallway. She finally reached out and tugged his sleeve. “Adam?” He snapped out of it and looked down at her. “What?” Chloe asked in a quiet, cautious whisper, “Did… did she really agree to it?” Adam nodded slowly. “Yeah. Tina agreed to sign the divorce papers.” But his face was completely blank as he said it. It was impossible to read his mind. Hearing his confirmation, a tiny, triumphant smirk flickered across Chloe’s lips. The next afternoon, Adam returned. He walked into my room holding a thick manila folder. But he didn’t pull the papers out immediately. He stood by the bed, looking down at my sickly, pale face, his expression incredibly complicated. After a heavy silence, he slowly pulled the divorce settlement from the envelope. His voice carried a rare, hesitant edge. “Tina… if you really don’t want to sign this, you don’t have to.” “I can leverage the company’s resources to find another donor. We don’t have to do it this way.” I forced a weak smile, my voice perfectly flat. “Give me a pen. I’ll sign.” He pulled the papers back, refusing to hand them over. “Tina, you’ve been my wife for decades. You built the foundation of this family. You managed the estate flawlessly. You put up with a lot of misery for me.” “The family needs you.” I looked up into his eyes and gave him a soft, genuine smile. “Adam. You don’t need me. You just need a maid who never complains.” His jaw clenched instantly. “I don’t owe you or your family a damn thing. Whatever debts I had when we got married, I’ve paid them back in blood over the last thirty years. Let me go, Adam. I couldn’t even keep the son I raised for twenty years from hating me. I have absolutely nothing left to stay for.” I didn’t wait to see his reaction. I reached out with a trembling, bruised hand and pulled the settlement out of his grip. I uncapped the pen and carefully, deliberately signed my name on the dotted line. Watching me do it, Adam’s knuckles turned white. His face darkened with fury. “Tina, after all these years, do you really feel absolutely nothing for me?!” “Do you really think thirty years of marriage is just a transaction you can write off?!” I looked at him, completely bewildered. “I just signed away my entire life so your little mistress can take my place. What more do you want from me?” “You kept her as a pet for decades. Did I ever scream? Did I ever throw a tantrum? I covered for you with your mother! I killed every tabloid rumor to protect your reputation! I played the perfect, loving wife to the entire world! I have done everything a human being can possibly do for you, Adam! Right now, all I am asking for is my life!” Adam ground his teeth together, letting out a hateful, venomous laugh. “Fine. The perfect, loving wife.” “Don’t come crying to me when you realize what you just threw away.” I stared him dead in the eye. “I will never regret this.” He turned on his heel and slammed the hospital door so hard the walls shook. The noise startled the little sparrows that usually nested on my windowsill. They took flight, scattering into the blizzard. The only living things that had kept me company for the last month were gone. Look at that, Tina. You really can’t keep anything, can you? 03 Suddenly, I had a reason to wake up in the morning. The surgical prep moved at lightning speed. Nurses came in every few hours to check my vitals, running me through the pre-op protocols. I forced myself to eat. I forced myself to sleep. Even when the dialysis left me feeling like I was hit by a truck, I fought through the nausea, desperate to get my body ready for the table. Out of nowhere, Brian sent me a text. “Keep your mouth shut about Dad and Chloe. If this leaks to the press, it will tank the company stock.” “And since you signed the papers, don’t bother contacting me ever again.” Reading his words, I didn’t feel the soul-crushing grief I expected. I just felt a profound, hollow relief. I tapped the text box, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Slowly, I deleted the draft and locked the screen. It was better this way. From this day forward, I had no son. I started planning my life after the surgery. I was going to move to New Zealand. The private stash of money I had saved over the decades was more than enough to buy a small cottage with a garden. I pictured myself watering the flowers in the morning and sitting on the porch in the afternoon sun. But right as I was dreaming of my new life, the door slammed open. My lead surgeon practically sprinted into the room, his face completely pale. “Tina, I am so sorry. Chloe backed out. She panicked about the surgical risks and revoked her consent. She is refusing to give you the kidney.” “What?!” My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Doctor, are you sure?! She swore she would do it! Why would she back out now?!” The tiny flame of hope in my chest was violently snuffed out. The suffocating terror of death rushed back in, drowning me completely. The doctor looked absolutely defeated. “We tried to reason with her. But she completely lost it. She said the thought of going under anesthesia terrified her. She was hysterical. We can’t force her onto the table.” I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and dialed Adam’s number. It rang five times before he finally picked up. He sounded exhausted. “I know why you’re calling. I’m trying to talk her down, but she won’t stop crying. She’s terrified of the complications.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Tina, calm down. The surgeon told me the risks are real. I can’t force Chloe to endanger her own life. I’ll figure something else out. I promise I will save you.” He hung up. I dialed him back instantly. He sent it straight to voicemail. I called again. And again. Nothing. After thirty years of swallowing my pain, I finally broke. The tears spilled over my cheeks, soaking the hospital gown. I was one signature away from living. Why was God torturing me like this? That night, I didn’t sleep a single second. Every tick of the clock felt like a judge reading my death sentence. The physical agony of the failing kidneys combined with the absolute despair in my mind was suffocating. My body started shutting down rapidly. I lost the strength to speak. Adam never called back. He never sent an update. I didn’t have the courage to call him again, terrified he would tell me to give up. I spent every hour staring blankly at the dead leaves blowing past the frozen window. Maybe this was just my karma. Maybe I was always meant to die here. 04 A few days later. The surgeon burst into my room again, this time practically glowing with excitement. “Tina! Great news! The national registry just flagged a perfect match! And her pre-op vitals are incredible! The success rate is through the roof!” I snapped my head up, convinced the lack of oxygen to my brain was causing hallucinations. He kept talking, talking incredibly fast. “She’s a young girl in the terminal ward. She has an incurable disease and only a few days left. She signed a blanket organ donation form, wanting to save whoever she could. And her tissue markers are a near-perfect match for yours! It’s an absolute miracle!” Hearing those words, the dam broke. I sobbed uncontrollably, the tears blinding me. I grabbed the doctor’s hand with both of mine, thanking him over and over again. Thank you to that little girl. Thank you to whoever was looking out for me. The surgery went perfectly. When I opened my eyes in the ICU, the bright, warm morning sun was pouring through the blinds. I laid there in pure shock. I actually survived. After a few days of aggressive recovery, my strength started coming back. I practically begged the nurses to tell me who the donor was. I needed to see her. My surgeon finally caved and wheeled me down to the palliative care ward. “This is her room. Her name is Maya. She’s very weak, but her spirit is incredible.” When my wheelchair cleared the doorway and I saw the girl lying in the bed, my heart completely stopped. The tears instantly flooded my eyes. She looked exactly like her. She looked exactly like the baby girl I lost decades ago. The exact same shape of her eyes. The exact same smile. Even the way she pursed her lips when she breathed… it was identical. Thirty years of suppressed trauma violently ripped through my chest. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. Maya saw me crying. She forced a weak, incredibly gentle smile and slowly reached her hand out toward me. “Please don’t cry, ma’am. I’m so happy I could save you. My time is almost up. Please, just promise me you’ll live a beautiful life for both of us. See the world for me, okay?” I pushed myself out of the wheelchair and stumbled to her bedside, gripping her fragile hand in mine. “I promise. I swear to God I will live for you. I will see everything beautiful in this world. I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain.” Maya smiled. It was the purest, cleanest smile I had ever seen. Like a beam of pure light cutting through the darkest night of my life. 05 I demanded an early discharge. Before I left the hospital, I calculated exactly how much cash I needed for a one-way ticket to New Zealand. I wired every single remaining cent of my life savings directly into the bank account of Maya’s parents. After the transfer cleared, I went back to the palliative ward to check on them. When they saw the deposit, they grabbed my hands, weeping uncontrollably. Maya’s mother wiped her face, her voice cracking as she confessed the truth. “Tina… Maya isn’t our biological daughter. We adopted her years ago. We have a biological son, and we barely make enough to survive. We couldn’t afford the aggressive treatments for Maya when she first got sick. We delayed it for years until it became terminal… I will never forgive myself for failing her.” “Adopted?” A violent chill shot down my spine, freezing the blood in my veins. “Tell me right now. Exactly how old is Maya?” She wiped her nose. “She’s twenty-two. When we found her, she had severe head trauma. She couldn’t remember anything about her past, and the police could never track down her real parents.” I stumbled backward, slamming my shoulder into the doorframe just to stay upright. The room started spinning. A completely psychotic, impossible thought clawed its way into my brain. I took a ragged breath, my voice barely a whisper. “I… I need to ask you for a massive favor. Please… please let me run a DNA test with Maya.” Her parents froze, exchanging a confused look. But seeing the absolute desperation in my eyes, they slowly nodded. The next forty-eight hours were pure psychological torture. I replayed every memory of Maya’s face, comparing it to the toddler I had buried in my mind. The memories I had aggressively repressed for decades came flooding back with terrifying clarity. When the lab finally called, I practically ran down the hospital corridor to grab the envelope. My hands were shaking so violently I almost tore the paper in half. My eyes locked onto the bold text at the bottom of the page.

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1 On my eighteenth birthday, burning with a fever of a hundred and six degrees, I lay alone on the freezing concrete floor of my tiny apartment. On my phone, notifications from the family group chat were lighting up the screen like fireworks. A five-tier custom cake. Ninety-nine red roses. My father was holding her, my mother was kissing her forehead, and my brother was raising a glass to toast her. The girl they were celebrating was Molly, the adoptive daughter who had been raised in my place. I was the biological daughter of the Prescott family, lost for fifteen years. They found me and brought me back three years ago, yet I had never truly managed to step inside their front door. I called Dad seven times, but nobody answered. I messaged my brother, but he left me on read. I called Mom, and the first thing she said when she picked up was, “Maeve, can you stop causing trouble?” Then the line went dead. I lay on the floor, next to a cheap strawberry cupcake that cost me under ten dollars. The candle on top was crooked, never having had the chance to be lit. I closed my eyes and made the exact same wish I had made for the past eighteen years. I hoped someone would remember today was my birthday. I hoped someone would say those two simple words to me: Happy Birthday. I had made this wish for eighteen years, and not once had it ever come true. And this time, it would be my last. … On the night of my eighteenth birthday, my fever spiked to a hundred and six degrees. I curled up on the cold floor of my rented room, waiting for the end. The room was barely seventy square feet, with no heating. The bitter November wind whipped through a cracked windowpane, cutting into my skin like tiny knives. I huddled into a tight ball, my bones feeling as if they were roasting in a furnace. Every cough felt like shards of broken glass scraping through my lungs. My phone screen lit up. It was the family group chat. Dad had sent a sixty-second voice note. My trembling finger tapped it, and a flood of laughter and music poured from the speaker. “Come on, everyone! Our darling Molly is eighteen today! Raise your glasses. Happy birthday to our little princess!” My brother Tristan’s voice followed immediately after. “Happy eighteenth to the sweetest little sister in the world!” A stream of photos flooded the chat. A heart-shaped wall of ninety-nine red roses, a five-tier custom fondant cake, and a glittering crystal chandelier. Dad, Mom, and Tristan stood in the center, their smiles brighter than the lights. Molly, the center of their universe, wore a pink gown shimmering with diamonds, her makeup flawless, her smile radiant. Three years ago, a DNA test had rewritten our destinies. I was the biological child the Prescotts had lost fifteen years ago, and Molly was the girl who had been accidentally swapped at birth. But three years later, the Prescotts kept Molly and left me out in the cold. “Molly grew up with us. It would be too cruel to force her to leave,” they had told me. “Just live on your own for a bit to adapt, and we’ll bring you home when the time is right.” Three years had passed. Three years of renting a room alone, working part-time, and going to school. What I got in the end was not a ticket home, but a steady stream of family portraits in the group chat, each one more lively than the last, and none of them featuring me. Mom sent another message, just three words: “My precious girl.” It was paired with a selfie of her kissing Molly’s forehead. My tears fell onto the hot, glowing screen. Today was my birthday too. Molly and I shared the exact same birthdate. Yet the entire group chat, the cakes, the flowers, the warm embraces, were all for her. Nobody remembered it was Maeve’s birthday too. I desperately dialed Dad’s number. The first call rang eight times and went to voicemail. The second call rang twice before being declined. The third, the fourth, the fifth… By the seventh try, his voice finally came through. But he wasn’t speaking to me. “Hey, stop it, Molly! Don’t cut the cake yet! Let me take this call… Hello? Who is this?” “Dad… it’s me, Maeve…” Laughter bubbled up on the other end, someone shouting for her to make a wish. “Maeve? What’s going on? I’m busy right now, let’s talk tomorrow…” “Dad… I’m sick… my fever is so bad…” Before I could finish, a sweet, high-pitched voice erupted through the receiver. “Dad! The ice cream cake is going to melt! Hurry up!” “Coming, sweetie! Maeve, take some medicine and go to sleep. I have to go.” Beep. The line went dead. The phone slipped from my weak fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. I turned my head, my eyes scanning the suffocating space of my apartment. Cheap instant noodles were stacked like a mountain in the corner. Two faded shirts hung on the drying line, and the broken window was sloppily patched with plastic wrap and tape. Finally, my gaze landed on the old cardboard box at the foot of my bed, tied neatly with a ribbon. Those were the gifts I had saved up all year to buy. Just hang in there, Maeve. Once you give them these gifts, they’ll want you back. I dragged myself up, leaning against the wall to search for fever reducers. The nightstand was completely bare. I was certain I had left the bottle on top of the cabinet yesterday. Molly had come by yesterday afternoon to return some keys, and the medicine was there. She had claimed her stomach hurt and asked to use my bathroom, staying for about five or six minutes. When she left, she had given me a sweet smile. “Take care of yourself, Maeve. Drink plenty of water.” Where was the medicine? I bent down, searching under the cabinet, the bed, the table. Nothing. My head felt like it was splitting in two, and there was no time to think. I dragged my shaking legs toward the door. I grabbed the knob and twisted. It didn’t budge. I twisted harder, putting all my weight into it. The lock remained completely frozen. I couldn’t open it from the inside. This lock worked perfectly last week. Why was it suddenly… I banged on the door, kicked it a couple of times, but the solid wood only gave a muffled thud. The hallway outside was silent and empty. Pressing my back against the door, I slid down to the cold floor. The phone buzzed again. A video was uploaded to the group chat. Molly was sitting on the leather sofa in the middle of the living room, surrounded by beautifully wrapped designer boxes. She opened the first one and squealed dramatically, “Oh my gosh! Tristan, the limited-edition journal! Thank you so much!” Tristan sat beside her, gently ruffling her hair. The room was bathed in golden light, the crystal chandelier casting a warm glow over their happy faces. I watched the video three times. On the third run, my eyes locked onto the corner of the living room, onto the empty chair beside the piano. During the brief two weeks I was allowed to stay with them three summers ago, that was where I sat every day. I had been too terrified to reach for food at the dinner table, too scared to speak loudly, too timid to touch the fruit on the coffee table. I had just watched them from afar, quietly, thinking that simply being in the same room was enough to make me happy. But then Molly had wept into Mom’s arms. “Mom, she wants to steal my family. I don’t want her here!” That very night, Dad had the driver take me back to my rented room. They didn’t even let me pack my things. I dialed Tristan’s number. It was my second call of the night. It rang three times before he picked up. “Maeve?” Tristan’s voice was laced with irritation, the background music deafening. “What is it?” “Tristan… I have a fever, a really bad one… and the door is locked from the inside… could you…” “Hold on.” In the background, Molly’s voice floated over, dripping with sweetness. “Tristan! Come take a picture with me! Mom wants to post it on social media!” Tristan’s tone shifted instantly, turning soft and indulgent. “Coming! Maeve, you do this every time. Every single time Molly has a birthday, you have to start drama. Just take some medicine and go to sleep. Stop acting out.” Beep. Call ended. Total duration: 23 seconds. He didn’t even listen to what I had to say. My phone screen reflected my shattered image, pale-faced, with dry, cracked lips bleeding slightly. I dialed Mom’s number for the very last time. It rang twice and connected. “Maeve? What’s wrong?” It was Mom’s voice. The voice of the woman who had given birth to me but never raised me for a single day. Tears spilled over my cheeks. “Mom… Mom, I feel so sick… I have a fever… the lock is broken and I can’t get out… Mom, can you come see me? Just for a minute… please…” A second of silence on the other end. Then, a slight scuffle over the phone, followed by Molly’s low but crystal-clear voice. “Mom! Who are you talking to? We’ve tried taking the family photo three times already, we’re just waiting for you!” Then, Molly’s voice rose, her sweet facade barely concealing the cold calculation beneath. “Maeve! If you’re not feeling well, you should sleep early. Make sure to drink plenty of water! Mom is really busy right now, so we can’t talk!” Beep. The call ended. It wasn’t Mom who hung up. It was Molly. I heard her laugh in the final second before the line went dead. A light, brief snicker. But that laugh carried a chill that turned my blood to ice, even through my hundred-and-six-degree fever. The floor was freezing. The chill brought a fleeting moment of relief to my burning skin, but it was immediately followed by a wave of violent shivering. I curled up by the door, my limbs spasms uncontrollably. My coughs grew heavier, leaving a metallic taste of iron in my mouth as warm blood dribbled from the corner of my lips. My vision blurred with tears. Looking up at the yellow water stain on the ceiling, I hallucinated that it was a moon. The moon of my eighteenth year. I only wanted to celebrate my birthday. No cake, no gifts, no parties. Just a single phone call, just a simple “Happy Birthday.” But the entire world was celebrating Molly, while I burned away in a dark corner. With the last of my strength, I reached for the cracked phone, unlocking it after three attempts. My call history showed: Dad, seven missed calls. Tristan, one call connected, 23 seconds. Mom, one call connected, 47 seconds. With trembling fingers, I dialed the final number: 911. “911, what is your emergency?” “I… fever… can’t get out… door is locked…” “What is your address?” “7… Cooper Lane… Apt… 3B…” “Understood, we are dispatching a unit. Can you open the door?” Open the door. I stared at the brass knob that refused to turn. The final ounce of life slipped from my fingers. “Can’t… can’t open…” “Stay on the line, we will contact you when we arrive.” The operator’s voice grew distant, muffled as if traveling through thick layers of cotton. The phone slipped from my grasp, the screen splintering further. Through the cracks, a new notification from the family group chat flickered: a family photo. Dad, Mom, Tristan, and Molly, all smiling perfectly. There was no fifth chair. There was no need for one. I collapsed onto the floor, my eyes taking a final look at the ribbon-tied cardboard box, then at the cheap strawberry cupcake under the bed. The crooked candle remained unlit. Forget it. I’ll just wish in my heart. I closed my eyes. “I hope in my next life… someone will say Happy Birthday to me on my birthday…” Eighteen years. The same wish every year. Not once had it been granted. My consciousness receded like a retreating tide, draining from my fingertips, my toes, my heart. In my final moments, I heard the wind howling through the broken window. The bitter November wind, weeping for someone.

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Our marketing agency was practically bleeding out, inches away from total bankruptcy. I was the one who pulled us back from the ledge. I spent a month practically living at the office, surviving on black coffee and sheer willpower, until I finally locked down a ten-million-dollar contract that would save all our jobs. Just hours before the official ink was supposed to dry, my phone buzzed. A notification from the company’s main Slack channel. Brittany, our newest intern, had tagged me. [Hey Nicole. No offense, but I’m just curious.] [Did you take a massive kickback on this deal?] [The company is literally failing to make payroll, and you’re secretly lining your pockets. How do you sleep at night?] Within seconds, the typing bubbles from other coworkers flooded the screen. They were backing her up. Okay. Fine. I canceled my morning alarm. I wasn’t going to sign the contract. I was going to drop the entire ten-million-dollar account directly into our little intern’s lap. Let her see exactly how those “kickbacks” taste. 1 I had worked myself to the bone for thirty straight days. When I finally got the verbal confirmation for the ten-million-dollar account, I crawled into bed, ready to sleep for a week. Suddenly, my phone started vibrating off the nightstand. At first, I smiled. I figured the team had heard the news and was losing their minds with excitement. After all, management hadn’t issued a paycheck in two months. This deal meant everyone was finally getting their back pay, plus a massive bonus. I opened Slack, my thumb hovering over the screen, ready to type out a celebratory message. Then I read the chat. My blood ran cold. Brittany, a twenty-one-year-old intern, had publicly tagged me in the #General channel. [@Nicole, no offense at all!] [I just want to know… for a ten-million-dollar account, you must have negotiated a pretty sweet under-the-table cut for yourself, right?] [Every dollar you pocket is a dollar taken right out of our bonus pool.] [Based on what I know about the industry, you’re probably taking home at least seven figures in kickbacks, aren’t you?] My fingers froze over the keyboard. Every ounce of exhaustion vanished, replaced by a spike of adrenaline. Was she actually out of her mind? Did she seriously believe I was embezzling? Earlier that afternoon, right before I left the building, Brittany had cornered me by the elevators. She had given me this sly, conspiratorial wink and whispered something about me securing a “retirement fund” from the client. I was rushing to a final pitch meeting and didn’t have time for her games. I just told her to mind her own business and stepped into the elevator. She took that as a confession. Logically, I didn’t owe a junior intern an explanation. But Brittany was a special case. She was hired under the table, bypassing HR completely. The office rumor mill swore she had deep, personal ties with our CEO. Because of her supposed status, the rest of the desperate, unpaid staff treated her words like gospel. [Wait, seriously? The company is literally drowning and Nicole is skimming off the top?] [I haven’t been paid in eight weeks! Are you kidding me?!] [We all worked on the pitch deck. If she’s taking a secret payout…] We were in the most critical window of the negotiation. If the client caught wind of internal fraud rumors, they would pull the plug instantly. I swallowed my rage, kept my professionalism intact, and typed a response to the entire company. [Every single cent of the project funding is legally bound in the contract and routed directly into the corporate escrow account. I have not received a single dime in personal kickbacks. Do not spread baseless, defamatory rumors.] That last sentence was a direct warning. 2 The Slack channel went dead silent for a few minutes. Slowly, private messages started trickling into my inbox from the core team. [God, sorry Nicole. We just panicked. We know you wouldn’t do that.] [Yeah, we know how hard you’ve bled for this agency. Just ignore her.] [Brittany is just a kid. She doesn’t know how corporate billing works.] My team wasn’t stupid. They knew my character. I let out a long breath, tossed the phone aside, and let the sheer exhaustion pull me under. I had been averaging four hours of sleep a night. I passed out the second my head hit the pillow. The next morning, I walked into the bullpen with a coffee in hand, only to be met with dead silence and averted eyes. I pulled my lead designer, Jenna, into a glass meeting room. When she told me what happened, the floor dropped out from under me. While I was asleep, Brittany had created a new, private Slack channel. She invited everyone in the company. Except me. Jenna showed me the chat logs. Brittany had spent the entire night brainwashing the staff. [I can’t stand watching her play you guys for absolute fools while you’re struggling to pay rent.] [Nicole signed a backdoor deal. The official contract shows one price, but the client is paying her a massive consulting fee on the side.] [I have an inside source.] [She already pocketed a cool million.] [That million was supposed to be our hazard pay. Why are we letting her steal food from our tables?!] Between her untouchable status as the boss’s favorite and the absolute certainty in her tone, the desperate staff swallowed the bait. [What the hell do we do? A million bucks split between us… that’s five figures each.] [I can’t believe Nicole is a thief. Does Richard know?] [Telling the CEO won’t help if we don’t have paper evidence.] [She’s smart. She probably scrubbed the paper trail months ago.] Jenna looked at me, her eyes filled with conflict. “Nicole… I don’t want to believe you’d do this to us…” My heart ached. This was my team. But the agency hadn’t paid us in two months. People were missing mortgage payments. Panic makes people turn on each other. But what was Brittany’s endgame? Was she clinically insane? Regardless of whether the rumor was true, if this leaked outside these walls, our client would drop us like a bad habit. No company wants to work with a vendor under investigation for embezzlement. If the deal died, the agency died. None of us would ever see our paychecks. I had to cut the head off this snake right now. 3 Some things need to be handled in public. I marched out of the glass room and walked straight to Brittany’s cubicle. She was sitting there, sipping an iced latte, a smug little smile on her face. She was expecting me. Before I could even open my mouth, she leaned back in her ergonomic chair and spoke loud enough for the entire floor to hear. “So, Nicole. Does your conscience hurt at all? Stealing the team’s hard-earned money?” I had no idea where she got this psychotic delusion, but everyone in the bullpen had stopped typing. Dozens of eyes were locked on me. They needed an answer. I forced my voice to remain perfectly level. “Every single financial transaction goes through the corporate accounting department. I have absolutely zero private financial dealings with the client. Every wire transfer goes to the agency. Not a single cent touches my personal accounts.” Not to mention, the contract wasn’t even signed yet. Nobody pays a bribe before the ink is dry. Brittany stared at me, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh. “No private dealings? Really?” My stomach did a slow flip. She picked up her phone and tapped the screen. A second later, a notification chimed on every single computer in the office. She had dropped a photo into the main channel. It was a picture of me, taken from a distance, walking out of the client’s corporate lobby. I was carrying a heavy, polished wooden box. The kind used to hold vintage Macallan 25 Scotch. “Look closely, guys,” Brittany announced, her voice dripping with venom. “Nicole doesn’t drink. She hates whiskey. So why did the client’s VP personally walk her out and hand her a luxury liquor box? We’re all adults here. Do I really need to spell out what was stuffed inside that box?” The implication hung heavily in the dead air. Cold, hard cash. The moment the staff connected the dots, the energy in the room shifted violently. The looks they gave me turned from doubtful to downright hostile. 4 The picture was real. But there was no money in that box. I had been running between meetings all day and the heel of my Louboutins snapped cleanly off in the client’s lobby. Their HR director felt terrible. She gave me a pair of company-branded slide sandals to wear home and handed me an empty wooden display box from a corporate gift to carry my broken heels in. Saying it out loud in my head, I realized how incredibly absurd the truth sounded. Seeing my momentary hesitation, Brittany pounced. She slammed her hand on her desk, her eyes lighting up with vicious triumph. “See?! Look at her face! She’s completely speechless because she knows I caught her!” I gritted my teeth and explained exactly what happened with the shoes. Exactly as I predicted, nobody bought it. Even Jenna, who had warned me earlier, looked away, her face hardening with disappointment. Brittany looked me up and down, putting on a highly exaggerated theatrical performance. “Wow. A broken shoe? Really? If you didn’t do it, why are you sweating so hard to invent these ridiculous stories?” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. I finally understood what it meant to be trapped in a kangaroo court. If I explained myself, I was being defensive. If I stayed silent, I was admitting guilt. A sudden, chilling calm washed over me. Playing nice in the corporate world only makes you a target. Brittany felt perfectly comfortable humiliating a senior director because she truly believed she was untouchable. “What exactly is your goal here, Brittany?” I asked softly. I still had her final internship evaluation on my desk. Regardless of who she was sleeping with, I was going to make sure she never worked in this industry again. She pouted her lips and held her hand out to me, palm up. “Spit out the kickback. Distribute it to the team. Do that, and we can sweep this little indiscretion under the rug.” She paused, letting her voice drop into a sickly-sweet threat. “If you don’t… well, I’ll just have to go to the CEO. And corporate fraud carries a pretty heavy prison sentence, Nicole.” 5 A low murmur of approval rippled through the bullpen. They were actually moved. They saw Brittany as some sort of corporate Robin Hood, risking her own internship to fight the evil management for their paychecks. One of the senior copywriters stood up, his face red with stress. “Nicole, just give the money up before the feds get involved. Split it with the floor and we’ll call it even.” “We are drowning here,” another developer chimed in. “I haven’t brought a check home in two months. My wife is threatening to take the kids to her mother’s.” “Brittany is just trying to look out for us…” Wow. Okay. “Fine,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like glass. “Since you’ve all unanimously decided I’m a criminal, let’s take this straight to the top. Let’s go see Richard.” The sheer injustice of it made my chest physically ache. I knew they were struggling. That’s exactly why I had destroyed my physical and mental health for thirty days straight to land this account. I practically gave myself an ulcer for these people. I didn’t get a single word of thanks. Only a lynch mob. I swallowed hard, fighting the burn in the back of my throat. As I turned toward the executive suites, I caught a glimpse of Brittany’s face. A flash of pure, unadulterated victory crossed her eyes. It was so fast I almost missed it. Half the office trailed behind me as I marched into Richard’s spacious corner office. Before I could even close the door, Brittany turned on the waterworks, spinning her wild narrative to the CEO. “Richard, Nicole took a massive under-the-table payout from the client, and she’s refusing to make the company whole!” Richard leaned back in his leather executive chair. His brow furrowed deeply. His gaze swept over the angry crowd of employees before finally landing on me. His voice was dripping with accusation. “Nicole. Explain the Macallan box.” The absolute lack of hesitation in his voice—the immediate assumption of my guilt—was a physical blow. He knew me. Out of everyone in this building, he knew I had built this agency from the ground up with him. I had never taken a single penny that wasn’t on my W-2. Staring at the hostility in the room, I forced my heart rate to slow. “Richard,” I said, enunciating every single syllable. “Are you forgetting that the contract hasn’t even been signed yet? The client hasn’t wired a single cent to anyone. Brittany’s entire accusation is legally impossible.” I turned slowly, looking every single person in the eye. “Even if I was a corrupt, thieving executive, I would have to wait for the ink to dry and the funds to clear escrow before securing a kickback, wouldn’t I?” “Put yourselves in the client’s shoes. Would you hand over a million dollars in cash to a vendor before the legal documents were even drafted?” The crowded office suddenly went dead silent. A few of the developers shifted uncomfortably, the logical flaw in the witch hunt finally dawning on them. 6 Brittany didn’t miss a beat. She immediately doubled down, raising her voice. “So what?! The only reason they agreed to the deal is because of the pitch deck the team built! Anyone could have walked in there and closed the deal! Why should you get a massive payout while we starve?!” She took a step toward me, a vicious sneer on her face. “You already shook hands on the backdoor deal. You’re just waiting to sign the official papers tomorrow so the client can wire the dirty money to your offshore account!” I stared at her in utter disbelief. The mental gymnastics required to spin reality like that were staggering. But what truly shattered my faith in the company was what happened next. Richard, the CEO I had worked alongside for five years, slowly nodded. “Brittany makes a valid point.” In that exact second, all the exhaustion, the loyalty, and the late nights evaporated. A cold, heavy void opened up in my chest. All the fight drained right out of me. I let out a soft, hollow chuckle. “So that’s how it is, Richard? You, and everyone standing in this room, truly believe I’m defrauding the company?” Nobody said a word. The heavy silence was all the confirmation I needed. The ice in my veins solidified. When I spoke again, my voice was completely devoid of emotion. “Since you all think closing a ten-million-dollar account is so incredibly easy, and since I’m apparently too corrupt to handle it…” I looked right at the intern. “Let Brittany sign the master contracts tomorrow. I wash my hands of this entirely.”

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1 My wife, Wendy, was a titan of Manhattan’s elite finance. She had an adopted younger brother, Jackson, a brilliant but volatile hacker who existed only to cause chaos. For seven years, they had a very public dynamic: he would tear the world apart, and she would write the checks to rebuild it. Until he tampered with my car’s brake system, sending me over a cliff and leaving me hanging by a thread. As she signed the surgery consent form in the sterile hospital corridor, she offered only a weary sigh. “Don’t be angry with Jackson, Reid. He just thought it was a game. He didn’t actually mean to kill you. He knew I had secured the best medical team in the city for you; he was just trying to scare you.” Before the ink on her signature could even dry, her assistant reported that Jackson was being bullied by some rivals at a nightclub downtown. Wendy dropped the pen and ran. She left in such a frantic rush that she didn’t even notice she had checked the wrong box for my blood type. At that moment, the long-dormant system in my mind chimed. “Dying at the hands of the female lead will immediately complete your mission. Death by mismatched blood-type hemolysis is imminent. Do you accept this exit protocol?” I looked at the bag of blood the nurse was hanging, smiled weakly, and whispered, “Do it.” … “Mr. Beckett, this is Type A blood. Are you absolutely certain you want us to start this transfusion?” The male nurse held the IV bag, the veins on the back of his hand bulging slightly. His eyes were wide with hesitation, even a touch of panic. “Hang it,” my voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. “My wife signed the consent form herself. How could there be a mistake?” The nurse bit his lip, let out a slow sigh, and unpacked the sterile tubing. The thick needle slid cleanly into the vein on the back of my hand. The dark red liquid slid down the clear plastic line, dripping slowly into my bloodstream. The system’s cold, synthesized voice chimed in my head. “Mismatched blood type accepted. Fatal hemolytic reaction countdown initiated. Remaining time: seventy-two hours.” I closed my eyes, feeling the first quiet tremors of poison spreading through my organs. Within thirty minutes, a sharp, grinding ache flared in my lower back, as if a dull, rusty chisel were digging into my spine. My body began to shake with uncontrollable chills. I pulled the heavy hospital blanket tight, but my teeth still rattled violently. The heavy door was thrown open. Wendy stormed into the room, bringing a suffocating cloud of cheap liquor and cigarette smoke with her. The hem of her expensive designer dress was dusted with gaudy, colorful sequins from the club. Behind her stood Jackson, completely unharmed. He wore a sequined shirt, his eyes slightly pink as he clutched her sleeve like a frightened puppy. “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now, Reid?” Wendy stood over my bed, arms crossed, her brow furrowed with sheer annoyance. “The doctor said you only have minor abrasions. Who are you putting on this shivering act for?” I gritted my teeth against the mounting agony in my spine, cold sweat dripping down my temples. “I’m freezing.” Wendy scoffed, irritably tugging at her silk scarf. “Freezing? The thermostat is set to seventy-eight degrees. Stop acting.” She turned to Jackson, her voice instantly softening. “Jackson, go turn off the AC so your brother-in-law doesn’t have another excuse to complain.” Jackson nodded obediently and flicked the switch. He turned to me, looking timid and tearful. “Reid, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to mess up your brakes. I just wanted to test my new exploit program. Wendy already chewed me out. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” Big tears rolled down his cheeks. Wendy immediately pulled him behind her, shielding him from my gaze. “That’s enough, Jackson. You don’t owe him an apology. He’s lying here in one piece, isn’t he?” She glared at me. “Reid, Jackson was almost assaulted at that club tonight. He was terrified, yet he still rushed over here to apologize to you. You can’t even offer him a decent look. Don’t you think you’re being incredibly petty?” I stared at her self-righteous face, a dry chuckle bubbling in my throat. My brakes had failed on a winding mountain road, sending me crashing through the guardrails. I was dragged out of a crushed, bloody metal heap. And her only concern was whether her precious adopted brother got his feelings hurt at a bar. “He was terrified?” I rasped, my throat raw. “He was out drinking and partying at a club. You call that terrified? What about me? I almost burned alive in that car. What does that count as?” Wendy’s annoyance grew. “Can you stop talking about death? I hired the best trauma surgeons in the state for you. Besides, your car has a top-tier safety cage. Jackson calculated the physics; he knew you wouldn’t die.” Calculated? I glanced at the dark red blood dripping into my vein. The toxic, mismatched cells were already attacking my organs. He calculated it, alright. He calculated exactly how to end my life. “Wendy,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “What if I actually die?” She froze, then her expression hardened into disgust. “Are we doing this again? Every time Jackson makes a minor mistake, you play the victim and threaten me with your death. Don’t you get tired of being this pathetic, Reid?” She pulled up a chair and crossed her legs. “Stop the drama. If you’re really hurting, I’ll have the nurse bring you some painkillers. Jackson is shaken up, so I’m staying with him tonight. Take this time to reflect on your attitude.” I remained silent. My temperature was climbing rapidly, and my vision began to blur. My chest felt like a furnace, every breath searing my lungs. These were the classic early symptoms of acute hemolysis. My red blood cells were rupturing in mass numbers. “Is Reid really okay, Wendy?” Jackson murmured, peeking from behind her. “His face is so red. Is he running a fever?” Wendy glanced at me dismissively. “It’s not a fever. He’s just throwing a tantrum because I didn’t drop everything to stay by his side.” She stood up, looking down at me with cold warning. “Reid, I’m warning you for the last time. Drop these pathetic jealousy games. Jackson is my brother, and I will protect him. If you keep pushing this, don’t expect me to keep tolerating you.” I offered her a pale, empty smile. “Fine. You go ahead and protect him.” Wendy sneered, taking Jackson’s hand. “Let’s go. Leave him to his self-pity.” The door slammed shut. I looked at the near-empty blood bag and closed my eyes. “System, dial the pain blocker to maximum.” “Pain-blocking protocol at one hundred percent. Have a peaceful journey, Host.” The sound of leather shoes echoed in the hallway. The door clicked open again. Jackson was back, and Wendy wasn’t with him. The timid, tearful mask had vanished, replaced by an ugly, malicious sneer. I ignored him. The fever was leaving me entirely limp, and the scent of iron filled my throat. Jackson walked over to the bed, idly flicking the IV tubing. “Tsk, tsk. Look at you. Pathetic.” “You know what Wendy said in the hallway? She called you a dramatic, exhausting drag. She said you don’t even compare to a single hair on my head.” I forced my heavy eyelids open. “Are you done? Get out.” Jackson chuckled, completely unbothered. “You still have quite the attitude, Reid. But don’t worry, you won’t be talking like that for long.” He pulled out a compact, palm-sized netbook from his bag. His fingers flew across the keyboard as the screen cast a pale blue glow on his face. “Wendy thinks you’re faking, but I think you look a little too peaceful. Why don’t I help make your vitals look a bit more… realistic?” The moment his finger hit enter, the multi-parameter monitor beside my bed let out a deafening screech. The red warning light flashed violently. My heart rate jumped to 180 on the display, while the blood pressure readings crashed below critical thresholds. The alarm echoed down the sterile hallway. I watched him calmly. He wasn’t just a hacker; he was a sociopath with no concept of boundaries. Footsteps thundered outside. “What’s happening?!” Wendy was the first to burst in, her face pale. A swarm of panicked doctors and nurses followed closely behind. Jackson had already tucked the netbook back into his bag with practiced ease. He stumbled back, covering his ears, trembling like a leaf. “Wendy! I don’t know what happened! I didn’t touch anything! The machine just started screaming! It’s terrifying!” He buried his face in her chest, sobbing hysterically. Wendy held him tight, gently rubbing his back. The attending doctor, Dr. Collins, rushed to my bedside, checking the sensors. “This makes no sense. His pupils are normal, and his pulse feels steady. Why is the machine reading a cardiac arrest?” She rebooted the monitor. The readings instantly returned to normal. Wendy’s face turned dark as thunder. She calmed Jackson down, then spun around to glare at me with pure venom. “Reid, is there no limit to your desperation?” “You’re tampering with hospital equipment now? Just to force me to stay? Do you have any idea how many actual patients need these resources?” I lay there, staring at her furious face. “You think I did this?” I didn’t even have the strength to lift my arm, let alone hack a hospital network. Wendy let out a harsh laugh. “Who else could it be? You’re so consumed by your pathetic jealousy that you’ll do anything to frame him!” She marched to the bed and violently ripped the blanket off me. “Get up! Apologize to Jackson right now!” A wave of cold air hit my burning body, and a violent fit of coughing shook my chest. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but I swallowed it down and looked up at her. “Wendy,” I said, my voice dead. “Are you out of your mind?” She froze. In our seven years of marriage, I had never spoken to her like this. I had always been patient, gentle, and yielding. “What did you just say to me?” she hissed. “I called you an idiot.” I reached out with the last of my strength and ripped the power cord of the monitor from the wall. The screeching alarm died instantly. “The next time you two want to play this pathetic game, leave me out of it,” I whispered, turning my back to her. “It’s disgusting.” Wendy clenched her fists so hard her knuckles cracked. “Fine. You want to act tough, Reid? Let’s see how long you can last.” She grabbed Jackson’s hand and stormed out. “Let’s go, Jackson. Leave this lunatic to himself.” I closed my eyes and swallowed another mouthful of blood. “System, how much time do I have left?” “Remaining time: sixty hours.” “Good,” I murmured. “Almost there.” The hospital television was on, the volume low. A breaking news report flashed across the screen. “Vanguard Holdings’ smart-driving system, Aegis, has suffered a catastrophic security breach. Multiple vehicles equipped with the system have reportedly lost control on major interstate highways. At least ten pile-ups have been reported, with numerous injuries.” I leaned back, wiping the thin trail of blood from my lips. My vision was double now, the hemolysis systematically dismantling my internal organs. Wendy was standing by the window, screaming into her phone. “What is the PR department doing?! I don’t care how much it costs, bury the story! Find a subcontractor and blame the code on them!” She tore off her scarf and threw it onto the sofa, breathing heavily. Jackson sat in the corner, staring at his hands with a practiced look of innocence. “Wendy, I’m sorry. I just thought the core logic of the system was boring, so I added a little backdoor exploit. I wanted to surprise them, I didn’t think it would cause actual accidents.” He shrugged, entirely devoid of genuine remorse. Wendy sighed, walking over to smooth his hair. “It’s fine, Jackson. I’ll handle it. Just don’t be so reckless next time. The media loves to blow things out of proportion. It’s just a few fender-benders, we can settle it with money.” Listening to her dismiss those human lives so casually made my stomach turn. I reached under my pillow, pulling out my slim laptop. The tactile feel of the keys brought a brief moment of clarity to my fading mind. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Wendy would do everything in her power to scrub Jackson’s digital footprint, so I had to act fast. I needed to package every bit of raw data proving his culpability before my body gave out entirely. The progress bar crawled forward. I was blind-typing now, relying entirely on muscle memory. “What are you doing now?” Wendy’s sharp voice cut through the room. She marched over and slammed my laptop shut. “The company is facing a crisis, and you’re lying here playing games on your computer? Do you even have a conscience, Reid?” I looked up at her frantic, angry face. “A conscience?” I let out a dry, rattling cough, spitting a dark glob of blood onto the floor. “Wendy, you are harboring a criminal who has endangered public safety, and you want to lecture me about a conscience?” Her expression turned dark and dangerous. “Watch your mouth, Reid! Jackson is just a kid, he didn’t know any better! Don’t think that just because you sit at home all day, you understand how to run a conglomerate!” Jackson smirked, leaning against her. “Reid, are you going to report me to the police? You don’t have any evidence. Wendy already had the server logs wiped. No one will believe you.” I pushed the laptop screen back open. “Is that so?” I tapped the enter key. An encrypted archive was instantly generated. It contained not only the files proving his sabotage of the Aegis system, but a comprehensive log of his cybercrimes over the past seven years, including corporate espionage and server intrusions against Wendy’s competitors. “Reid, don’t you dare!” Wendy lunged to grab the laptop. I pulled it back, staring at her coldly. “Relax. I’m not calling the police. I’m just writing my will.” Wendy’s hand froze. She looked at my deathly pale face, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “A will? For a few scratches? You are completely out of your mind.” She grabbed Jackson’s arm. “Let’s go. Let him play his pathetic games.” The door closed, and I fell back against the pillows, my strength entirely depleted. The scheduled transmission was locked. The payload would deploy automatically three days after my death. “System,” I whispered, my breathing shallow. “How long?” “Remaining time: twelve hours. Multi-organ failure has commenced.” I watched the light fade from the window. “Let’s end this.” The room grew dark. Every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass. My kidneys had shut down, and my lungs were filling with fluid. Outside, the distant boom of fireworks echoed through the sky. The system projected a virtual screen in my mind. Wendy had rented out the city’s largest amusement park for Jackson. Under a sky filled with brilliant colors, Jackson wore a custom diamond crown, smiling like a prince while Wendy looked at him with absolute adoration. “Congratulations on getting through this, Jackson,” her voice was incredibly gentle. “If you want to play with software, I’ll buy you an entire tech firm next week.” A soft alarm chimed as the male nurse burst into my room, his flashlight catching my grey face. “Doctor! We need help in Room Three! The patient is in shock!” Panicked shouts filled the corridor. A crash cart was wheeled in, and the blinding procedural lights flared above me. “Heart rate is dropping! Blood pressure is unreadable! Push epinephrine, now!” “Where is the emergency contact? Get the spouse on the line for a critical notice!” The nurse frantically dialed Wendy’s number. On my mental screen, I saw her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out, frowning at the caller ID: “St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital.” Jackson glanced at the screen, rolling his eyes. “Wendy, he’s playing the boy who cried wolf again. He’s just mad because you’re with me.” Wendy scoffed and swiped to decline the call. The nurse dialed again, but this time, the line was dead. She had blocked the hospital’s number. “I can’t get through! She blocked us!” the nurse cried. The doctor gritted her teeth, delivering chest compressions. “Keep going! Don’t stop!” I looked at their futile efforts, and issued my final command. “System, release the files.” “Command confirmed. Scheduled package locked. Deployment in seventy-two hours.” “Host, your vitals are flatlining.” I took one last look at the dark window. The final firework bloomed and died, leaving only empty darkness. Beside me, the erratic line on the monitor stretched into a single, flat green line. A sharp, continuous tone pierced the silence of the room. I felt my consciousness detach, rising slowly toward the ceiling. “Congratulations, Host. Mission completed. Exit protocol initiated.” Looking down, I saw the medical team slowly step away, pulling the white sheet over my face. “Time of death: two-fourteen AM.”

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1 Heavy snow sealed the mountain passes, burying the jagged peaks in deadly white. As the only woman to conquer Deadwood Pass’s seventy-two switchbacks unscathed, I was offered a ten million dollar rescue job. The target was stranded at the ridge’s end. I’d been there before—ten years earlier. My seventeen year old daughter and her friends were paragliding when a sudden storm forced a brutal cliffside landing. Rescue never came in time. My girl froze to death on those merciless rocks. Later, I learned my husband, James, ignored her plight. He spent millions redirecting every helicopter and snowcat to save his first love’s child—who’d only sprained an ankle. That day, I quit my tenured professorship and moved to this frozen backwater, becoming a penniless tow truck driver. For a decade, I ran that lethal highway until every icy curve and drop was etched in my bones. No one else died on my watch. Now my best friend begged me to take this job, slapping the offer on my grease stained table. I glanced at the photo—a face I’d never forget—let out a dry laugh, and dropped my keys. “Not this one.” Jess was still riding the high of a massive payday dropping out of the sky. Hearing my words, she froze, her jaw practically hitting the floor. “Wait, Sarah, are you out of your damn mind? This is ten million bucks!” “We’ve been rotting in this frozen armpit of a town for a decade and haven’t seen a fraction of that kind of cash. And you’re just walking away?” We had bled and frozen together on these roads for years. Jess wasn’t about to let me throw away a winning lottery ticket. She physically blocked the door as I tried to leave the dispatch cabin. “Sarah, wake the hell up. Go splash some freezing water on your face and think about this! Ten years ago, you dragged yourself in here looking like a stray dog. You had nothing. Your ex-husband threw you away like garbage!” “This is your golden ticket! Don’t you want to shove this massive win right in his arrogant face? Make him grovel and beg for a second chance?” I gently but firmly pushed Jess’s hand away from the doorframe. My chest felt incredibly heavy. “I don’t care about getting back at anyone. My mind is made up. Drop it, Jess. I’m going home.” “Sarah!” Frustrated by my stubbornness, Jess was practically sweating despite the drafty cabin, screaming at my back. “Even if you bail on this, you need a damn good reason! I know you. You are not the kind of person who just sits back and watches someone die!” I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, I turned to look at her, my eyes entirely dead. “Maybe I am exactly that kind of person.” Jess’s chest heaved. “We’ve known each other for a decade. Every time the scanner goes off, you never say no. You are always the first one behind the wheel. It doesn’t matter if it’s an avalanche warning or a whiteout blizzard. When the whole crew begs you to stay back, you always say a kid’s life matters more than yours.” “How could you possibly be that cold? Sarah, just tell me why.” “There is no why. Find someone else. I’m not driving.” I pushed the door open. Jess followed me out into the biting cold, violently running her hands through her hair in pure agitation. “The weather up on Deadwood gets worse every year! A few guys tried to run it a couple of winters ago and none of them came back alive. If you don’t go, nobody on this mountain will touch that route.” “Are you sick? Is it your back? Look, I’ll ride shotgun. I’ll handle the winches and the heavy lifting, you just drive.” “You have to give us something, Sarah! The girls in our crew are drowning in debt. They are waiting for a miracle, and you owe them an explanation!” Looking out at the towering, snow-capped peaks in the distance, I asked myself what had kept me coming back to these seventy-two deadly switchbacks that had claimed so many lives. It was my daughter. It was her voice, echoing in my nightmares, crying out for her mom to save her. It was the sheer, desperate will to keep her memory alive. Even when I was bleeding out in a wrecked cab, I forced myself to stay awake. I swore to myself that no other mother in this world would ever have to feel the soul-crushing agony of losing a child. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I fought back the tears threatening to spill. “I’ll explain it to the crew myself. Just stop pushing me.” Maybe it was the absolute, raw devastation in my eyes that finally silenced Jess. She didn’t try to block my path again. “I don’t get it,” she whispered. “But you’re my girl. I believe you have your reasons. I’ll go talk to the others.” Before I could even reach my beat-up truck in the yard, my burner phone buzzed. It was a number I had spent a decade trying to scrub from my brain. “My wife and I are almost at the base of the mountain. I want to know why you’re refusing the extraction. Is it the money? I can write a check for another ten million right now.” “Or name your price. As long as you pull my daughter off that ridge, I will give you anything you want.” That familiar, suffocatingly arrogant voice pierced right through my eardrum, exactly the same as it was ten years ago. My knuckles turned white around the plastic casing of the phone. “I don’t want anything. I cannot save your daughter.” James didn’t recognize my voice. He began to shout, the polished veneer cracking to reveal a desperate, trembling panic. “You sound old enough to be a parent! Do you not have kids of your own?” “If your child was trapped in a freezing death zone, could you really just sit there and leave them to die?” 2 Leave them to die? A bitter, twisted smile crept onto my lips. Back when I found out James had diverted the entire fleet of helicopters for his first love’s kid, I had screamed those exact words at him. I had screamed until my throat bled, asking him how a stranger’s child could possibly be more important than his own flesh and blood. He was terrifyingly calm. His voice over the phone hadn’t held a single tremor. “I had the medical team analyze their vitals. Sophie has a stronger baseline constitution than Beth, so logistically, we had to secure Sophie first.” “Neither of us wanted anyone to die. It’s a tragedy, but the situation is what it is. I’m grieving too, you know.” He claimed he was grieving, yet the moment I shoved the divorce papers at his chest, he turned around and married his precious first love before the ink was even dry. “The kid up there isn’t your biological daughter, right? If she was your real flesh and blood, would you be doing all this?” James didn’t hesitate for a microsecond. “I don’t care about biology. I raised her. She is my daughter.” “And if she was my biological child? I would liquidate every asset I own and risk my own life to get her down from there.” Before I could even formulate a response, he let out a scoff of pure condescension. “Since you clearly did your homework and know I’m the CEO of Bode Holdings, you should understand that doing me this favor will set you up for life.” “I can bump the bounty to fifty million dollars. People like you couldn’t make fifty million if you worked for a thousand lifetimes.” “If you have half a brain, you’ll grab this ticket out of poverty instead of being a stubborn hillbilly and dragging your husband and kids down with you.” I actually laughed out loud. “You really are Father of the Year.” I had dreamed of my little girl more times than I could count. In the dreams, she always looked up at me with those big, innocent eyes, asking why Daddy didn’t want to save her. Why he picked a friend’s daughter over his own. I could never give her an answer. Deep down, I knew the ugly truth. James never loved me, which meant my child was never going to be his priority. “Fifty million is a hell of a lot of money. But it’s a shame. I don’t need it. Find another driver.” I killed the call and powered off the phone completely. The second I stepped out of the yard, the rest of the crew swarmed me. Rhonda, our grizzled team captain, blocked my path. “Sarah, you can’t walk away from this. Do you have any idea who’s trapped up there? The Bodes. We are dirt-poor mechanics and tow-truck drivers. We cannot afford to piss off billionaires.” Of course I knew. James and Lexi’s fairytale wedding had been plastered all over the national news. A real-life romance that made the internet swoon. Nobody remembered me. Nobody remembered my daughter. “James is Sophie’s stepdad, but he treats her like gold! And he controls Bode Holdings. He practically owns Denver!” “And Lexi Bode? She’s a world-renowned surgeon. People like that can crush us like bugs.” Jess stood there with red eyes, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “On top of that, they did background checks. They found out about Brenda’s kid needing a kidney transplant. Lexi said if you drive the rig, she’ll pull strings at the transplant center. Toby will have a new kidney by next Friday.” Brenda dropped to her knees right in the filthy slush, dragging her sickly son Toby down with her. She looked up at me, absolutely broken. “Sarah. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll kiss the dirt you walk on. He’s my only baby. Please save my Toby.” Toby, his face pale and swollen from the dialysis, wrapped his thin arms around my work boots. “Auntie Sarah… I don’t want to die…” James hadn’t changed a bit. He still knew exactly how to manipulate human weakness. He was still completely devoid of humanity. I stood there in silence. I pulled a crushed cigarette from my leather jacket, lit it, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the freezing air. My voice came out like gravel. “Today is my daughter’s death anniversary.” Rhonda rushed to speak. “We know, Sarah, we remember! Once you get this kid down the mountain, we will all go visit Beth’s grave with you.” “Yeah!” Brenda sobbed, snot and tears freezing to her face. “You’ve saved so many kids out here! Just save Toby too! This is the only chance he has left!” Before I could say another word, the deep, aggressive roar of a V8 engine echoed through the canyon. A sleek, matte-black G-Wagon skidded to a halt right in front of us. The heavy door swung open. James stepped out into the mud, his sharp, predatory eyes locking instantly onto my face. 3 Almost immediately, naked disgust flashed across his features. He didn’t recognize me. I hadn’t seen a salon in years. After a decade of brutal mountain winters, I was no longer the radiant, soft-spoken, highly respected university professor he once knew. Right now, I was wrapped in a greasy, peeling leather jacket I hadn’t washed in weeks. My face was weather-beaten, covered in rough windburn and premature, deep-set wrinkles from squinting into snowstorms. Compared to his tailored wool overcoat and pristine Italian leather shoes, I looked like absolute gutter trash. “So you’re the so-called legendary female driver of Deadwood Pass?” He let out a short, mocking laugh. “Do you have any concept of what fifty million dollars is? It could buy your pathetic life a hundred times over.” I didn’t answer. I just took another drag of my cigarette. The passenger door opened. Lexi stepped down into the slush. Her gaze swept over me. She tried to maintain a facade of calm grace, but the elitist superiority practically rolled off her in waves. “My husband’s delivery might be harsh, but he’s stating facts. Your entire crew works yourselves to the bone year-round, and what do you bring in? Maybe thirty grand? Split five ways?” “This fifty million won’t just buy you groceries. It will catapult you into a tax bracket you can’t even comprehend. It’s generational wealth.” “Are you really going to let pride ruin your life?” I gave her a faint smile. “My answer is still no.” “Why? Give me a rational explanation.” “I don’t need one.” James’s patience snapped. He glared at me, his eyes looking like chips of dirty ice. “Bullshit. Every human action has a motive. If you’re refusing, it’s because you think you have leverage to squeeze more out of us!” Lexi’s elegant mask finally slipped, her face hardening. “Look, don’t be greedy. People who bite off more than they can chew end up choking.” “You people reek of cheap booze and desperation. All you want is to climb out of the mud and be somebody, right? I can give you that.” “Cash, status, connections. I can get your husband a cushy corporate job in Denver. Whatever he wants, I can make it happen by making a single phone call.” “And your kid. I can get them into an Ivy League feeder school. Pay for a study abroad program in Europe. I’ll even set up a trust fund for when they get married and have kids of their own.” I chuckled, the sound dry and hollow. “Married and have kids?” Beth had actually talked about that. When she was a little girl, she watched some cartoon where the kids grew up and left the parents behind. She had buried her face in my chest, crying her eyes out. “Mommy, I’m never getting married! That way, when you and Daddy get old, I can just stay with you forever so you won’t be lonely!” Someone in the crew, eager to appease the billionaires, blurted out an answer to James. “Her ex-husband cheated on her, man. And her daughter passed away.” James raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a smug, knowing look. “Well, your ex-husband was a smart man. A cold-blooded, heartless woman who’d watch a kid die for leverage? Any random whore off the street would be a better partner than you.” “Walking out on you was the best decision he ever made. And your kid died? Let me take a wild guess. Was it your fault?” My hands balled into tight fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him with pure hatred. James didn’t back down an inch. He sneered, enunciating every syllable. “When your kid was dying, were you acting exactly like this? Stubborn, detached, playing stupid mind games until you literally dragged her to her grave?!” “Shut your damn mouth!” I hissed through clenched teeth. The sheer venom in my eyes was impossible to hide. Lexi stepped smoothly in front of him, playing the diplomat. “Excuse my husband’s temper. But since you’ve been a mother, you should be able to empathize with the absolute panic of parents trying to save their child.” She glanced at her Rolex. “The blizzard hits in exactly thirty minutes. If we delay, the extraction becomes physically impossible, and you’ll be risking your own neck.” “Playing hard to get once is a negotiation tactic. Doing it twice is just arrogant stupidity. Get in your truck. Now.” When I still didn’t move, James suddenly pointed a manicured finger right at Brenda. “You can stand your ground. But what about these friends of yours? The ones who bleed with you? Are you really going to screw them over too?” “You cross me today, and not only will her kid never see a kidney donor, I will personally guarantee that everyone standing in this yard is blacklisted.” His voice dripped with absolute malice. “Unless you can guarantee your families will never get sick, there isn’t a single hospital in the state of Colorado that will admit you. And no company in this city will ever hire you.” 4 Brenda’s face drained of all color. She practically crawled to my boots, her tears running completely dry from sheer terror. “Sarah. Sarah, please. Please, I am begging you on my life. Just say yes.” “Nobody else can drive that ridge! Have some mercy, please look at my boy!” Rhonda’s face was grim. She grabbed my shoulders, letting out a heavy sigh. “The Bodes actually have that kind of power, Sarah. You have to…” I shoved Rhonda’s hands away. I looked down at Brenda and her frail son. In their desperate bid to survive, Brenda had slammed her head against the frozen ground so hard that blood was trickling down her forehead, mixing with the dirt. “I will figure something out for Toby,” I said softly. “But this gig… I really can’t do it. My hands are tied.” Something snapped inside Lexi. She lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my heavy leather jacket, and delivered a vicious, stinging slap across my face. Every ounce of her fake, upper-class grace evaporated. “We called every single rescue outfit in the state! They all said you’re the only freak crazy enough to run this pass, and now you’re telling me your hands are tied?!” “That is a human life up there! You let her die, and you are a goddamn murderer!” I let out a dark laugh. My hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her expensive, blown-out hair. I yanked her head back and returned the slap, twice as hard. “You’re the goddamn murderer!” James, who had just watched his wife slap me with smug satisfaction, turned purple with rage the second my hand made contact with her cheek. “Get her!” he barked. The massive private security guards he brought swarmed me, slamming me face-first into the filthy, packed snow. James stepped forward, grinding the sole of his designer shoe directly into the side of my face. “You think you can lay hands on my wife, you piece of trash? You want to do this the hard way? Fine. Tie every single one of her friends up. For every minute she refuses to drive, throw one of them off the ravine!” I struggled wildly against the heavy boots pinning me down, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Don’t you dare!” “Watch me,” he growled, pressing his shoe down so hard I could hear my own teeth grinding together against the ice. “This place is off the grid anyway. We’ll just tell the cops your little crew got buried in an avalanche during a heroic rescue attempt. Who’s gonna prove otherwise?” The guards dragged Rhonda, Brenda, and the others toward the sheer drop at the edge of the yard. The first one they pushed to the brink was Jess. Sweat soaked through her winter gear despite the freezing wind. She was absolutely terrified, screaming back at me. “Sarah! Sarah, please! I don’t want to die! I haven’t even seen my boy graduate yet!” My eyes went bloodshot. I stared at my crew, my jaw clenched so tight I tasted copper. Slowly, I turned my gaze up to James’s face. “Pull them back from the edge!” James smirked. He lifted his foot off my face and surprisingly reached down, grabbing my arm to help me up. He even brushed the dirty snow off my lapels with a patronizing smile. It was as if the psychotic billionaire from three seconds ago had never existed. “I’m so glad you’ve come to your senses. I expect you to bring my daughter back without a single scratch on her.” “Because if anything happens to her, my wife and I will get very, very creative with you.” Hearing those words, a raw, manic laughter clawed its way out of my throat. I couldn’t stop. “Is that right? Losing a kid makes you suffer? Really? Because rumor has it, the kid you had with your first wife died too.” James’s eyebrow twitched violently. “You didn’t shed a single tear for her. You finalized the divorce, married the mistress without skipping a beat, and didn’t even bother to go to the morgue to identify your own daughter’s body.” “Do you ever think about her? Does your chest ache? When you wake up in the dead of night, have you ever shed a single goddamn tear for her?” James’s lips began to tremble. For a split second, a flash of genuine, agonizing pain cut through the ice in his eyes. “Who… who the hell are you? How do you know that? Did you… did you know me before?” I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. “Someone as high and mighty as you? How could gutter trash like me ever know you?” “James, stop! A broke mechanic wouldn’t know us. She’s just reading tabloid garbage. Stop wasting time and get her in the truck!” Lexi grabbed my arm, practically dragging me toward my reinforced tow rig. “Get in the damn driver’s seat!” When I still refused to move my feet, she shrieked at the guards. “Throw the loudmouth off the cliff!” Rhonda screamed until her voice cracked. “Sarah, get in the truck! Are you really going to let Jess die? She’s had your back for ten years!” Jess was ghost-pale, her eyes wide with total despair. “Sarah, why?! At least tell me why before they kill me!” I squeezed my eyes shut. The pain radiating through my chest was so intense my knees almost buckled. “Because if I get up there,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a decade of suppressed venom, “I won’t be able to stop myself from wrapping my hands around her throat and choking the life out of her.” “I can save anyone in this godforsaken world. But I will never save her.”

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1 My heart beats with corpse-like steadiness. Fever, blood loss—nothing changes it. At eighteen, the Heustons locked me in their penthouse ICU. Not for love. Cindy’s one-of-a-kind bio-neural heart needed my rhythm as its core frequency. My steadiness kept her alive. Three months ago, a nurse bumped a monitor patch. Five minutes later, Cindy’s heart stopped cold in Europe. By morning, the agency was bankrupt, staff blacklisted. The penthouse elevator ran silent after that. Then Cindy left for Europe. Garrett Montgomery, her fiancé, took over. He slammed down my nine-figure medical bill. “Millions for this? A useless parasite?” He tore off my patches, killed the sync lines, and shoved me onto a treadmill. “Ten miles. Fail, and you’re out.” I gripped the rails. My heart hammered—first time ever. He killed the alarm instantly. He didn’t know. Twelve time zones away, Cindy’s heart was spiraling with mine. … Within three seconds, the treadmill belt went from a slow walk to a sprint. Two security guards grabbed my arms, pinning me to the handrails. The spot on my chest where the patch had been ripped off burned like fire. “Crank the speed up.” Garrett stood behind the glass wall, arms crossed, watching coldly. The nurse paled. “Mr. Montgomery, he cannot engage in strenuous exercise…” “The Heuston family spends a hundred million a year to maintain his heartbeat,” Garrett sneered, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s see just how precious it actually is.” The speed climbed to level ten. My knees slammed against the edge of the belt, and my vision went dark. Alarms screamed through the intercom: “Mother frequency lost. Remote synchronization risk rising.” I gripped the handrails, my knuckles turning white, my voice shredded by gasps. “Don’t… don’t cut the synchronization cable.” Garrett stepped in, leaning down to look at me. “Still acting?” He slapped a stack of annual bills against my face. Maintenance for the climate-controlled chamber, salaries for the medical team, imported drugs, dedicated servers: the numbers were staggering. He picked up a page and read it aloud. “One hundred and thirty million a year.” “What value do you bring to the Heustons?” “Nothing. You just lie there and breathe.” Cold sweat poured down my forehead, and my heart felt as though it were being squeezed by a giant fist. It wasn’t that my heart was weak; it was that if my heart rate spiraled, Cindy’s artificial heart across the globe would collapse with it. “Mr. Montgomery,” I gasped, the words catching in my throat, “stop this now… while you still can.” He slapped me across the face. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. A young nurse, Gwen, rushed forward to grab a spare monitoring patch. “Asher can’t run anymore!” With a flick of Garrett’s finger, the guards dragged Gwen away. The patch was tossed into the trash. “You’re suspended,” Garrett barked. “Say one more word, and you’ll never work in medicine again.” Gwen froze, terrified, unable to move. When the treadmill finally ground to a halt, my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. The pressure in my chest grew heavier, but the alarm suddenly cut out. Garrett had switched off the display. The room fell silent, save for my ragged breathing. He glanced toward the penthouse and smiled. “Go search his room. I want to see what kind of garbage the Heustons have been funding all these years.” Two legal consultants and guards stormed the penthouse. By the time I was dragged back up, my room was in ruins. The climate chamber was open, vials of rare medication were scattered across the floor, and the safe by my bed was forced open. A lawyer handed Garrett a stack of papers. “We found these, Mr. Montgomery.” Garrett scanned them, a slow, victorious smirk spreading across his face. “Kickback agreements with medical equipment suppliers.” He pulled out another page. “Offshore bank transfers.” He looked down at me. “What do you have to say for yourself, Asher?” I stared at the papers, a dry laugh bubbling in my throat. They weren’t mine. But I didn’t even have the strength to stand, let alone defend myself. Garrett had already written my sentence. “Colluding with suppliers, embezzling Heuston medical resources, and falsifying medical records to steal special funds.” He slapped the papers against my cheek. “As of right now, Asher’s penthouse privileges are revoked. Transfer him to a standard observation ward.” I forced my head up. “No.” The penthouse environment could not be broken. The temperature control, the silence, the servers, the patches; they were all vital. But Garrett only saw my desperation as fear. “What? Can’t survive without your luxury suite?” He knelt, gripping my jaw. “Then go ahead and die.” As they dragged me out, the central monitoring screen in the facility flashed a violent red. “Mother Frequency Lost.” “Remote Artificial Heart Synchronization Failure.” “Emergency Contact: Cindy Heuston.” Garrett looked at the screen, expressionless. With a click, he turned off the entire alarm system. At that exact moment, in a high-rise conference room in Europe. Cindy was leaning over to sign an acquisition treaty. Her pen suddenly scratched violently across the paper. In the next second, the artificial heart inside her chest let out a shrill, warning shriek. The standard ward on the third floor was loud and lacked proper climate control. I lay curled on the bed, fingers digging into the sheets, the pressure in my chest making it impossible to breathe. The door was kicked open. Dr. Alistair rushed in, his white coat unbuttoned, his face pale with panic. He was Cindy’s primary physician, the only doctor who knew the full truth. Seeing my bare chest, he turned on Garrett. “Who authorized the removal of his monitoring patches?” Garrett was lounging on the sofa, flipping through my chart. “Dr. Alistair, I am the temporary director of this facility.” He pushed a board authorization letter across the desk. “With Cindy away, I call the shots.” Alistair didn’t even look at the paper. He rushed to my bedside. “Asher can’t be in this room.” As he reached for a portable synchronizer, two guards blocked him. “Move!” Alistair roared. Garrett stood up. “Why so protective? He is a fraud, and yet you treat him like he’s more precious than Cindy herself.” Alistair clenched his jaw. He couldn’t speak. The mother-frequency connection was a closely guarded Heuston secret. If leaked, Cindy would become an immediate target in the financial markets. He forced the words out: “His synchronization cannot be interrupted. If anything happens to him, Ms. Heuston will die.” Garrett laughed. “If Asher gets hurt, Cindy dies? Dr. Alistair, I didn’t think a respectable physician like you would help a con artist spin his lies.” I tried to speak, but my lungs felt like they were filled with cement. Alistair’s face drained of color. “Mr. Montgomery, this is my final warning. Stop this now, and we can still salvage her status.” “Salvage?” Garrett’s smile was freezing. “What we need to salvage are the millions he stole.” He pointed at Alistair. “Confiscate his ID badge.” The guards pinned Alistair and dragged him out. “You’ll regret this, Garrett! You’ll kill her!” Garrett ignored the screams, turning to the IT director. “Is the backup server in the penthouse still active?” The IT director trembled. “Mr. Montgomery, we cannot shut that down. It carries the remote calibration parameters for Ms. Heuston’s artificial heart. If we cut it…” “Cindy again.” Garrett’s eyes darkened. “Every single one of you uses her name to threaten me.” He raised his walkie-talkie. “Shut it down.” The IT director lunged forward, but a guard kicked him to the floor. A moment later, the lights in the entire building flickered and dimmed. The monitor beside my bed screeched with static. My heart rate line went completely erratic. I clutched my chest, arching off the bed in violent convulsions. Outside, Alistair was pinned to the floor, veins bulging on his forehead. “Garrett! She’s going to die! Cindy is actually going to die!” Garrett stood over me, watching me convulse without moving a muscle. “Then let her.” His phone rang. An encrypted number from Europe. He answered. His assistant’s voice was frantic: “Mr. Montgomery! Ms. Heuston collapsed during the meeting! Her artificial heart has gone into emergency safe-mode! Is something happening at the facility?” Garrett’s expression flickered. He looked down at me, taking in my cold sweat and ragged, shallow breaths. Then, the hesitation vanished, replaced by cold cynicism. “They’re really playing the part well, aren’t they?” “Mr. Montgomery? Can you hear me?” the assistant screamed. Garrett hung up, turned off his phone, and threw it into his bag. “Cindy is surrounded by Europe’s finest medical minds. She doesn’t need a con artist to save her life.” I lay on the cold mattress, listening to my heartbeat slow down, beat by agonizing beat. By the time I was wheeled into the examination room, my fingers were shaking uncontrollably. The electrodes pressed against my skin felt ice-cold, and the waves on the monitor remained wild and chaotic. Dr. Alistair was pinned outside the door, his clothes covered in dust, his eyes fixed on me. “Asher, hang on!” I tried to smile, but the muscles in my face wouldn’t cooperate. It felt as though invisible wires were tightening around my chest, squeezing the life out of me. Dr. Kingsley, the chief of medicine, rushed in holding a tablet. He showed Garrett the split-screen data: my chaotic heart rate and Cindy’s remote cardiac logs. The timestamps, the spikes, and the moments of instability aligned perfectly. “The moment you ripped off his patch, her heart destabilized,” Kingsley said, his voice trembling. “When you cut the server, she collapsed. Now his heart is failing, and her artificial heart is entering critical shutdown.” Garrett smiled. “Data can be falsified. Everyone in this facility answers to Cindy. If you wanted to spin a lie to protect him, it would take you five minutes.” “Garrett, this is a human life!” Kingsley pleaded. “Which is why we are getting to the bottom of this.” Garrett forced a pen into my shaking hand. “Sign it.” I looked down. It was a voluntary confession of medical fraud and embezzlement. I managed a weak, raspy laugh. “Garrett… you aren’t punishing me. You are destroying her heart with your own hands.” His expression turned icy. “Still trying to threaten me?” “I’m not threatening you,” I whispered. “I’m trying to save her.” Garrett grabbed my wrist, forcing the pen down, scratching the paper and my finger. “You’re trying to save her? You’re just a parasite plucked from an orphanage.” He turned to the nurse. “Inject the stimulant.” Kingsley tried to stop him. “No! His rhythm is already fractured! A stimulant will trigger a complete cardiac collapse!” Garrett grabbed the syringe himself and drove it into my vein. My heart felt as though it had been dropped into boiling oil. The monitor shrieked. I slipped from the chair, knees hitting the floor, my vision fading. In the darkness, I remembered the first time Cindy met me. She was pale, hooked to machines, asking gently, “Are you willing?” I had asked what would happen if I said no. She said, “Then we won’t do it.” But I had stayed because she didn’t force me. Now, someone else was forcing me to die. At that moment, in the European ICU, Cindy opened her eyes, ripped off her oxygen mask, and gasped, “Prepare the jet. We’re going home.” By the time Garrett convened the board hearing, I couldn’t even stand. I was wheeled into the main auditorium. The room was packed with board members, lawyers, and legal advisors, their eyes filled with pity, suspicion, and disgust. Garrett stood at the front, his suit pristine. “Today, we are here to expose a massive fraud that has drained Heuston resources for years.” He projected the forged agreements onto the screen. “Asher, an orphan with no affiliation to the Heuston Group, has occupied our top-tier medical suite for years. We have reason to believe he colluded with suppliers to embezzle millions.” The room erupted into quiet whispers. Garrett turned to the nurses. “Tell everyone what Asher does in the penthouse.” The head nurse stood up. “He doesn’t participate in any research or treatment. He just rests while we cater to his every need.” Gwen tried to shout from the back of the room. “That’s because his monitoring data is directly connected to Ms. Heuston’s!” But the guards quickly dragged her out. Garrett smiled, satisfied. I looked up, committing their faces to memory. Not for revenge, but because if I died, someone needed to remember what they had done. The doors opened, and a bruised Dr. Alistair was brought in. Garrett pointed to my chest. “Dr. Alistair, you claimed Asher has a core proprietary chip implanted near his collarbone?” “That chip was authorized by Ms. Heuston herself,” Alistair spat. “It cannot be removed!” Garrett smirked. “An unauthorized civilian harboring proprietary Heuston technology. This is corporate espionage.” He stepped up to me. “Extract the chip. Send it to legal for analysis.” I panicked, struggling against the chair. “No… Garrett, don’t. She is on her way.” “Even if she returns, she will thank me for disposing of a leech.” I was pinned to the operating chair. No anesthesia. The scalpel sliced into my skin, and blood immediately soaked my shirt. The forceps reached in, grabbing the synchronizing chip near my collarbone. The main monitor flashed a violent red, warning of a complete communication failure. Garrett didn’t care. He pulled the forceps back, ripping the chip out. Just as darkness claimed me, the heavy double doors of the auditorium were blown open. Cindy, pale as a ghost, collapsed from her wheelchair directly at Garrett’s feet, her artificial heart alarm blaring at maximum volume.

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Monday morning. I was standing in the conference room, waiting for our new intern to finish photocopying a contract. The irritating whir of the paper shredder finally ground to a halt. She turned around, cradling a massive pile of paper confetti in her arms, looking at me as if expecting a gold star. My eyes zeroed in on the remnants of the paper. It was the original copy of the thirty-million-dollar contract we had just signed. My blood pressure instantly spiked to a stroke-inducing level. “Are you out of your damn mind?!” Her lower lip quivered, and massive crocodile tears immediately pooled in her eyes. “I… I didn’t know. You are being too mean.” Right at that moment, a string of glowing pink text suddenly floated through the air right in front of my eyes. [The CEO is angry! He definitely thinks our baby girl is so clumsy and cute!] [This is such a unique way to get his attention! She didn’t shred paper, she shredded the walls around his heart!] [So sweet! The domineering CEO is falling for his clumsy little wife!] Domineering CEO? Walls around my heart? Cute my ass! That was a thirty-million-dollar deal I spent six months negotiating! And I need these floating idiots to open their blind eyes. I am a female Vice President! 1 “VP Wright, look!” Bella held up the overflowing wastebasket with a proud smile. “Nobody has used that shredder in days. I was worried it might rust, so I shredded all the papers on the desk to keep it running.” “Aren’t I so thoughtful?” I stared at the bucket of destroyed documents, feeling the blood rush straight to my temples. “Are you completely out of your mind?!” Bella shrank back, her eyes turning red. She bit her lower lip and looked up at me through her lashes. “I… I was just trying to help…” she whimpered, her voice dripping with fake innocence. “You are so fierce, you terrified me.” Another string of glowing pink text materialized out of thin air, scrolling rapidly across my vision. [Wow! The CEO looks so hot when he’s mad! Is he just trying to cover up how fast his heart is beating for her?] [She didn’t just shred a contract, she shredded his defenses!] [Is this the legendary enemies-to-lovers trope? I am living for this!] I froze right where I stood. Through the translucent text, I could still see Bella’s pathetic, pouting face. The conference room door swung open. Mr. Harrison from Apex Dynamics had arrived early for our meeting. His polite smile completely vanished the second he saw the floor covered in shredded paper and Bella clutching the wastebasket. “VP Wright,” Mr. Harrison said, his gaze darting between me and the crying intern. “What exactly is going on here? Where is the contract?” I forcibly swallowed my boiling rage. “Mr. Harrison, my apologies. There has been a slight accident…” “VP Wright!” Bella let out a high-pitched shriek and dove right behind me. She grabbed fistfuls of my tailored suit jacket, pressing her body flat against my back. “Mr. Harrison, please don’t blame him! It is all my fault, I was just too clumsy. VP Wright was just disciplining me…” She shivered dramatically behind me, her fingers wrinkling the expensive fabric of my jacket. Given our current posture, Mr. Harrison was absolutely going to think we were engaging in some sort of twisted workplace roleplay. Mr. Harrison’s face turned dark. “VP Wright,” he said, his tone turning to ice. “I was under the impression that you were a professional.” “I had no idea your private life was so colorful that you needed to bring it into the boardroom for entertainment.” He turned on his heel and stormed out. Thirty million dollars. Six months of my blood, sweat, and tears. I had literally been hospitalized three times for exhaustion and revised the proposal over a dozen times for this project. Now, it was all gone. “VP Wright…” Bella peeked out from behind my back, holding up a cup of boba tea. “Please don’t be mad. Have something sweet to calm down, okay?” She tried to shove the sickeningly sweet drink into my hands. I should have just thrown it right in her face. The pink comments went absolutely wild. [Look! His hand is trembling as he takes the tea! He is so emotional!] [He loves her so much! Even after losing thirty million, all it takes is a cup of milk tea from his baby to calm him down!] [This is pure indulgence! This is a CEO’s true love!] I looked at Bella’s innocent face, then looked at the brain-dead comments floating in the air, and suddenly let out a cold, hollow laugh. 2 The next morning, we held an executive debriefing. The conference table was packed with directors. Declan Cross, our CEO, sat at the head of the table, flipping through the damage report with a face like thunder. I stood in front of the projector screen, my back perfectly straight, analyzing our contingency plans point by point. “The legal team at Apex Dynamics has given us a forty-eight-hour grace period. For the new clauses, I will…” The door banged open. Bella pranced in carrying a tray of black coffees. She wasn’t wearing her corporate uniform. Instead, she had changed into a tiny pink slip dress with a hemline that barely covered her upper thighs. Declan’s brow furrowed into a deep V, but he didn’t say a word. “You all worked so hard!” Bella chirped, her voice airy and overly sweet. “Freshly brewed coffee to wake everyone up.” She bypassed several senior directors and made a beeline straight for me. Seeing that walking disaster in pink approaching, I immediately took a half-step back. “VP Wright, you have been talking for so long. Your throat must be so dry, right?” I didn’t take the cup. I just stared at her. “Put it on the table.” “Oh, come on, just take it. I brewed it especially for you…” She shoved the cup forward. Somehow, her left foot tripped over her right, and she pitched forward. The scalding coffee flew out of her hands and splashed directly onto my lower half. My suit trousers were instantly soaked. Acting on pure reflex, I raised my hands and shoved her away before she could plaster herself against me. “Ah!” She fell sideways, her short skirt flipping up. She clutched her elbow, tears instantly spilling from her eyes. “I am so sorry… I am sorry, VP Wright. I wasn’t trying to seduce you… Please don’t touch me like that in here…” Dead silence fell over the conference room. Over a dozen pairs of eyes stared at Bella’s exposed underwear. Then their gazes shifted to my crotch, which was currently dripping with hot coffee. Finally, they looked at my hands, which had just pushed her away. Someone awkwardly coughed and looked down. Others exchanged subtle, knowing glances. The pink comments danced across the air. [Wet shirt play! So spicy!] [He is panicking! He felt so bad seeing his baby fall!] [He only pushed her away because he was afraid he couldn’t control his urges if she touched him!] [And look where he got wet… Hehehe!] “Rowan!” Declan slammed his hand on the table. “What the hell are you doing?!” All he saw was me shoving a crying girl to the floor. I didn’t bother wiping the stain. I didn’t even dare to move my legs. “Declan, she just threw boiling water on me.” “You were clearly trying to grab me… your hands were everywhere…” Bella hugged her knees, shivering like a leaf. “VP Wright, we are in the office. There are people watching…” Her words made absolutely no sense, but they successfully cemented the dirty rumor. Declan threw his files onto the table. “Get out.” He pointed at the door. “Rowan, go clean yourself up. Bella, you leave too.” I grabbed my folder and practically sprinted to the restroom. Locking myself in a stall, my hands shook as I unbuckled my belt. The inner skin of my thigh was an angry, blistering red. Outside the stall, I could hear hushed whispers. “Did you hear? VP Wright just sexually harassed the new intern right in the middle of the boardroom.” “I knew it. He uses his executive status to act all proper, but since he’s a guy, you know he plays dirty behind closed doors.” “That poor intern was crying so hard. I heard she spent the night in his office a few days ago…” I didn’t go to the hospital. I needed a new proposal drafted within forty-eight hours. I blindly smeared some burn ointment on my leg, wrapped it in gauze, changed into my backup trousers, and marched back to my office. At eleven o’clock. I finished inputting the final set of core data. All I had to do was run it through the modeling software, and the risk assessment would be complete. I hit the Enter key. My screen flickered. The monitor went pitch black. Three seconds later, the screen lit up again. But it wasn’t my desktop. It was a bright pink loading screen. Right in the center, in bold, cursive font, read: Love Simulator: The Domineering CEO’s Personal Secretary. The system threw up a fatal error. My hard drive light blinked frantically before dying completely. Every single file, including my local backups, was wiped clean. “Surprise!” Bella bounded into my office holding a tiny cupcake, not even bothering to knock. “VP Wright, I saw how hard you were working, so I specially installed a stress-relief game on your computer! Are you surprised?” 3 I slowly turned my head to look at her. “You touched my computer?” “Yeah!” Bella blinked her big, innocent eyes. “This game is super fun! Once you max out the affection meter, you unlock…” “Get out.” Bella froze. “VP Wright?” “Get the hell out of my office!” She stumbled back in terror, dropping the cupcake onto the carpet. Tears immediately flooded her eyes. Her mouth scrunched up. “Why are you yelling at me… I was just trying to be nice…” Pink text literally bounced in the air around her. [Our clumsy beauty is so cute! She just wants him to have a healthy work-life balance!] [Who cares about a bunch of boring data when he has his baby’s love?] [He looks so hot when he’s mad! He’s just using anger to hide how flustered she makes him!] [Kiss her! Press her against the desk and kiss her right now!] I stared at the floating words, the veins in my temples pulsing violently. “Boring data?” “That is the livelihood of hundreds of employees for the next month! It is something a brainless idiot who only thinks about being in heat could never comprehend!” I pointed directly at the door. “Disappear from my sight right now. HR will be contacting you tomorrow.” Bella’s expression stiffened. The very next second, she suddenly pitched her voice an octave higher and burst into screaming sobs. “VP Wright! Last night in your office, you clearly told me you loved how clumsy I was!” “You said I was like a little kitten! You even… you did all those things to me on the sofa… How can you just pull up your pants and pretend you don’t know me today?!” The CFO and several coworkers who were working overtime suddenly appeared at my door. They saw my face pale with absolute fury, while Bella huddled in the corner, shaking like a victim. “Rowan, this is…” The CFO adjusted his glasses, looking extremely uncomfortable. Bella wailed even louder. “I won’t leave! I gave my body to you, you can’t just throw me away! I don’t care about a title, I just want to stay by your side…” There were no security cameras inside the private offices. And I had been the only one pulling an all-nighter last night. My coworkers exchanged loaded glances, looking me up and down before turning their pitying eyes to Bella. “Rowan, this is really too much,” the CFO shook his head, turning to walk away. “You young men really need to watch your professional boundaries.” The pink comments scrolled at lightning speed. [Abuse your wife now, chase her in the crematorium later!] [10/10 execution! The rumors are locked in, he can never escape her now!] [Tonight is the perfect time to take him down!] [Sleep with him tonight! Once the rice is cooked, the domineering CEO will never be able to leave his baby!] The victory gala was held at the Grand Hyatt. Relying entirely on a proposal I had written by hand overnight, I managed to salvage the Apex Dynamics contract. To save face and show off our success, Declan invited over a dozen media outlets to the event. Bella was there too. She didn’t have an invitation, yet she was standing in the crowd wearing a plunging lace dress cut all the way down to her navel. I changed locations three times, and she followed me with a wine glass three times. Finally, in a secluded corner of the lounge, Bella blocked my path and offered me a glass of champagne. “VP Wright,” she said, pushing the flute toward me. “Drink this as an apology, and we can wipe the slate clean. Deal?” Several guests nearby turned their heads to watch. I took the glass but didn’t drink. “Too scared to drink it?” Bella leaned her body against mine. “Afraid I poisoned it?” I sidestepped to avoid her touch. Turning my back slightly, I dumped the champagne straight into the soil of a potted money tree, then raised the empty glass to my lips and tilted my head back. Five minutes later, my stomach began to burn. The chandeliers overhead blurred into glowing halos. The chatter of the crowd faded in and out. I pinched my thigh hard, but I couldn’t feel any pain. Whatever she used was incredibly potent. “Are you drunk, VP Wright?” Bella whispered right into my ear. “Let me help you.” She shoved me down a quiet corridor and into a private VIP suite, locking the door behind us. I collapsed heavily onto the leather sofa. Standing in front of the coffee table, Bella entirely dropped her innocent victim act. She reached up and violently ripped the collar of her dress. The lace tore with a loud rip. Then she messed up her hair and used her own fingernails to scratch harsh red lines down her arms. I couldn’t force a single sound past my lips. “System,” she muttered, staring at the empty air. “Has the item taken effect?” Pink comments exploded across the ceiling. [High-grade synthetic aphrodisiac deployed! You got this, Host!] [Forced love! Right here! So exciting!] [The villainous male side character has been immobilized. Please initiate the victim protocol immediately!] Bella suddenly unleashed a bloodcurdling scream. “Help! No, VP Wright, please! I am a decent girl!” She threw herself onto me, using her half-naked body to pin me down. She grabbed my paralyzed hand and forced it onto her chest. Crash! The door was kicked open. Declan, Mr. Harrison, and a swarm of reporters flooded the room. From their angle, all they could see was me pinning Bella to the couch. My face was flushed red, and my hand was aggressively grabbing her chest. Bella sobbed so hard she could barely breathe, desperately shoving at my shoulders. “He threatened me… He said if I didn’t obey him, I would fail my probation…” Declan stormed forward. “Rowan!” He pointed a shaking finger right in my face. “Look at what you have done!” He turned around and yelled at the security guards. “Call the police! Call them right now!” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but all I could do was gag on my own stomach acid. Bella shrank back and buried her face into Declan’s chest. In the blind spot where no one else could see, she tilted her head to look at me. The corners of her mouth curled up into a bright, victorious smile. The pink text completely flooded my vision. [Congratulations, baby! The villainous male side character has been eliminated!] [Now you are the terrified little bunny in the CEO’s arms!] [This is what happens when you mess with our clumsy beauty!] Right before my vision went completely black, I heard those five words echo in my mind. Villainous male side character. So I was nothing more than a stepping stone meant to add flavor to the male and female leads’ romance. I tried to raise my hand to rub my pounding forehead, but I was met with the sharp clatter of metal. My right wrist was yanked back. A pair of silver handcuffs locked me securely to the metal bedrail. Sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed was a female police officer in full uniform, staring at me coldly. “Awake?” The officer snapped her notepad shut. “Rowan Wright. You are under investigation for attempted sexual assault and workplace harassment. Given your medical condition, you are under supervised residential surveillance here at the hospital.” Heh. I closed my eyes. Villainous male side character. The entire foundation of Bella’s master plan relied on the core assumption that I was a “man.” Because I was a “CEO,” I was supposed to spoil her. Because I was a “male executive,” I was supposed to harass her. Because I was the “villainous male side character,” I was supposed to force myself on her. That so-called System had gotten my gender completely wrong. And Bella had never once bothered to question it. That was their fatal flaw. My phone was resting on the nightstand. The screen was lit up, bombarded with push notifications. Famous Corporate Executive Sexually Assaults Intern. A Beast in a Suit! The Dark Private Life of VP Wright. Survivor Bella Speaks Out: I Just Wanted to Do My Job. I didn’t even need to click the links to know the comment sections were praying I rotted in prison. People were probably already throwing red paint on my front door. “Officer.” The female cop looked at me coldly. “Save your breath for the interrogation room.” “The burn on my thigh needs a fresh dressing,” I said, slowly pushing myself up. “Also, I want to request a blood test.” The officer frowned. “A blood test?” “I was dosed with a heavy sedative last night. The residue should still be in my system. And…” I paused for a second. “I want to request that you personally conduct a preliminary physical examination on me, right here in this room.” “Check for what?” “Check my biological sex.” The officer froze. Her eyes scanned my face, completely bewildered. “What are you talking about? Your ID says…” “My ID says I am a woman,” I interrupted her. “But Bella, the media, and everyone outside this room seem to think I am a man.” The officer opened her mouth, but no words came out. She stood up, took three quick steps to the bed, and sharply drew the privacy curtain closed. Five minutes later. The curtain was pulled back. The officer’s face was rigid, a mixture of utter shock, deep embarrassment, and rising fury. “I will get a doctor in here to draw your blood immediately,” she said, her tone entirely stripped of its previous hostility. “And I will report this to my superiors right away.” I leaned back against my pillows, staring up at the blinding fluorescent lights. “Officer, I want to report a crime.” “Defamation, malicious framing, and poisoning with a dangerous substance.”

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1 Stella enforced extreme boundaries. For three years, I never entered her apartment or touched her phone. At dinners, she seated me far away. I believed she feared intimacy. On our wedding eve, she sent a live location pin. Thinking she was finally opening up, I went to her apartment. The door was unlocked. Inside, a man lounged on her couch in sweats, his feet in her lap, laughing as he begged for a massage. Stella looked startled, then cold. “Wrong person,” she said. “That pin was for Dylan. Carter, stop acting like a desperate dog. You’re suffocating me.” I stayed silent, amused. She was entangled with another man yet demanded privacy from me. I opened my phone and accepted my regional director’s transfer offer. If I suffocated her, she could have all the space she wanted. Space where I no longer existed. The screen loaded, displaying a brief confirmation text. [Relocation Term: 3 Years. Destination: London Branch. Departure: This Saturday.] Today was Wednesday. There were exactly three days left until the wedding, and three days left until I left the country forever. Seeing me staring silently at my phone, Stella furrowed her brows in deep annoyance. “Carter, I am talking to you.” I locked my screen and looked up at her. “Yeah. I heard you.” She clearly had not expected me to be this calm. The harsh reprimand she had prepared got stuck in her throat, making her expression turn even uglier. Dylan finally decided to pull his legs off her lap. He tugged at the fabric of his hoodie, a matching oversized piece identical to the one Stella was currently wearing. He looked at me with a sheepish, awkward smile. “Stell, this is Carter, right?” Stell. I had been dating her for three years, and I almost exclusively called her by her full name. When we first got together, I asked if we could use pet names. Stella hated the idea. She said overly affectionate nicknames made her skin crawl and made her highly uncomfortable. It turned out she was not uncomfortable with pet names at all. It just depended on who was saying them. Dylan gripped the armrest of the sofa and stood up. “Bro, please do not get the wrong idea. I twisted my ankle playing basketball, so Stell was just rubbing it out for me.” I looked down at his feet. He was wearing fuzzy blue dog slippers. The glass of milk resting on the coffee table was a novelty cartoon mug. The cushion he had been leaning against was a limited edition gaming pillow. None of those things belonged to Stella. And none of them belonged to me. A bitter sense of irony washed over me. This was my very first time standing inside my fiancée’s apartment, yet I felt like a trespasser invading a cozy little love nest she shared with someone else. Seeing my silence, Dylan’s innocent smile began to falter. “Bro, Stell and I were born in the same year. We grew up together. We have always hung out like this, so we do not really have a lot of boundaries with each other.” I shifted my gaze to Stella. She was frowning slightly, completely unfazed by the blatant absurdity of Dylan’s excuse. Yet throughout our three year relationship, her demands for boundaries with me were so severe they bordered on absolute cruelty. I was banned from her apartment. I was banned from touching her phone. I was kept entirely isolated from her inner social circle. Once, I accidentally bumped into a decorative air freshener in her car, and she instantly scowled. “Carter, I really hate it when people touch my things.” Every single rule and restriction she had meticulously drafted for me was completely non existent when it came to Dylan. I let out a soft chuckle and looked at the man standing next to her. “Dylan. I have heard a lot about you.” Stella’s face darkened. “Carter, what is with the sarcastic tone?” I looked at her, genuinely surprised she interpreted it that way. I was not being sarcastic at all. I really had heard his name brought up time and time again. The first time was on my birthday. I had booked a reservation at an upscale restaurant half a month in advance. But at the very last minute, Stella called to cancel. She said Dylan had watched a horror movie and was too terrified to sleep, so she needed to go over and coax him. The second time was when I ran a hundred and three degree fever and had to go to the emergency room. I called Stella, hoping she could drive me. She told me Dylan was throwing a massive fit over wanting artisanal donuts from a specific bakery across town, and if he did not get them immediately, he was going to cry. The third time was the day we were supposed to try on our wedding attire. She showed up two hours late. I sat alone on the velvet sofa outside the dressing rooms in my suit, waiting until my eager anticipation curdled into sheer humiliation. When she finally rushed in, her white blouse was stained with spilled iced coffee. She casually explained that Dylan had lost his cat and was devastated, so she spent the entire morning scouring the neighborhood for it. During every single one of those incidents, I never actually got angry. Because I always assumed the person capable of making someone as cold and distant as Stella break her own rules over and over again must be a helpless, immature little kid. I even promised myself that after we got married, I would treat Dylan well if he was truly that dependent on her. Stella did not have many close friends. I never wanted to put her in a difficult position. But seeing him in the flesh today, the truth slapped me across the face. Dylan was not some little kid. He was the exact same age as Stella, making him two years older than me. Dylan bit his lower lip, his eyes instantly turning red and watery. “Stell, I do not think Carter likes me.” He reached down to grab his denim jacket off the sofa. “Maybe I should just leave. I do not want you guys getting into a huge fight because of me.” Before his hand could even touch the fabric, Stella reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Why should you be the one to leave?” “The person who showed up completely uninvited is the one who needs to get out.” A sharp sting hit the back of my nose. I forced the corners of my mouth up into a dry, hollow smile. “Alright.” “I will leave.” I turned around and walked out the door. As I stood in the hallway waiting for the elevator, a quiet realization settled over me. This was my first time visiting Stella’s apartment. And it would undoubtedly be my last. 2 By the time I unlocked the door to my own apartment, it was nearly eleven at night. I bought this place entirely on my own. Stella had never stepped foot inside it. Not even once. Months ago, I suffered from stomach cramps so severe I could barely stand straight. I called her, practically begging her to drop off a box of painkillers. She just replied over the phone with chilling indifference. “Carter, we are not legally married yet.” “A man and a woman alone in an apartment at night sends the wrong message. It will ruin your reputation.” Back then, I was foolish enough to be touched by her words. I actually believed she respected me and was fiercely protecting my image. It took seeing Dylan draped over her couch in a matching outfit, resting his legs on her lap and begging for a massage, to finally wake me up. All those pristine boundaries were just convenient excuses to keep me at arm’s length. I shook the thoughts out of my head, opened my suitcase, and started packing my life away. Halfway through folding my shirts, my knuckles brushed against a heavy garment bag shoved into the very back of the closet. I froze. Inside was the custom tailored tuxedo I had paid for in full. During our wedding preparations, Stella had been completely hands off with the planning, but she was incredibly generous with her credit card. She booked the most exclusive five star hotel in the city. She secured a fleet of luxury vintage cars. She spared absolutely no expense on the catering menu. Even her wedding dress was a bespoke gown crafted by an elite Italian designer. But when it came to my tuxedo, she simply said, “Just rent one.” “You are only going to wear it for a few hours. There is zero point in wasting money on it.” On the day of our fitting, after keeping me waiting for two agonizing hours, she breezed into the boutique, pointed lazily at a random rack, and said, “That one is fine. Stop dragging this out.” But I refused to compromise. I did not want to look back on the most important day of my life with the woman I loved and feel a shred of regret. So the following week, I went to a high end menswear boutique alone and purchased the most elegant, expensive tuxedo they had. Now, it was completely useless. I took a clear photo of it and listed it on a popular second hand marketplace app. [Brand new custom tuxedo. Never worn. Selling for cheap.] The moment I hit publish, a banner notification dropped down from the top of my screen. It was a new friend request on Instagram. I opened the app. The profile picture was a shot of a guy standing on a beach, facing the ocean. At first glance, it just looked vaguely familiar. But when I noticed the specific angle of the waves in the top right corner, it hit me like a ton of bricks. It was the exact same beach from Stella’s profile picture. I used to tease her for being an old soul, picking a boring landscape photo as her avatar when she was still in her twenties. Now I knew the truth. It was never a landscape photo. It was just the cropped out half of a matching couple’s picture with Dylan. I hit accept. A second later, a direct message popped up. [Bro, really sorry about everything today. I hate that I made you misunderstand the situation.] [Let me treat you to dinner tomorrow to make up for it.] My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I typed out “No need,” but before I could hit send, he dropped a location link. [This is my absolute favorite spot in the city. Tomorrow at 5 PM. Do not leave me hanging!] I stared at the address on the screen, feeling entirely hollowed out. It was the exact restaurant Stella always insisted on taking me to for date nights. I never really liked the place. The food was way too sweet for my taste, and the ambient lighting was frustratingly dim. But Stella suggested it every single time we went out. Over the last three years, we had eaten countless meals in that dim dining room. Most of the time, we just sat across from each other in total silence. She would be glued to her phone dealing with work, and I would quietly cut my steak. Occasionally, I would glance up at her and convince myself that this quiet companionship was its own kind of romance. Looking back on it now, the irony made me sick to my stomach. I could not help but ask the ghost of her in my head. Stella. Whenever you sat across from me at that table, who were you actually picturing in your mind? In the end, I decided to go. The next afternoon, I walked into the restaurant right on the dot. As soon as I stepped past the host stand, I spotted them in a booth by the window. Stella and Dylan were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the same side of the table. I walked over and slid into the empty booth seat across from them. Dylan stuck his tongue out in a playful, boyish manner. “Sorry about this, bro.” “I was planning on coming alone, but Stell was too worried about me. She insisted on tagging along.” Worried? What was there to be worried about? Did she think I was going to throw a drink in his face? Hearing that triggered a memory from our second year of dating. My firm had a female client who was notoriously touchy feely with the single guys whenever she had a few drinks. Every time we had a corporate dinner with her, my colleagues’ girlfriends would wait outside in the parking lot to escort them home. I casually brought it up to Stella once. She did not even look up from her laptop. “I trust you.” “You are a brilliant professional. I am sure you can handle a minor inconvenience like that.” Love, it turns out, is entirely measured in double standards. She could not even trust me to eat a simple dinner with Dylan without acting as his bodyguard. But she was perfectly fine leaving her own boyfriend to fend for himself against a predatory client because she “trusted” me. 3 The food had been ordered before I even arrived. Seeing that the table was full, the waiter began bringing out the dishes. Halfway through the service, a heavy realization sank in. Almost every single plate was seafood. Steamed coral grouper, butter and cheese baked lobster, braised sea cucumber with scallions. It was a near identical replica of our finalized wedding banquet menu. When we were selecting the catering options, I had specifically asked her about it. “I have a severe shellfish allergy, and you hate seafood. Why did you pick so many ocean dishes?” She did not even lift her eyes from the brochure. “The guests like it.” I was so blinded by love I did not think twice about it. Now the truth was staring me right in the face. Her vague “guests” was entirely singular. She catered our entire wedding menu to Dylan’s palate. I barely touched my fork the entire meal. I picked at a few pieces of boiled bok choy, chewing them like flavorless cardboard. Dylan, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He cheerfully peeled shrimp with his bare hands while endlessly chattering about childhood memories he shared with Stella. Right in the middle of a laughing fit, he naturally reached over and dropped a large piece of crab meat directly into Stella’s bowl. “Stell, try this. It is so fresh.” My hand froze over my plate. Stella had scolded me countless times for doing that exact same thing. “Carter, focus on your own food. Stop talking while we eat.” “I hate it when people put food on my plate. It is unsanitary.” But right now, she did not push his hand away. Instead, she leaned down slightly and ate the crab meat straight off his chopsticks. A suffocating wave of isolation washed over me. I was a completely irrelevant outsider intruding on their date. I set my chopsticks down cleanly on the napkin and stood up. “Take your time. I have things to handle, so I am going to head out.” Stella finally looked up at me. “Carter, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” I did not bother giving her an answer. I turned my back and walked straight out of the restaurant. The moment the cold evening wind hit my face, the heavy, suffocating knot in my chest finally loosened. I pulled out my phone and drafted a text to Stella. [Let’s cancel the wedding. I am going to the hotel at 10 AM tomorrow to void the venue and catering contracts. You can come along if it is convenient.] I hit send, flagged down an Uber, and went straight back to my apartment. By the time I went to bed, she had not replied. I did not wait up for one. I spent the evening organizing my relocation paperwork, took a hot shower, and fell fast asleep. The next morning, I arrived at the hotel lobby right on time. I sat on a velvet armchair for nearly half an hour. Stella never showed up. I dialed her number. It rang twice before she picked up. Before I could say a word, her deeply annoyed voice came through the speaker. “My mom told me to bring you over to the house today to finalize the last details for the wedding. I am already here. Just grab a cab and come over.” I gripped my phone, silence hanging in the air for a long moment. She clearly had not seen my text. Or maybe she did see it, and just dismissed it as another one of my empty bluffs. After a long pause, I gave a quiet reply. “Alright.” Fine. If she wanted an audience, I would cancel the wedding right in front of everyone. The Davis family shared Stella’s obsession with strict boundaries. Even with the wedding literally days away, I could count the number of times I had been invited to their house on one hand. Every time I visited, Mrs. Davis would politely pour me a cup of tea while Mr. Davis sat silently in the corner reading his newspaper. We were supposed to be merging our families, but it always felt like there was an impenetrable pane of bulletproof glass between us. But today was entirely different. The moment my Uber pulled up to their driveway, I could hear loud, echoing laughter spilling out of the living room windows. I pushed the front door open, immediately realizing Stella had not come alone. Dylan was sitting right next to Mrs. Davis on the plush sofa. He was practically hanging off her arm like a spoiled toddler. “Godmother, you need to tell Stell to back off.” “I wanted to wear my vintage shorts today, but she threw a fit and forced me to change into these jeans.” Mrs. Davis laughed so hard the wrinkles by her eyes crinkled. She affectionately tapped him on the forehead with her index finger. “I am on Stella’s side for this one.” “Those shorts are way too short. You are absolutely forbidden from wearing them out.” “I will take you to the mall this afternoon and buy you a whole new wardrobe.” Dylan’s eyes crinkled into bright crescents. “You are the best, Godmother.” My own mother passed away when I was very young. When Stella and I first got serious, I genuinely wanted to treat Mrs. Davis like a second mother. I bought her lavish gifts for every holiday. I brought back expensive local specialties every time I traveled for work. I cautiously invited her out for lunch or shopping trips to bond. But she never once wore the silk scarf I bought her. The luxury skincare sets I gave her were quietly passed down to their housekeeper. As for my invitations, her answer was always a polite, “Maybe next time,” or “Let us see how my schedule looks.” Back then, I naively believed she was just a busy woman. Now, the brutal truth was undeniable. When someone actually wants to see you, they will give you a specific time and place. They do not brush you off with a vague “next time” to keep you at a comfortable, permanent distance. The laughter in the room instantly died the second they noticed me standing in the doorway. Mrs. Davis seamlessly slipped back into the polite, distant mask I was so accustomed to. “Carter, you made it. Come sit down.” I walked over and chose a single armchair placed as far away from them as possible. I looked directly at Stella. “Did you not see the text message I sent you last night?” Stella frowned, looking genuinely confused. “What text message?” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “If you have something important to say, why can’t you just say it to my face instead of texting…” Her voice trailed off abruptly. 4 “The entire chat thread is completely gone. What happened?” Dylan immediately scrambled off the sofa and jogged over. He clasped his hands together, flashing Stella a guilty, highly exaggerated smile. “Stell, my bad!” “I borrowed your phone last night to play a mobile game and accidentally swiped left and deleted Carter’s chat. It shouldn’t be a big deal, right?” Stella let out a fond, exasperated sigh. “If it is deleted, it is deleted. It is not the end of the world.” “You accidentally factory reset my phone a few months ago and I did not even yell at you for that, did I?” Dylan giggled mischievously and darted back to the safety of Mrs. Davis’s side. I sat frozen in my armchair, feeling the blood slowly drain from my fingertips. The woman who treated her phone like classified government property, refusing to let me even tap the screen to check the time, casually handed it over to another man to play video games. Even when he wiped her entire data history, she brushed it off with a gentle smile. Stella turned her attention back to me. “What did you text me last night? Just tell me now since we are all here.” I suddenly changed my mind. For three agonizing years, she had never given me a single ounce of the respect a fiancé deserved. Why was I trying so hard to give her a formal, respectful notice? It was pathetic. I lowered my eyes and kept my voice perfectly flat. “Nothing. It was not important.” Stella’s frown deepened, but she did not press the issue. Instead, Mrs. Davis chimed in with a warm smile. “Carter, how is the groomsmen situation looking?” “Do you think you can clear a spot for Dylan in your party?” She patted the back of Dylan’s hand, her tone dripping with affection. “He and Stella stayed up all night picking out the most gorgeous custom suit for him.” “He really wants to show it off on the big day.” My fingers curled tightly into my palms. Stella could not spare ten minutes of her day to help me select my wedding tuxedo. But she was perfectly happy to stay up all night styling a bespoke suit for him. Since there was not going to be a wedding anyway, what did it matter who stood at the altar? I did not argue. I just gave a quiet nod. “Sure.” I paused, then added, “My boss needs me back at the office. I am heading out.” Mrs. Davis gave a curt nod of dismissal. She did not even offer a fake pleasantry to ask me to stay for lunch. I walked out the front door, flagged another cab, and went straight to the hotel. When I told the events manager I was canceling the wedding, the color completely drained from his face. “Mr. Carter, your date is literally this Saturday.” “If you void the contracts now, we will not be able to refund the vast majority of your deposits.” I gave a firm nod. “I am well aware.” “Keep whatever cancellation fees you need.” He looked at me standing alone at the reception desk, choosing to swallow whatever questions he had. After all, no sane family plans a luxury wedding where the bride and her parents refuse to show their faces, leaving the groom to handle all the grueling logistics entirely by himself. By the time I initialed the final termination clause, the sky outside had turned pitch black. I handed the luxury pen back to the manager and walked through the revolving glass doors. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the second hand marketplace app. [Hello! Is this tuxedo still available? I would like to purchase it immediately.] I opened the app. The buyer had already wired the full asking price. A few seconds later, a long paragraph popped up in the chat. [I am so sorry if this is overly personal.] [My fiancé and I have been together for three years, and we are getting married this Saturday.] [My salary is not great, so I could not afford to buy him a nice suit. We were just going to rent a cheap one.] [He kept telling me it did not matter, but I know deep down he was disappointed.] [When I saw you listed this for such an incredible price, I had to buy it. I want to give him a real surprise.] [Thank you so much.] I stood on the curb under the harsh glow of a streetlamp, reading those words over and over until a hot sting pricked the back of my eyes. The exact same three years. The exact same Saturday wedding. Someone out there was completely broke, yet still desperately trying to give the man they loved a beautiful, dignified surprise. Meanwhile, someone with an unlimited budget would rather burn thousands on vintage cars than buy her fiancé a proper suit. I typed out a quick reply. [Happy wedding day.] She instantly replied with a smiling emoji. [Thank you! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness too.] I stared at that blessing for a long time. Finally, a genuine, soft smile broke across my face. I will be. But my happiness would have absolutely nothing to do with Stella ever again. When I got back to my apartment, I pulled the tuxedo out of its heavy garment bag. The dark, luxurious fabric pooled across my bed, catching the warm amber light of my bedroom lamp. It truly was a stunning piece of tailoring. It was so beautiful that I used to genuinely believe the day I wore it to walk down the aisle toward Stella would be the absolute peak of my existence. Now, I was just incredibly grateful. Grateful that I had never tainted it by putting it on. The courier arrived twenty minutes later. I handed the pristine garment box over to him and watched the elevator doors slide shut. The moment the lock clicked into place, my apartment felt remarkably empty. I did not waste another second. I grabbed the heavy suitcase I had packed days ago, flipped the light switch, locked the front door, and walked out of the building. My Uber was already idling at the curb. The driver popped the trunk, helped me heave the luggage inside, and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Where to, my man, this late at night?” “The airport.”

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We were right in the middle of being intimate when my husband of ten years abruptly pulled away. “Honestly, I find this incredibly boring. You are just tedious.” The very next second, he walked straight to the guest room without looking back. When I stood outside his door, crying and begging him to open it, my son was busy pouring the warm bedtime milk I had prepared for him down the sink. “Daddy doesn’t like Mommy, so Archie doesn’t like Mommy either.” Late that night, entirely crushed by despair, the woman chose to hang herself in the study. But I am a top tier system host, born with an absolute deficit of empathy. When I took over the body, the System told me I had one wish. I pondered for a long time before speaking with icy calm. “I want to have some class.” So that very night, I did not go crying to my husband’s door again. Instead, I graced the biggest nightclub in the city with my presence. 1 The next day. Covered in a chaotic mosaic of hickeys in various shades of lipstick, I watched with great interest as Dillamond paid my bail with a face like thunder. [Ahhhhh! You stupid host, what the hell were you doing at the club last night!] [The male lead’s affection meter just dropped into the negatives! We are going to be obliterated at this rate, you jerk!] I ignored the noisy voice that had been buzzing in my head all night. Carefully, I adjusted the Burberry plaid silk scarf around my neck. I reached out and patted Dillamond’s broad, tailored shoulders. “Thanks. Whatever the fine is, I will wire you double later.” Dillamond’s spine jolted violently beneath my palm. He turned his face with great difficulty, gritting his teeth as he growled at me in a low voice. “Keep your voice down. Do you think it is glorious for Mrs. Lockwood to get caught soliciting female escorts?” I brushed it off, casually borrowing an excuse he used to give me all the time. “Nothing even happened between us.” “Stop being so paranoid.” Dillamond shook off my hand in disgust and strode ahead. “True. What could a woman like you possibly do to them anyway? You just wanted to get my attention.” A woman like me? Dillamond suddenly curled his lips into a smirk, turning back with a hint of cruel amusement. “I get it. Just because I said you were boring last night, you wanted to sneak out and learn a few tricks from other wo…” The rest of his sentence died in his throat. As his eyes swept over my entire figure, he suddenly jumped back as if stung by a hornet. He did not even bother to pick up his favorite designer sunglasses that had slipped from his face and clattered onto the pavement. He just frantically reached out, his hands trembling as he touched my waist. “Sylvia, are you insane? What did you do to yourself?” “What are these rock hard ridges on your stomach?” I shook my head and sighed to the System. “Look.” “Look at how interested he is in me now.” System: [?] [Care to repeat that? Does this look like normal romantic interest to you!] I let out a helpless, breathy laugh. Then, effortlessly, I caught Dillamond’s hands as he tried to feel further down. I pressed my long, slender knuckles against his lips, which were flushed red from agitation. I spoke with dripping indulgence. “Be good. There are too many people around, do not make a scene.” “I know you like it. Wait until we get home, and Daddy will let you take your time and look all you want.” After a burst of chaotic static in my brain, the System let out a roar of absolute despair. [What the hell are you talking about! Did the original host’s hanging cut off the oxygen to your brain too?] [And why are you acting like the dominant CEO! Dillamond is the actual male lead of this book!] I absentmindedly planted a soft kiss on the corner of Dillamond’s mouth to soothe his growing restlessness while replying to the System. “Who made the rule that there can only be one male lead? I have heard of a genre called double male leads.” Right as the System and I were deeply debating why romance novels could not have two alpha male leads, Dillamond finally snapped out of his daze and violently broke free from my grip. He frantically wiped his mouth, gagging, his eyes red as he roared at me incoherently. “Get away from me, you freak! This is disgusting. You belong in an asylum. I want a divorce!” I looked at him with profound disappointment, as if watching a street urchin throw a tantrum. “You are being entirely too unreasonable. You know I prefer my partners to have some dignity.” “I will give you some time to cool off.” Then I slipped into his Porsche parked by the curb. Without a shred of hesitation, I slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The System instantly started screaming in my head again. [Who is the one that needs to cool off!] [Did you not see the male lead looking like he was about to wet himself? How are you supposed to win his heart now that you are acting like a macho man!] [Turn the car around right now and apologize to him sincerely! Tell him you will never go to a nightclub again!] Just as the System’s pitch reached a piercing high C, a sudden notification chimed. [Book’s Abuse Satisfaction Value +20] 2 The System’s screaming abruptly changed its tune. [Wait, what?] I curled the corners of my lips into a faint smile. “I am the main character too, am I not?” “I am perfectly capable of abusing others to make myself feel good.” I left Dillamond stranded on the sidewalk and drove back to the Lockwood estate with zero guilt. As I walked through the door, the usually quiet house was echoing with sharp, piercing wails. My eight year old son, Archie, was currently burying his face in my mother in law’s chest, crying as if his heart had been shattered. “I do not care, I want Auntie Lily to be my mommy!” “Mommy is mean and bad. She never takes me to play with other kids like Auntie Lily does. Archie hates the mommy we have now.” His pale little face, which looked exactly like a miniature version of Dillamond, was completely red from sobbing. My mother in law, her heart aching, kept wiping the teardrops from his cheeks. “Do not cry, my sweet boy. Grandma will tell Daddy to bring Auntie Lily home to marry him, okay?” As she coaxed him, her own anger flared up. “If Dillamond had not been so young and blind back then, insisting on marrying Sylvia, there is no way she could have scammed her way into our family.” “Look at Lily. She is so much better. Young, beautiful, and a PhD graduate. She would be a million times better at raising a child than this useless housewife.” “When Dillamond gets back, I am going to convince them to divorce immediately!” Archie did not understand the heavy words, he just kept hiccuping. “Thank you, Grandma. Archie loves Grandma the most.” The System was pacing anxiously in my head. [Why is this little brat turning on you? The original host used to love him more than her own eyes.] [Host, hurry up and butter up this vicious mother in law. If the male lead really marries the side character, we are totally screwed!] I slightly narrowed my long, sharp eyes, shooting a dangerous glare at the crying child. I reached out with a long arm, hauling him into my embrace by his collar, and warned him in a low, husky voice. “You spineless little thing. How can a son of Sylvia shed tears so easily?” Seeing me, the deep disgust on my mother in law’s face froze into shock. “Sylvia, what the hell are you wearing? Are you trying to get yourself killed looking like some androgynous freak?” “Children do not lie. If you are unlikable, do not take your anger out on Archie!” I ignored her completely, offering my son a merciful promise instead. “By the end of this year at the latest, I will give you a few younger brothers to keep you company.” Archie froze for a few seconds. Then, terrified tears instantly flooded his eyes again. “Archie does not want brothers!” “Mommy promised Archie would be Mommy and Daddy’s only favorite child!” He looked toward his usually doting grandmother out of habit, begging for help. But upon hearing the words younger brothers, my mother in law was practically ecstatic. She brushed Archie off with a half hearted pat. “Archie, you are still too young. When you grow up, you will understand the benefits of having brothers.” “When your little brothers are born, you have to let them have their way. You need to learn how to share and never bully them.” Archie’s little face went deathly pale, and he started wailing even louder. My expression gradually turned freezing cold. I raised my hand and slammed it viciously onto the solid mahogany coffee table. “Did you not just say you wanted lots of kids to play with you? Now that I am actually going to give you brothers, why are you throwing a fit?” “Crying constantly, changing your mind every five seconds. You do not have my last name, and you do not even look like me. Why should I waste my time raising a useless child like you?” “Shed one more tear, and you will stand in the corner of the study for half an hour.” Archie stared at me in pure disbelief, then opened his mouth and howled as if his lungs were tearing apart. “Mommy is mean! Bad Mommy, ugly Mommy! Get out of my house! I want Auntie Lily to be my mommy!” I stood right where I was, my eyes as cold as if I were training a disobedient dog. “Are you done crying?” “You can sleep on the floor of the study tonight.” I grabbed the wrist of my mother in law, who was trying to rush forward to comfort him, pinning it down hard. “Do not bother playing the saint. If you love serving a prince so much, go give birth to one yourself.” “Your husband was a very generous man in his youth. If you look hard enough, you might even find a few of his illegitimate kids to bring home.” 3 I dropped like a nuclear bomb, equally traumatizing everyone in the room. The System was already jumping up and down in sheer panic inside my brain. [It is over! Host, your life is totally over!] [Great, just great. You managed to deeply offend the two people the male lead cares about the most in one breath. Let’s just pack up our bags and hit the reset button.] I remained completely unbothered. I grabbed Archie by the collar and marched him all the way into the study. I forced him to stand right in front of the noose that was still firmly bolted to the ceiling. Only then did I raise my eyes, looking at that thick hemp rope, which still bore faint, dark red stains. “Last night, you poured out the bedtime milk I warmed for you, did you not? You said you only wanted to eat things made by Auntie Lily.” Archie stiffened his neck, shivering violently in fear, yet stubbornly refusing to look at me. I lowered my head, looking at him with a sliver of genuine pity. “As you wish.” “The love you so deeply despised will never be given to you again.” “Stand here and think about it. Consider it our final goodbye.” Archie did not get the comfort he imagined. He had no idea why his mother had suddenly become so bizarre and icy. Looking utterly pathetic, he tentatively reached out, trying to hug my leg. “Mommy, Archie knows he was wrong.” I remained entirely impassive. “You already did the thing you are sorry for, so keep your apologies to yourself.” He was sorely mistaken if he thought I would act like that pitiful woman. She would have melted into a puddle of forgiveness at the first sign of a half hearted apology. Not me. Ignoring the teary eyed child, I walked into the master bedroom and dove into the soft, luxurious mattress. In the dead of night, someone pounded urgently on my door. “Sylvia! Archie is having febrile seizures from a high fever! Get up right now and take him to the hospital!” It took me a long moment to process the noise before I slowly sat up. My hands patted around the nightstand. I easily pulled out a brand new pair of industrial earplugs. Dillamond used to wear these all the time. Because he detested the sound of my light breathing and the faint rustle of my pajamas when I slept. Once I put them in. Archie’s crying and the chaotic panic of the Lockwood household instantly vanished. They worked wonderfully. Forgive everything before you sleep, hold all grudges when you wake up. When I opened my eyes again, I felt incredibly refreshed. But it seemed someone else was the one holding a grudge. I was gently biting off a strand of pasta, enjoying my morning intermittent fasting routine. Suddenly, Dillamond’s cold, impatient voice echoed from the top of the stairs. “Lily is returning from abroad today. Give me the car keys, I am picking her up from the airport.” I paused my chewing. “Archie was hospitalized last night. He relies on Lily the most. From today onward, I am having Lily move in to keep him company.” “Sylvia, do not say I did not warn you. The crazier you act, the faster whatever feelings I have left for you will disappear.” “That girl is not like you. I sponsored her education, and she just graduated and entered the real world. If you dare to use your disgusting, underhanded tricks on her…” He tapped his fingers lightly against the stair railing, looking down at me with ruthless indifference. “I would not mind letting her become Archie’s actual mother.” I remained silent, meeting his gaze. The System was already losing its mind. [Dead dead dead! We have officially entered Nightmare Mode!] [Who told you to play crazy and ruin all your relationships! You stupid host, are you trying to destroy me?] The moment Dillamond turned his back to leave. I finally stood up, staring at him without blinking. “I think, between us, we should at least have a fair competition.” Dillamond looked as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. A mocking sneer touched his lips. “You? You think you can compete with Lily?” “Stop making a scene, Sylvia. Just sit quietly in your position as Mrs. Lockwood. Is it not better to just take the money and forget about love?” “This is the biggest concession I am willing to make, and it is only because you gave birth to Archie.” I watched Dillamond’s arrogant, aloof silhouette. I shook my head in regret. Who said I was competing with Lily for the title of Mrs. Lockwood? I picked up the phone from the table, which had been buzzing continuously from last night all the way to this morning. Slowly and methodically, I replied to Lily’s message. [Okay, I accept your confession.]

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