Category: English

1 When my stepson pushed me down the stairs, Garrett’s immediate reaction was to cover the little monster’s eyes and scream at me. “Have you lost your mind? Hurting yourself just to frame my son?” Seeing me curled on the floor in agony, he threw out another line: “That is enough! If this baby is gone, we can always have another. We can have countless children, but I only have one Danny! Stop being so dramatic!” Even as the blood began to pool beneath me, staining the hardwood, he was still murmuring comforts to his son, telling him not to be afraid. Through the gaps in Garrett’s fingers, I saw the chilling, triumphant smirk on my stepson’s face. This was the third child he had managed to destroy. By the time the man finally noticed the deep red pool expanding across the floor, panicking as he tried to lift me, my heart had already turned to ash. On the stretcher to the ambulance, I pulled off the oxygen mask and looked at him with absolute calm. “Garrett, I want a divorce.” … The moment I fell down the stairs, my instincts took over, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my swollen stomach. The pain was immediate, a sharp, tearing sensation that soaked my dress and left a bright trail of blood on the floor. “Clair!” A desperate cry rang out. Garrett rushed toward me, his knees slamming hard against the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands shook as he reached for me, terrified to touch me. The usually composed, commanding CEO was weeping, his tears falling onto my face. “Don’t worry, don’t worry… the ambulance is on its way… Clair, please hold on…” Gathering my remaining strength, I grabbed his sleeve, pointing toward the top of the landing. “It was Danny… he pushed me… he did it on purpose…” Garrett froze. He slowly turned his head to look at his eight-year-old son, Danny, who was shrinking into the corner of the landing, sobbing as if he were the one traumatized by the blood. “Daddy… I am scared… there is so much blood…” Danny whimpered. The conflict in Garrett’s eyes lasted only a fraction of a second. The next moment, he pulled the boy into his arms, using his hand to shield Danny’s eyes from the scene. When he looked back at me, his gaze was filled with pleading. “Clair, you are in too much pain. You are hallucinating.” He wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, his voice hurried and tense. “Danny is only eight years old. He is terrified. It was just a tragic accident!” “An accident?” I whispered, my body shaking from the physical pain, though my chest felt even colder. The first time, it was a bottle of lubricant left directly outside the bathroom door. The second time, it was a high dose of laxatives mixed into my morning milk. This was the third time. Garrett continued to ramble, trying to convince me, or perhaps trying to convince himself. “I know you are hurting, and I am devastated about the baby too… but Danny is my only son. He has had a difficult life since his mother passed. As the adult, can’t you be more understanding?” More understanding? At the cost of my unborn children’s lives? As Garrett leaned down to kiss my forehead, attempting to quiet my protests, Danny looked at me through the gaps of his father’s fingers. His tear-streaked face held no trace of fear. He grinned, his lips moving silently to form three words: Go to hell. In that moment, I finally accepted the truth. Some people are born wicked, and some people choose to remain blind. Garrett’s love was too crowded, trying to accommodate the role of a devoted husband while protecting his monstrous son, and my children were the ones sacrificed to keep the peace. As they lifted me into the ambulance, Garrett clutched my freezing hand, his voice hoarse from crying. “Clair, don’t close your eyes, please… we can have other children, I will make this up to you, but Danny is my only boy…” With his other hand, he gently patted Danny’s back, whispering, “Don’t be scared, buddy. Daddy is right here.” The suffocating hypocrisy finally snapped my last nerve. I reached up and ripped the oxygen mask off my face. The medical monitors began to beep frantically. Garrett stared at me in terror. “Clair, what are you doing? Doctor! Help her!” I looked at the man I had loved for seven years, my voice barely a whisper. “Garrett, I want a divorce.” 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The heavy, warm weight in my abdomen was gone. “Clair, you are awake…” Garrett, who had been sitting by my bedside, gripped my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw covered in dark stubble, looking as though he had aged a decade overnight. “I am so sorry… it is my fault. I didn’t protect you.” He pressed his face against my palm, his warm tears wetting my skin. Watching his display of grief, I felt nothing but a dull absurdity. I stared at the ceiling, my mind drifting back to three years ago, shortly after we married. We were happy then. Danny had been living with his grandparents in the country, quiet and isolated. It was my own sympathy that drove me to suggest bringing him to live with us. “Let us bring him home,” I had told Garrett back then, wrapping my arms around his neck. “A child needs his father. I will treat him as my own.” Garrett had been deeply moved, holding me close and telling me how lucky he was to have me in his life. I had naively believed that kindness could change a person. Instead, my misplaced sympathy had brought a natural-born monster into our home, a child who would systematically destroy three of my pregnancies. “Garrett,” I said, my voice dry and hollow. “When Danny pushed me, he stood at the top of the landing, waiting until I reached the exact step before he moved. He wasn’t scared. He was smiling.” Garrett stiffened, his shoulders shaking. He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as if trying to block out a truth he could not accept. “Clair, I know you are angry… I am devastated about our baby too! That was my flesh and blood!” He looked up, his expression torn between grief and denial. “But the therapist said Danny is experiencing a severe stress response! He lost his mother at a young age, and he is deeply insecure. He is just afraid that a new baby will take away our love. He didn’t mean to do it. He is only eight!” “Does insecurity excuse murder?” I asked, my voice flat. Garrett flinched at my tone. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice desperate. “He is still a child. He doesn’t understand. We are still young, Clair. We can have other children. Please, don’t blame Danny. He had nightmares all night, crying and saying he was sorry. He is terrified too…” Looking at him, the last trace of warmth in my heart died. To Garrett, the lives of my three unborn children did not equal the weight of his son’s insecurity. I closed my eyes, pulling my hand from his grip. “Garrett, since you care about him so much, I will leave this house to him.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Panic flickered in Garrett’s eyes. He tried to reach for me, but I pulled away, my cold expression silencing him. Over the next two days, I refused to speak to him, refused to eat, and instructed my lawyer to send the divorce papers directly to the ward. 3 Garrett finally realized that I was serious about leaving. On the third morning, the door to my room opened, and Garrett entered, dragging Danny behind him. His grip was firm, lacking his usual tenderness as he pulled the boy to the side of my bed. “Kneel down.” Garrett’s voice was hoarse, his eyes rimmed with red from days of sleeplessness. Danny trembled, dropping to his knees on the cold tile. Tears immediately spilled down his cheeks, his small hands twisting together in a display of helplessness. “Clair… I am sorry… I know I was bad…” “I didn’t mean to do it, I promise I will be good… please don’t make Daddy leave…” The boy sobbed hysterically. To any outsider, I would have looked like a cruel, heartless stepmother. I watched the performance with a cold detachment. “Garrett, if you brought him here to put on a show, you can both leave.” “It is not a show,” Garrett said, taking a deep breath as if he had reached a difficult decision. Ignoring Danny’s crying, he looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate resolve. “I know I have failed you, Clair. I have let you down.” “The car is waiting downstairs. As soon as he apologizes, I am having my driver take him back to his grandparents’ estate in the country.” My fingers tightened around the bedsheet, my breath catching in my throat. Sending him away? Danny was Garrett’s entire world. For seven years, even when Danny had physically injured a classmate at school, Garrett had never so much as raised his voice. Whenever I had suggested boarding school, it had led to explosive arguments, with him accusing me of being cold-hearted. But now, he was choosing me over his son? “Are you serious?” I asked, my voice dry. “I am,” Garrett said, kneeling beside the bed and burying his face in my hands. “I have thought about it for the past forty-eight hours. I am grieving our child too, but I cannot lose you. If his presence in this house causes you pain, then he cannot stay.” “This house needs you, Clair. Let us start over, just the two of us, please.” He looked up, his eyes filled with a raw, broken devotion. Beside the bed, Danny continued to cry, begging his father not to abandon him, but Garrett did not look back. He kept his eyes locked on mine. My heart, despite my best judgments, wavered. I had loved him for seven years, and I knew how much this boy meant to him. If he was truly willing to send his only son away to protect our marriage… perhaps I was his priority after all. Perhaps, without Danny’s influence, we could return to the life we once had. My mind warned me to refuse, but looking at his exhausted, pleading face, my old affection took over. “Garrett…” My eyes burned with unshed tears. “This is the very last time.” A look of immense relief washed over his face, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank you… thank you, Clair. I promise I will make this up to you. I will never let you suffer again.” 4 I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip down my cheek. The first week after my discharge was the most peaceful time I had experienced in seven years. The house was quiet, free of Danny’s screaming and malicious pranks. Garrett was attentive, returning home early every evening to prepare meals and speak softly, as if terrified of disrupting my recovery. “Clair, try this soup. I let it simmer for three hours.” He held the spoon, blowing on it gently before offering it to me. “The doctor said you need to rebuild your strength. Once you are feeling better, we will take a trip together.” Seeing the exhaustion lingering in his eyes, I felt a touch of sympathy. Perhaps he had truly changed. Perhaps sending the boy away was the fresh start we needed. A few days later, Garrett went to the study for a scheduled video conference. As I sat on the balcony enjoying the afternoon sun, a gust of wind blew a freshly washed towel over the railing, landing in the courtyard of the neighboring villa. The house belonged to a neighbor who had moved abroad, and it had recently been leased to a new tenant. Rather than bothering the staff, I decided to walk downstairs and retrieve it myself. But as I approached the iron gate dividing our properties, a familiar, high-pitched laugh echoed through the garden. “Die! Die! The little monster is dead! Hahaha!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stepped closer to the climbing roses on the fence, looking through the metal gaps into the neighboring yard. Danny, who was supposed to be hundreds of miles away at his grandparents’ estate, was standing on a wooden play set, dressed in a brand-new track suit. In his hand, he held a small, handmade red doll, the protective amulet I had spent weeks sewing for the baby. “Go to hell! You don’t get to steal my daddy!” Danny threw the doll hard against the gravel, laughing hysterically, his expression identical to the one he wore the day he pushed me. And Garrett, who was supposed to be in his study on a business call, was standing right below the play set. He didn’t reprimand the boy. Instead, he picked up the muddy doll, dusted it off, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Danny, keep your voice down!” Garrett’s tone was filled with a gentle, indulgent sigh. “What did you promise Daddy? Until Clair calms down, we have to play the secret game. If she hears you, Daddy won’t be able to sneak over through the back gate to see you every day.” “She is just being dramatic,” Danny sneered, crossing his arms. “Daddy, when can I come back? I want to live in the big house again.” Garrett patted his head, sighing softly. “Soon, buddy. Just be patient. Once she is fully recovered and stops bringing it up, Daddy will bring you home. You are my boy, nobody can send you away permanently.” The world seemed to fracture around me. The country estate had been a lie; Danny had simply been hidden next door. His remorse had been a temporary tactic, and my grief was dismissed as mere drama. He had made his choice. He chose to treat me like a fool, continuing to harbor the monster who had killed my children. An absolute numbness settled over me. My love, my grief, and the seven years I had invested in this man dissolved into nothingness. I walked back to our house, pulled my suitcase from beneath the bed, and packed my belongings. I took nothing that Garrett had bought me, leaving only the signed divorce agreement on the kitchen counter, tucked beneath the cold, unfinished soup. Goodbye, Garrett. Take your fatherly devotion and your monstrous son, and burn in hell together.

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1 As a senior partner at a high-profile family law firm, I have handled more divorces than I can count. I have watched betrayed wives tear down mistresses in public, and I have exposed conniving husbands hiding millions in offshore accounts. But I never expected that same brand of cheap, dirty drama to drag me under. It didn’t just rain on my parade; it was a torrential downpour of ice-cold water, straight to the chest. It started on a busy Tuesday morning when a young, fragile woman blocked the entrance of my firm. She was dressed in a simple white linen sundress, faded from too many washes, which only served to make her pale face look more pathetic. Her stomach was slightly rounded, showing a pregnancy of about four or five months. “Please, ma’am,” she sobbed, her voice carrying across the busy lobby. “I beg you to let him go. A child needs a father.” It was peak morning rush hour. Colleagues and clients stopped in their tracks, whispering and pointing. The receptionist tried to steer her away, but the girl’s shrill voice cut through the air, freezing everyone in place. “I know what we did was wrong, but I love him, and he loves me! Please, just give him his freedom!” I stood at the top of the lobby steps, feeling absolutely nothing. In my line of work, I saw this exact performance at least eight times a month. “Miss,” I said, walking down the steps, the sharp click of my designer heels echoing against the polished marble floor. “If you are trying to pull a scam, you should really do your homework first. I am a widow.” The murmurs in the lobby died down instantly. Everyone in the firm knew my husband had died three years ago. It was a tragedy that had nearly broken me, a topic no one dared to bring up in my presence. But instead of running away, the girl reached into her canvas bag and pulled out a stack of glossy photographs, throwing them onto the floor between us. The pictures scattered across the marble. I looked down, and my chest went tight. They were intimate photos of a man and a woman. The man’s face was one I saw every time I closed my eyes: Elliott. My husband, who had been dead for three years. In the photos, his skin was darker than I remembered, and there were a few more lines around his eyes, but that lazy grin and the familiar way he draped his arm over the woman’s shoulder were things I would recognize even if he were burned to ash. But it was what the girl said next that made the room spin. “He has a red, butterfly-shaped birthmark on his lower back,” she said, looking at me with a defiant pout. “And when he gets passionate, the color deepens. Am I right?” My hand trembled, and my hot americano nearly spilled over my fingers. The eyes of my colleagues felt like needles pressing into my skin. “Audrey’s husband is alive?” “Faking his death? Insurance fraud? What is going on?” The wild theories began to fly around the lobby. I took a slow, deep breath, pushing my gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose, forcing myself to project a calm I didn’t feel. I bent down and picked up one of the photographs. My thumbnail dug into Elliott’s face, hard enough to rip the glossy paper. Then, I looked up and offered her a cold, empty smile. “Are you absolutely certain this baby belongs to my husband?” The girl thrust her chin out, her face filled with stubborn pride. “Elliott said that as soon as you sign the divorce papers, he will marry me!” “Elliott?” I repeated the name, tasting the bitterness of it. “Yes! Elliott!” I nodded, slowly pulling out my phone, and dialed a number in front of the entire crowd. “Yes, I’d like to report a disturbance at my office,” I said into the receiver, my voice steady. “A woman is harassing my staff and attempting to extort me. She claims she is pregnant with the child of my husband, who died three years ago. I suspect she is either a grave robber or mentally unstable.” I hung up, looking at the girl’s suddenly pale face. “Since you claim he is the father, this actually works out perfectly,” I said, stepping closer. “My husband’s ashes are currently resting at Oakwood Cemetery. We can head over there now for a DNA test, or I can arrange to have him dug up so you two can catch up. What do you think?” The girl stumbled back a step, but the look in her eyes wasn’t fear. It was something far worse: pity. “You are just lying to yourself,” she whispered. “Elliott is alive. He said if you agree to sign the papers, he will meet you.” She held up her phone, showing me an address on the screen. In that single second, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Alive? My three years of grieving, the tears, the empty bed, the quiet house: what had it all been for? 2 I didn’t even notice the elevator ride down to the garage. The security guards were still detaining the girl in the lobby, her faint cries echoing down the shaft. I hit the button for the basement level, which offered a private exit through the building’s quiet coffee shop. As a lawyer, I believed in evidence and cold logic. The dead do not walk among the living, unless they were never dead to begin with. Three years ago, Elliott had gone on a business trip to Colorado. He was driving through a mountain pass when a massive landslide swept his car off the cliff. The vehicle was crushed beneath tons of rock and dirt. The recovery team only found fragments of the vehicle and partial remains. Because a traditional identification was impossible, the police relied on his personal belongings, his wallet, and the license plate. I had received a urn filled with ashes, along with a five-million-dollar life insurance payout. At the time, I was working eighty-hour weeks to make partner. The loss had devastated me so deeply that I took a six-month leave of absence just to learn how to breathe again. And now, I was supposed to believe he was alive? The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. The coffee shop was tucked into a dim corner of the basement, mostly empty during the morning rush. I saw him immediately. He was sitting by the window, wearing a faded gray utility jacket. His hair was longer than before, messy and unstyled. He held a cigarette between his fingers, staring down at his phone. The way he held the cigarette, the slight hunch of his shoulders: my chest tightened so violently I could barely draw breath. I quieted my steps, walking toward him. The closer I got, the more the ghost became a man. I stood behind him, catching the distinct, cheap scent of his brand of tobacco. I used to beg him to buy better quality cigarettes, but he always refused, claiming he preferred the harsh, throat-burning taste of the cheap stuff. “Elliott.” I spoke his name. He turned his head slowly. Our eyes met. It was indeed Elliott. His skin was darker, his face thinner, and the soft, gentle expression he used to wear was gone, replaced by a cynical, calculating look in his eyes. There was no joy in his face, and no guilt. He merely frowned, stubbing out his cigarette in a half-empty cup of cold coffee. “You made it,” he said. His tone was so casual, as if he were asking me what we should have for dinner. Slap! I struck him with every ounce of strength in my body. The sharp sound of the blow echoed through the quiet shop. His head snapped to the side, a thin line of blood appearing at the corner of his lip. He stood up slowly, his face twisting with sudden rage. “Audrey! Are you out of your mind?!” “Am I out of my mind?” I let out a harsh laugh, though hot tears were beginning to sting my eyes. “You’ve been dead for three years, Elliott. I spent three years crying over your grave, supporting your aging parents, and living like a ghost myself. And now you show up alive?” “Why didn’t you come back? Why did you send that pregnant girl to humiliate me at my own firm?” “Did you want to ruin my career, or did you just want to see me lose my mind?” Elliott wiped his lip, his eyes turning cold and dark. “I couldn’t come back, Audrey. I was deep in debt, and I didn’t want the collectors coming after you.” “But I have to be back now. Gilligan is pregnant, and I need to give her a proper family.” “Let’s just end this quietly. Sign the divorce papers, and return the five million dollars from the insurance policy to me.” “My life bought that money, Audrey. Since I’m still breathing, that money belongs to me.” I stared at him, a cold realization washing over me. So that was his game. It wasn’t a miracle; it was a scam. He had faked his own death to wipe out his gambling debts and cash in on a massive insurance policy. And now that the heat had died down, or the money had run out, he had returned to claim the prize, bringing his mistress and his unborn child to push me out of the way. I looked at the man I had loved for seven years, the husband I had wept for in the middle of the night, and felt a deep, sickening disgust. “Elliott,” I said, wiping a stray tear from my cheek, my voice turning to stone. “Have you forgotten what I do for a living?” “I am a prosecutor’s worst nightmare, and a criminal’s greatest threat. I am a lawyer.” “Faking your death to claim a life insurance policy is major insurance fraud. With a sum of five million dollars, you are looking at a minimum of ten years in a federal penitentiary.” “Your relationship with that girl constitutes bigamy, which is another two years.” “And now, you are attempting to extort me.” I took a step closer, staring directly into his shifty eyes. “You want that five million dollars? Fine.” “Go claim it in prison.” Elliott’s face fell, his arrogant posture vanishing. He hadn’t expected me to be so cold, so analytical. Suddenly, his expression softened, and he dropped to his knees, grabbing my coat. “Audrey! Please! I had no choice!” he begged, looking up at me with tears in his eyes. “The debt collectors would have killed me if I didn’t pay them!” “Gilligan is completely innocent in all of this. Please don’t do this to us. I’m begging you!” A few patrons in the coffee shop turned to stare. The man who had been so smug a moment ago was now groveling like a dog at my feet. I looked down at him, and the last shred of affection I had held for him died. 3 I kicked his hands away, ignoring his pathetic cries as I walked out of the coffee shop and went back to my office. Gilligan was still sitting in the reception area. When she saw me, she tried to stand, but the icy glare I gave her pinned her to her seat. “Mrs. Shaw…” “Don’t speak to me.” I walked into my private office and slammed the door shut, locking out the curious eyes of my staff. My hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from pure, unadulterated rage. I sat down at my desk, forcing myself to take deep, measured breaths. Elliott’s return meant my peaceful, quiet life was over. If the insurance fraud came to light, I would be the first person the authorities investigated. As the beneficiary, the insurance company would assume I was an accomplice. And then there was the five million dollars. Elliott claimed he had used the money to pay off his debts. But that didn’t make sense. That five million was still sitting in my private investment account, untouched. I had never spent a single dime of it because it felt like blood money. If I hadn’t given him the money, how had he paid off his debts? And where had he gotten the money to support a mistress for three years? Suddenly, my phone rang. The screen displayed my mother-in-law’s name. For the past three years, despite my grief, I had taken care of his parents. I paid their monthly bills, took them to their medical appointments, and even organized his father’s funeral last winter. I answered, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “Hello, Mother.” “Audrey!” her voice came through the speaker, breathless with excitement. “You need to come to the house right now! It’s a miracle! A complete miracle!” “What happened?” “Elliott! My boy is alive!” she sobbed happily. “He’s back, Audrey! He’s really back! And he brought a beautiful girl with him. She’s pregnant with my grandson! I had a specialist look at her belly, it’s definitely a boy!” I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. So, they had all been in on it. Elliott had left the cafe and gone straight to his mother, using her to put pressure on me. And her words… “Mother, do you even know who that woman is?” “Oh, who cares about that?” she snapped, her tone suddenly turning dismissive. “As long as she can carry the family name, she is a blessing! Audrey, don’t blame me for being blunt. You were married to my son for five years and never gave us a child. Now that he has survived this ordeal and brought home an heir, it’s a gift from above!” “You need to come over and sign those divorce papers. Don’t stand in the way of that poor girl’s future.” My heart felt as though it had been submerged in freezing water, then shattered with a hammer. Three years of devotion. Three years of caring for them, paying their medical bills, burying her husband. All of it meant nothing compared to an unborn grandson and her precious, deceitful son. I let out a soft, humorless laugh into the receiver. “Of course, Mother.” “I’ll be right over.” “We have a lot of things to settle.” I hung up, opened my laptop, and pulled up the digital copy of the life insurance policy from three years ago. Beneficiary: Audrey Shaw. Insured: Elliott Shaw. The death certificate, the cremation records, the estate closure documents: everything was filed perfectly. At the time, my mother-in-law had handed me the documents herself, claiming she was too heartbroken to look at them. I had handled all the paperwork. But looking at it now, the holes were glaring. If Elliott was alive, whose remains were in that urn? And where had he been hiding for three years? I closed the laptop, retrieved a small digital voice recorder from my desk drawer, and slipped it into my purse. Then, I sent a quick message to my assistant: Run a search on all bank accounts associated with Elliott Shaw and his mother over the past three years. Look for large cash withdrawals or overseas transfers. And call the legal department at the insurance company. Tell them I have information regarding a major fraud case.

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1 A year into my marriage, I was dragged into an alley, stripped of my jacket, and pinned to a wall. A woman live-streamed my humiliation, slapping me while screaming, “You homewrecking whore!” “I’m married! You have the wrong person!” I yelled, but she shoved a marriage certificate in my face. The photo showed her with my husband, Mark, dated three years prior. My life imploded. My TV station promotion was revoked, and I was blacklisted from the industry. In total despair, I climbed onto our penthouse balcony, ready to jump. Just as I prepared to leap, I heard voices inside. Gina, my attacker, laughed. “Mark, you’re wicked. Using a fake certificate to destroy her just to make me laugh after only three months.” Mark’s voice was indulgent. “Anything to make you happy, babe. Play with her however you want.” I stared at the glass door, my heart shattering. The nightmare I had endured for a month was nothing but a cruel game for his amusement. The wind on the balcony was freezing, yet their laughter carried perfectly to my ears. I closed my eyes, recalling the living hell of the past month. After being publicly branded as a mistress, I had posted my actual chat logs to prove I had been deceived. But every attempt at clarification only invited more vicious harassment. My colleagues shunned me, and strangers on the street spat in my direction. “Look at how she dresses. You can tell she is a home-wrecker.” “All those designer bags are probably paid for in bed.” I had tried to tune out the noise and bury myself in my work. But during a live broadcast, a guest unexpectedly asked me why I chose to destroy another woman’s family. I finally cracked, sobbing hysterically into the microphone. “I am not a mistress! I had no idea he was married!” Nobody believed me. The footage of my breakdown was edited, memed, and shared across the internet, triggering a fresh wave of harassment. I lost my job, and my career was effectively dead. Fear and nightmares became my nightly companions. I consumed sleeping pills by the handful, and my hair fell out in clumps. When Mark finally returned from his trip abroad with Gina, I confronted him, only for him to shrug with complete indifference. “You only asked if I had a girlfriend when I was studying in Europe, Alice. You never asked if I had a wife. How is that a lie?” The final thread of my sanity snapped. Death felt like the only escape. But standing on the balcony, learning the truth, I froze. If all of it was a lie, what was the point of the agony I had endured? Rage, hot and violent, surged to my head. I threw the balcony door open. Mark’s smirk froze. My words cut through the room like a blade. “Why would you do this to me?” He frowned, gesturing for Gina to wait outside. Then, he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette. I was highly allergic to tobacco, coughing instantly as the smoke hit my lungs. Normally, he would never smoke near me, but today, he was entirely unmoved by my distress. Mark spoke calmly, taking a slow drag. “Since you heard us, I will be direct. Alice, I know you love me, but I am bored.” “I am bored of your unchanging hairstyle, bored of always having to soothe your insecurities, and especially bored of your predictable routine in bed. I need excitement, and Gina gives me what you can’t.” I took a ragged breath, fighting the nausea rising in my throat. “Mark, how can you do this? Does my mother’s memory mean nothing to you?” At the mention of my mother, his expression stiffened slightly. “It has been years, and you still use her death to guilt-trip me. I know she saved my life, but was marrying you not enough of a repayment?” We had been neighbors growing up. When a fire broke out at the Fairfax estate, his parents were away, and even their nanny had fled, leaving Mark trapped inside. My mother was the only one who ran into the flames to pull him out. She died shortly after from severe smoke inhalation. Her sacrifice had always been a sacred boundary between us. Hearing him dismiss it so casually, combined with weeks of humiliation, pushed me over the edge. I lunged forward and slapped him across the face. “I regret that she ever saved an ungrateful beast like you!” The slap left both of us stunned. Then, Mark let out a low chuckle. “That is the first time I’ve ever seen you look this angry.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This look actually suits you. It is quite stimulating.” “Since Gina is outside, why don’t we try the bathroom?” A wave of intense revulsion washed over me. I stared at him, unable to recognize the boy I had loved since childhood. I grabbed a heavy crystal vase from the table and hurled it at his feet, screaming at him to get out. After he left, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my limbs, and I dragged myself toward the bedroom, needing to sleep. But when I pushed the door open, my breath hitched. Our wedding portrait had been ripped from the wall and thrown onto the floor. My face had been defaced with black marker, with the word “WHORE” scribbled across my forehead. Next to the frame lay two dusty handprints, and as I stepped backward, my bare foot brushed against something slick. A discarded condom wrapper. I gagged, but my stomach was entirely empty. Pain consumed me, but my eyes remained completely dry. The tears refused to come. Then, my phone buzzed. Mark had posted a new update on his social media: “Returning to my family. Looking forward to spending the rest of my life with my beautiful wife.” The attached photo showed him and Gina, their silhouettes framed by a golden sunset. In that instant, my world shattered, and the tears finally spilled over. But beneath the grief, a cold, sharp resolve began to take root. 2 Over the next few days, I quietly compiled evidence of his infidelity, determined to dismantle his reputation. But the deeper I dug, the colder my heart became. Three months ago, on my birthday, I had sat alone in our dark apartment waiting for him until dawn. That entire night, he had been setting off fireworks on a private beach with Gina. Two months ago, I had sat alone in a hospital corridor, holding a positive pregnancy test and trying desperately to reach him. He had ignored my calls because he was busy buying heating pads and preparing tea for Gina’s menstrual cramps. One month ago, when the fake mistress scandal broke and the stress caused me to miscarry in a cold hospital room, he was in Iceland, watching the northern lights with Gina. I ran to the bathroom, vomiting until my throat tasted like copper. Only when my stomach was completely empty did the numbness in my chest offer a brief reprieve. The following morning, I sent the entire folder of evidence to a prominent investigative journalist. Back at the apartment, I forced myself to sit at the desk and draft a divorce agreement. My eyes grew misty as I typed. We had been childhood sweethearts, quietly harboring feelings for each other for years. We had promised that once he graduated from his university in Europe, we would finally build a life together. In the beginning, he would wait outside my office for hours, regardless of how late my shift ended. When I fell ill, he postponed a multi-million-dollar merger just to spend six hours simmering fish soup to bring to my bedside. On the night of my promotion, he had purchased a flawless diamond at an auction and knelt before me. I had insisted on keeping our marriage private because I did not want people accusing me of marrying for money. I never expected that my desire for privacy would provide the perfect cover for his betrayal. I eventually fell asleep at the desk, exhausted. By the time I woke up, the internet had exploded. But when I opened the trending news, my vision blurred. The evidence I had sent had been entirely manipulated. Instead of exposing his affair, the headlines presented a forged confession, claiming I was apologizing for being a mistress. They had used advanced voice-cloning technology to replicate my voice, and an AI generator to copy my handwriting. The digital mob turned on me with renewed ferocity. My photos were doctored with offensive captions and circulated across every platform. My personal accounts were deactivated, and my phone number was leaked online. Vicious messages and threatening calls flooded my inbox. Strangers demanded to know my nightly rates. I let out a hollow laugh. This was Mark’s retaliation. In the past, whenever I faced minor criticism online, he would use his family’s PR firm to scrub the internet clean within minutes. Now, he had used those same resources to build my personal purgatory. The front door clicked open, and Mark walked in. Rage eclipsed my judgment. I grabbed a glass mug and hurled it at his head. “Mark! I am not a mistress! She is! Sign the papers!” He ducked, the glass shattering against the wall. Before I could move, his hand clamped around my throat, pinning me against the wall. Oxygen left my lungs, and my eyes watered from the pain, but his grip did not loosen. Just before I lost consciousness, he let go, leaving me to slide down the drywall, gasping. “Have you calmed down?” Mark asked, straightening his cuffs. “If you pull another stunt like that, the consequences will be far worse.” “Alice, a little jealousy is fine, but this behavior is getting tedious. Stop trying to use these dramatic schemes to win back my attention.” “You love me too much to actually leave, and I need a wife who understands the family dynamics. This arrangement suits both of us perfectly.” He glanced at the divorce papers on the desk and let out a dry chuckle. “Do you honestly think you can survive a divorce? You have no career left. Who will support you if you leave me?” “Behave yourself, and once I’ve had my fun, I will clear your name.” I coughed violently, my throat burning. He ignored my pain entirely. “Gina has been crying for days because of the stress. I am throwing a grand wedding ceremony to reassure her, and she expects you to apologize to her in person before she will forgive you.” He turned toward the door. “Whether you show up is up to you. But if Gina remains unhappy, I will make sure your life becomes even more uncomfortable.” After the door clicked shut, my chest heaved with a mixture of laughter and tears. That evening, a new headline dominated the social media channels: “The Prodigal Son Returns! Fairfax Heir Spends Millions on a Lavish Wedding to Honor His Wife!” The comments section was filled with venom directed at me, with users criticizing my upbringing and mocking my mother’s passing. I sat on the kitchen floor, clutching the trash can, feeling an absolute detachment take over. The residual warmth I held for the boy who had once knelt in the rain to slide a ring onto my finger vanished completely. My phone vibrated, displaying an unknown number: “I received the files you sent. When are you free to discuss this?” 3 The wedding of the century became the sole topic of conversation online. The public narrative was set: Mark Fairfax was a reformed romantic protecting his fragile wife, while Alice was a desperate intruder who had tried to steal him away. When Mark returned to the apartment, he tossed an invitation onto the table. “The ceremony is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Do not be late.” The day after tomorrow. The anniversary of my mother’s death. I stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the hardwood floor. “I cannot make it. I am visiting my mother’s grave.” “And when are you going to sign the divorce papers?” He ignored the question entirely, letting out a soft grunt. “Your mother has been gone for years. There is no point in visiting a headstone. Gina’s parents will be there, so you can pay your respects to them instead.” A dull ache flared in my chest. Seeing my defiance, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it, revealing my mother’s delicate gold necklace. “This belonged to her, correct? If you choose to skip the ceremony and upset Gina, I cannot guarantee what will happen to this.” My jaw clenched so hard it ached. Before my anger could boil over, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath, checked the message, and looked at him calmly. “Mark, do you truly want me to offer my blessings to Gina in front of the press?” He smiled. “Absolutely.” On the day of the wedding, the venue was swarming with reporters. In the dressing room, Gina stood before the vanity in a custom satin gown. Her lapel bore a white rose labeled “Bride,” while Mark wore one labeled “Groom.” On the table lay a withered, black rose labeled “Mistress.” Gina let out a soft whine, and Mark immediately grabbed the black rose, pinning it roughly to my blouse. The sharp pin scraped against my collarbone, drawing a thin line of blood, but he did not care. “Do you truly want to go through with this?” I asked, looking into his eyes. He frowned. “It is just a flower, Alice. Don’t be dramatic.” Gina turned around, her expression triumphant. “During the ceremony, you will read the apology slides I prepared, word for word. Then, you will kneel and beg for my forgiveness.” “You will kowtow nine hundred and ninety-nine times before you are allowed to stand. Do you understand?” I remained silent, staring back at her. Annoyed by my silence, Mark gripped my jaw tightly. “Do not embarrass us today.” I shoved his hand away, maintaining my cold stare. Before he could speak, the double doors opened, and a crowd of reporters and high-society guests entered the suite. They immediately crowded around Gina and Mark, offering praise, before their eyes landed on my lapel. The whispers began instantly. “How pathetic. Some women truly have no dignity.” “She actually had the audacity to show up. If I were Gina, I would have had security throw her out.” I reached up, ripped the black rose from my chest, and threw it to the floor. “I am not the mistress. Gina is.” Nobody believed me. The sneers only intensified. Mark stepped closer, grabbing my wrist under the cover of his sleeve and squeezing until my bones ached, signaling me to be quiet. Gina offered a fragile, pitying smile to the cameras. “Please, do not be too harsh on Alice. She was simply blinded by her affection for Mark. She is here today to make things right.” The music began, and they walked out to the altar hand-in-hand. After the vows were spoken and the rings exchanged, I was escorted onto the stage under the harsh glow of the spotlights. But as the projector screen behind us lit up, Mark’s face drained of color, turning a sickly, translucent white.

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1 I used to be the ex-girlfriend Leo claimed he was “just having fun with.” Then, his younger brother, James, spotted me in a club and roped me into playing his fake girlfriend—all to make his childhood crush jealous. That kiss in the VIP room was supposed to be a show for the crush, but it landed right in Leo’s line of sight. Right in front of James, Leo emphasized the word “sister-in-law,” chewing on it like it was a bitter betrayal. “Don’t recognize me? Sister-in-law.” Inside the club. I was carrying a tray of drinks across the dance floor. The moment I turned around, someone grabbed my wrist. I looked down. The guy looked early twenties. Striking features, with eyes that were bright and completely feral. “You’ll do,” he said. I raised an eyebrow. “Let go.” “You need money.” “Are you psychic now?” “Would you be working here if you were rich?” He tilted his head. I didn’t argue. My bank account was sitting in the double digits, and rent was due in three days. “And your point is?” “Play my girlfriend. One month. A thousand bucks.” I laughed out loud. “Did you hit your head on the way in?” He let go of my wrist and pulled up a photo on his phone, shoving it in my face. “Her. Michelle,” he said. “I’ve asked her out 999 times, and she always shoots me down.” “I want her to know I can get a girl too.” He paused, his eyes lingering on my face for a second. The tips of his ears turned a suspicious shade of red. “Plus, you’re prettier than her. By a lot.” I smirked. “Then go find a real girlfriend.” “Too much work.” He said it like it was a universal truth. “A fake one is easier. When it’s over, we go our separate ways. Clean.” I sat down, giving him a slow once-over. His ears turned even redder. “What are you looking at?” “Seeing if you’re worth my time.” I curled the corner of my lip. “A month is too long. Three appearances, max. A thousand bucks, paid upfront.” “Are you robbing me?” I made a move to stand up. “Deal!” He added my number. The name popped up on my screen: James Vance. The next day, James sent me an address. When I got to the lounge, I sent him a voice note: “Hey babe, I’m here.” He replied instantly: “Don’t talk like that!!!” Three minutes later, he walked out of the lounge and just stared at me, dumbfounded. “Look good?” I blinked innocently. His Adam’s apple bobbed. I slid my arm through his. “Let’s go, boyfriend.” His entire body went rigid like a coiled spring. The girl from the photo was definitely the center of attention in the private booth. When she saw us walk in arm-in-arm, her eyes locked on me. “And this is?” She scanned me from head to toe. James tried to play it cool. “My girlfriend.” One of the guys started hollering. “Holy shit, James! Since when? You never said a word!” “Recently.” James kept stealing glances at Michelle out of the corner of his eye. “Love at first sight.” Michelle smiled tightly. “What should we call you?” Everyone looked at me. I slowly slipped my jacket off. The slip dress underneath left very little to the imagination. I rested my chin on James’s shoulder, smiling sweetly at Michelle. “You can just call me a little older and wiser.” James completely froze. Michelle blinked. “You’re older than James?” “Doesn’t matter.” I turned my head, letting the tip of my nose brush against James’s ear. “What matters is he likes it. Right, babe?” James’s ear was hot enough to fry an egg on. “…Yeah.” The vibe in the booth shifted instantly. “I’m gonna get some air,” I said, standing up. I leaned in and whispered in James’s ear, “Keep up the act.” Out in the hallway, I leaned against the wall and pulled out a cigarette. Footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. I looked up by instinct— The cigarette dropped from my lips. Leo Vance. His features were even colder than I remembered. He stopped in his tracks. Then, he smiled. It was a smile that chilled you to the bone, like a bitter November wind. “Long time no see.” I picked up the cigarette, held it unlit between my lips, and said nothing. He stepped closer, reached out, and plucked the cigarette from my mouth, snapping it in half between his fingers. Then, his eyes dropped to the thin straps of my dress. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What are you doing dressed like this in a place like this?” “Meeting a guy,” I laughed. “Is my ex-boyfriend trying to play chaperone?” His eyes darkened, like ink swirling in a glass of water. Right then, the door to the booth swung open behind me. An arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me backward into a solid chest. Then, a soft pair of lips landed clumsily on the corner of my mouth. Someone inside yelled, “Holy shit! James, you’re actually doing it!” Before I could even process what was happening, another force violently yanked James away. James stumbled back, looked up, and saw Leo. He froze. “Leo? You made it?” My brain flatlined. Leo’s gaze moved slowly from my face to James. The corner of his mouth twitched into a dangerous smile. “And who is this?” “My girlfriend!” James puffed out his chest, sounding entirely too proud of himself. “Gorgeous, right?” Leo’s eyes dragged deliberately from my lips down to the spot on my shoulder where James’s hand had just been. “Sister-in-law.” He chewed on the word, spitting it out like it tasted like poison. “Hey there,” I blinked at him innocently. “Brother-in-law.” Leo’s breathing hitched. “Wait, you two know each other?” James frowned, his eyes darting between me and his older brother. “Never met her.” “Nope.” We spoke at the exact same time. Leo didn’t look at me again. He pushed past us and walked straight into the booth. James leaned in close, dropping his voice. “Are you sure you don’t know my brother?” “Positive.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and smiled at him. “What, afraid I’m sleeping with him behind your back?” “No—” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just… the way he looked at you was weird.” “What kind of weird?” “I don’t know how to explain it.” He thought for a second. “It was like… he wanted to tear someone to pieces.” “You’re overthinking it.” I looped my arm through his, pressing myself against his side. “Let’s go back in.” He didn’t move. He looked down at me, a strange look in his eyes. “Were you… acting a little too real back there?” “Isn’t this what you paid for?” I looked up at him, my eyes crinkling in a smile. “Babe, I’m a professional. If you pay me, you get the premium package.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he turned his face away. Bright red. I laughed to myself. Kids are so easy to read. When we walked back into the booth, Leo was already seated. The only open spot was right next to him. I sat down beside James, melting against his side like I had no bones. His arm stiffened for a second before he slowly relaxed, his hand tentatively resting on my waist. Leo didn’t stop drinking, but his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek. My phone buzzed. I looked down. A text from an unknown number: “Do you enjoy parading around half-naked in front of other men?” I didn’t reply. Delete. Block. Then, with a bright smile, I picked up a piece of fruit on a toothpick and held it up to James’s mouth. “Say ah, babe.” James looked like his soul was leaving his body. He took the toothpick from my hand and whispered, “Can you… tone it down a little?” “Tone what down?” I leaned in close, letting my breath ghost over the shell of his ear. He practically shrunk into the sofa, nearly knocking the fruit platter onto the floor. I couldn’t stop laughing. When the night finally ended, James stood outside the club, struggling to find the right words. “You were really good tonight. Michelle looked like she wanted to puke.” “Thanks for the glowing review.” “But,” he paused, “I still think my brother was acting weird around you.” “Is that so?” “Though I heard he just got dumped by his girlfriend recently, so maybe he’s just in a bad mood.” “Right, right. He’s probably just jealous of you,” I brushed it off. “Oh, wait.” I suddenly remembered the stunt in the hallway. “You kissed me without my permission tonight.” James looked like a deer in headlights. He whipped his head away, his ears burning crimson. “They were calling me a liar! I had to prove it!” “That wasn’t part of the base package, honey.” He immediately pulled out his phone and hit send on a transfer. A notification popped up. Ten grand. I stared at the screen, genuinely shocked. “Are you always this reckless with your money?” James tilted his chin up, trying to sound tough but just sounding defensive. “Are you saying my first kiss isn’t worth ten grand?” I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. “Alright, well, this girl needs her beauty sleep.” As I turned to walk away, I could feel his eyes glued to my back. But I could feel another gaze, too. Piercing down from the second-floor window of the club. Heavy, suffocating, like it was trying to nail my feet to the pavement. Once I was in the cab, my phone buzzed again. A new number. “See you soon.” Ten seconds later, a second text came through, as if he was intentionally giving me time to panic. “Ex-girlfriend.” The second act happened sooner than I expected. James texted me: “Party tonight. Michelle’s going to be there. You need to come.” He followed it up with: “Maybe keep it low-key tonight. After you left last time, my brother didn’t say a single word for the rest of the night. It was terrifying.” I was lying in bed, holding my phone above my face. I smirked. “Low-key? Go hire someone else.” He replied instantly: “NO WAIT! WEAR WHATEVER YOU WANT! PLEASE COME!” Then, another transfer hit my account. One grand. I accepted the money and sent back a blown-kiss emoji. “Good boy. Mommy will take good care of you tonight.” “Witch!” I tossed my phone aside, laughing, and started digging through my closet. I finally settled on a deep burgundy velvet mini dress. It completely exposed my collarbones, so I paired it with a microscopic gold chain holding a single ruby pendant that rested right on the edge of the neckline. If I walked out in this, forget the childhood crush—I could make a priest break his vows. This VIP room was even bigger than the last one, complete with a private karaoke stage and a full bar. When I walked in, it was already packed. “The queen arrives!” the same guy from last time hollered. “James, your girl is insane. Every time she walks in, it looks like a red carpet.” James grinned like an idiot, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me down onto the sofa next to him. Michelle was sitting directly across from us, her makeup flawless but understated. “Want to sing?” Michelle offered the microphone, her smile tight. I took it and picked a song. When the chorus hit, I turned around and sang directly to James. My eyes locked on his, my voice low and breathy, like I was whispering a secret just for him. I reached out, tracing a finger from his collar down to his jawline, giving it a playful tap. James sat up so straight it looked like someone had shoved a steel rod down his spine. His ears were practically glowing red. When the song ended, the room was dead silent for three whole seconds before anyone clapped. “So, how did you two get together?” Michelle asked, her voice dangerously quiet. James was taking a nervous gulp of water and practically choked on it. I answered for him. “At a club. He grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let me leave until I agreed to go out with him.” Michelle’s smile slipped for a fraction of a second. “Really?” “Yep.” I turned to look at James, reaching out to trace his jawline again. “He was so cute that night. Like a stubborn little puppy. I just didn’t have the heart to say no.” James coughed violently, almost spitting water everywhere. “I need to use the bathroom.” He scrambled up and bolted. Michelle watched him run away, then looked back at me. She took a slow sip of her drink and didn’t say a word. But the temperature in her eyes had dropped below freezing. “I’m going out for a smoke.” Leo stood up abruptly from his dark corner of the booth. When he said it, his eyes were dead set on me. My phone buzzed. “End of the hall.” “Come here.” I ignored it. Three minutes passed. “Don’t make me drag you out here.” I let out a soft laugh, downed the rest of my drink, and stood up. Leo was leaning against the wall, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. I tilted my head, looking up at him. He took a step forward, boxing me in against the wall. He didn’t touch me, but his scent—tobacco and something dark and expensive—completely engulfed me. I instinctively held my breath. “Are you done playing your little game?” “Who’s playing games with you?” I gave him a mock innocent look. His eyes traced a slow path from my lips down to the ruby resting on my chest. He paused for a beat. Then he reached out, his thumb and forefinger gripping my chin, tilting my face up to force me to look at him. “If you need money that badly,” his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble, “you can come to me.” I smiled, but the warmth didn’t reach my eyes. “Leo, whatever we were, it’s been over for a long time.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You vanished. You didn’t leave a single word.” “Because there was nothing left to say.” I closed my eyes for a second, the memory washing over me. Standing outside the men’s room at that club, hearing his voice drifting over the sound of running water— Mia? I’m just having fun with her. The laughter. The clinking glasses. I had turned around and walked out. No tears. No dramatic confrontations. I never looked back. “Mia.” His lips were inches from my ear. “You owe me an explanation.” I pushed his chest hard. “An explanation for what? Why I dumped you?” I smoothed an invisible crease on my skirt, keeping my voice light and completely detached. “Because you were boring, Leo. Being with you was a chore.” His eyes turned lethal, like polished obsidian daggers. I didn’t back down. We just stood there, locked in a silent war. Suddenly, voices drifted from the other end of the hall. “It’s not what you think—” James and Michelle. I turned my head. Down the hall, James was chasing after Michelle. Michelle’s eyes were red, her voice trembling. “You’ve been confessing your feelings to me since we were kids. I never said yes because I was never sure if you were actually serious.” “Of course I was serious before!” James looked frantic. “James, do you even realize what you just threw away?” Michelle looked up at him, a single tear rolling down her cheek, looking perfectly fragile. “I was actually planning on saying yes. On your thousandth attempt.” James froze, completely stunned. “Don’t cry. I… I just wanted you to notice me. I…” The words died in his throat, like he was choking on them. Michelle stared right at him. “If you were single right now, and I said yes… what would you choose?” James went completely silent. I leaned back against the wall. Smart girl. She didn’t demand that he dump me. She dangled the prize he had wanted his whole life in front of his face, forcing him to make the choice himself. No matter what he said, she got to play the tragic victim. Leo stepped up right behind me. He lowered his head, his lips grazing my ear. “Enjoying the show?” I ignored him. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, sir! Let me clean that up!” A waiter rushing past with a cart had accidentally sloshed a few drops of red wine onto Leo’s crisp dress shirt. The commotion made James and Michelle look over. They saw me and Leo. He was standing so close his body was practically wrapped around mine. James’s face went from confused, to shocked, to absolutely furious. “Mia!” He sprinted down the hall, grabbed my arm, and yanked me behind his back, glaring daggers at his older brother. “Back off, Leo.” The faint trace of amusement completely vanished from Leo’s face. “Excuse me?” James pushed me further behind him, guarding me like a junkyard dog. “I said—stay the hell away from my girlfriend!”

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1 My fiancée, Kristin, had a best friend named Brooke who proudly called herself a master of training men. She preached that all men were inherently flawed beasts who needed to be broken and house-trained. Under Brooke’s constant brainwashing, Kristin turned my life into a series of endless rules. I had to be on call twenty-four hours a day. Going on a business trip required submitting a written request for approval three days in advance. Every hour, I had to send my live location and video-call her to prove exactly what I was doing. I had to do ten things to please Kristin just to earn a single kiss, and I had to perform ridiculous public displays of affection to prove my loyalty. My buddies laughed at me. “Gavin, man, that good-husband training of yours… you might as well be in a maximum-security prison.” I would just smile it off. “Happy wife, happy life, right?” I was planning my ninety-ninth proposal, waiting for the exact moment my company went public. But then Kristin and Brooke burst into the conference room with a mob, ripped the stockings off my female business partner, and pulled them over her head. That was the exact moment my patience snapped. If they wanted a dog, they could go find another one. I was done playing fetch. … Ten minutes prior. I had just closed the deal of a lifetime with our investor, Diana Ward. The moment her pen touched the contract, my company would be cleared for its IPO. Just as Diana raised her pen to sign, a shrill screech shattered the quiet of the boardroom. “Kristin, watch how I handle this homewrecking whore!” Brooke did not even hesitate. She lunged forward and grabbed Diana by the hair. “Tear her apart! Look at that slutty face of hers!” Kristin’s face was twisted in absolute rage. They had brought five or six women with them. Some screamed, others swung. The room descended into absolute chaos. “Suit jacket on top, fishnets and stilettos on the bottom? What kind of business meeting is this? She is practically begging to be bent over!” “Exactly! Kristin, if we were ten minutes late, they would be rolling around on the lounge sofa!” Brooke’s words poured gasoline on the fire. Kristin glared at me, her eyes burning with a deep, ugly resentment, as if she had caught me red-handed. “Have you lost your minds? Get off her!” I snarled. When Brooke finally let go, she ripped out a bloody clump of Diana’s hair. Kristin leaped in, tearing Diana’s stockings off her legs and forcing them over her face. Seeing Diana exposed, I threw my suit jacket over her shoulders. She was shaking, her voice trembling with pure rage. “Is this your idea of a professional negotiation, Gavin?” “I am so incredibly sorry. I will make this right, I promise…” Before I could finish, Kristin ripped my jacket off Diana and threw it to the floor. “Why are you apologizing to her? She is a cheap homewrecker! She deserves to be humiliated!” “Exactly! Rising to the top at her age? We all know how she got her promotions,” Brooke sneered. Diana let out a sharp, furious laugh. “This is slander! I will sue you into the ground!” “Go ahead! Sue us! You came in here to seduce my fiancé, and now you are playing the victim?” Kristin sneered. My face turned cold. “Kristin! Shut up! Apologize to Diana right now!” “You are making me apologize? Gavin, I love you so much! What did I do wrong?” Suddenly, she was the victim. I bowed deeply to Diana. “Please, let my assistant escort you out first. I will handle this.” Diana glared at me, adjusted her torn clothes, and stormed out. Looking at the hysterical Kristin and her smug group of friends, a profound emptiness settled in my chest. Eight years of knowing her, six years of loving her, and I was finally, utterly exhausted. Eight years ago. Kristin was the golden girl of our university. An heiress with the title of campus queen, she had a line of suitors stretching out the door. I was nobody, a poor kid getting by on scholarships and hard labor. I worked night shifts just to buy her the fresh organic milk she liked every morning. My poorly written love letters filled her locker daily. Back then, Brooke would laugh and say, “Probably some broke loser dreaming of a miracle.” But Kristin never threw them away. I could not afford expensive roses, so I gathered fresh wildflowers from the hills. I quietly cleaned her classroom, pulled her shifts, and changed my elective courses just to catch a glimpse of her. If she wanted something done, I did it in secret. For two years, I loved her in absolute silence. Then, one day, she blocked my path. “Gavin Pierce. It is been a month. Where are my letters? Where is my morning milk? Where are my wildflowers?” I stood there, completely frozen. Dozens of rich guys showered her with designer bags, but she had noticed the broke kid. “I know your mom is sick. I paid her medical bills. Now, what do you have to say to me?” She was wearing a white summer dress, her smile so bright she looked like an angel. I stammered, “Thank you…” “Wrong answer,” Kristin whispered, stepping closer. Confused, I took a breath. “I love you?” Kristin stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to my cheek. “Bingo.” 2 During those weeks when the letters had stopped, I had been working myself to the bone trying to raise money for my mother’s liver surgery. Kristin paid for everything, hiring the best specialist in the country. The eighty thousand dollar bill was settled without her even blinking. Every day after class, she came to the hospital with me, bringing food and telling jokes to keep my mother’s spirits up. When we started dating, Brooke screamed at her, asking what she could possibly see in a pauper. Kristin simply laced her fingers through mine in front of everyone. “Because Gavin shows me what real love looks like.” When my mother was recovering, Kristin stayed up all night with me. This girl, who had never washed a dish in her life, tried to help empty my mother’s drainage bags. I held her hand, my eyes burning with tears. “Kristin, I swear, I will spend the rest of my life making you happy.” Though my mother eventually passed away from post-op complications, Kristin remained my anchor through the darkest days. But then, Kristin’s father was caught in a massive cheating scandal. Her mother committed suicide in grief, and their family empire was torn company by company by greedy board members. After that, Kristin changed. Staring at the shrieking woman in front of me, my restraint finally snapped. I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. The sharp sound cut through the chaos instantly. Kristin froze, her hand flying to her cheek. Her cheek swelled rapidly, and a bead of dark blood welled at the corner of her lip. “You… you struck me?” She looked at me in utter disbelief, her eyes pooling with tears. My chest heaved with fury. I pointed toward the glass doors. “Who let these people in? Pack your bags and get out. You are fired!” I screamed at the security guards. “Gavin, are you blind? That woman was practically throwing herself at you! Or are you two already sleeping together?” Brooke shouted, stepping in. You would think they had caught me in bed rather than a board meeting. The veins on my neck bulged. “Get. Out.” The girls looked at each other, suddenly uneasy. They had never seen me like this. For eight years, I had been trained to protect Kristin from even the slightest scratch. Hitting her was unthinkable. Kristin burst into hysterical tears. “You will regret this, Gavin! I swear you will!” Brooke hugged her, sneering at me. “See, Kristin? This is what happens when you let a broke dog get too comfortable! You think staying by his side when he was poor means he will be loyal? Men are trash at their core! If I had not been watching him like a hawk, he would have cheated on you years ago!” The other girls chimed in. “Seriously. Brooke is the master at this. Look at how she turned her own husband from a player into a loyal pup! Toby does not even dare look at another girl. Brooke is a literal genius.” Brooke pointed a finger at my face. “Gavin, you know exactly how much Kristin did for you. If you get down on your knees right now and beg her for forgiveness, maybe she will take you back. Otherwise…” Here it was again. The endless humiliation, the emotional abuse. After her family fell apart, Kristin became paranoid. Brooke convinced her that all men were liars. To help us, Brooke took total control of our relationship. She boasted to Kristin, “My Toby is so obedient. If I tell him to jump, he asks how high.” Toby, indeed, never looked up in public. Brooke was incredibly proud of her creation. Back then, I tolerated it all just to give Kristin peace of mind. But soon, Brooke became a permanent fixture on our dates. 3 If a female passerby brushed past my shoulder, Brooke would scream in the street, forcing me to vow my undying love to Kristin on the spot. When I was building my company, working eighty-hour weeks, I had to answer hourly video calls. If I was even seconds late, Brooke would smirk on the screen. “Twenty-eight seconds to answer, Gavin? Hiding another woman under your desk?” Then Kristin’s face would darken, and I would spend the next hour begging for forgiveness. Whenever Kristin made a hand gesture representing a number, I had to immediately wire her that exact amount of cash. “A man’s heart is where his wallet is,” Brooke had declared. Even when I collapsed from a stomach ulcer due to stress, I did not dare miss her calls. Every holiday, every anniversary, I had to spend thousands on elaborate gifts just so Kristin would not feel embarrassed in front of her friends. Even when my company was struggling for cash flow, I took out personal loans to buy her what she wanted, always making sure to buy Brooke a matching luxury item too. But Brooke’s demands only grew. She helped Kristin set up a point system. Good behavior earned points; mistakes deducted them. Travel required three days’ notice. I was not allowed to make eye contact with female clients or give them compliments. I could not ride in an elevator or a car with another woman. My friends thought I was insane, but I did it all. Yet, Brooke mocked me. “He is only doing this because he has not gotten into your pants yet. Once he gets what he wants, he will change.” So, for six years, our physical relationship never progressed past simple kisses. And even those had to be bought with ten completed favors. I kept telling myself she was just insecure because she loved me. Once my company succeeded, I showered them with money, but their tests only became more sadistic. They sent honeytraps to seduce me during business trips. They tore up my business proposals just to see if I would raise my voice. They installed tracking software on my phone, suffocating my every move. Staring at Brooke’s smug face, I let out a low, cold laugh. “Otherwise what?” “Otherwise, I will personally make sure Kristin never marries you! Ninety-nine proposals? You can try nine hundred and ninety-nine times, and you will still die alone!” Brooke barked. I looked past her, staring directly into Kristin’s eyes. “Is this what you want too?” Kristin’s response was to step forward and slap me again, hard. I slowly picked up the torn pieces of the Diana Ward contract. “I was going to sign this today. Once signed, the company would have gone public, and my net worth would have skyrocketed.” “For our ninety-ninth proposal, I bought the estate overlooking the bay. I bought the sports car you wanted. I had a custom wedding gown made to your exact measurements, and I bought a rare emerald jewelry set at an auction…” Kristin’s anger suddenly wavered, replaced by a flicker of greedy anticipation. But then, I spat out a mouthful of blood and looked her dead in the eye. “But now, it is over. We are finished, Kristin. There won’t be a ninety-ninth proposal.”

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1 When my mother gave birth to me, she fell into a crushing postpartum depression. More than once, she stood on our high-rise balcony, staring at the ground far below, ready to jump. Each time, my father rushed out, wrapping his arms tightly around her trembling body, pulling her back against his chest. “I’m here, Jenny,” he would whisper again and again, kissing her hair. “The baby and I are right here. Don’t be afraid.” For our sake, she fought against the silent scream inside her to end it all. But the fragile peace broke the night I burned with fever. As I cried in my crib, something in her snapped. Instead of soothing me, she grabbed a bottle of sleeping pills and locked herself in the bathroom. That was when my father’s own sanity shattered. He kicked the door open, eyes wild and bloodshot. “Do you want to drive us both mad?” he roared, his voice raw from months of exhaustion. “Nothing I do is ever enough! If you want to die so badly, then go ahead—I won’t stop you!” Blind with rage, he twisted off the cap and forced the blue tablets into her mouth. My mother didn’t cry. She didn’t even struggle. She had already seen the secret messages on my father’s phone—from My Sunshine. The woman in those photos looked bright, alive, perfect. My mother believed she could be a better wife to my father, a better mother to me. She had already decided to give up. The pills scattered across the cold tile floor like plastic beads. My father continued to shove them into her mouth, his face twisted in a mask of desperation. But my mother only looked up at him with a faint, tragic smile. “It’s okay,” she whispered around the dry tablets. Suddenly, my loud, agonizing cry cut through the bathroom from the nursery. The sound seemed to pierce through my father’s madness. His eyes cleared, and the plastic bottle slipped from his hand, clattering against the floor. Shaking violently, he shoved his fingers down her throat to force her to throw up. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, his voice trembling as he held her limp body. “Jenny, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me lately.” My mother retched, coughing up the pills, weeping as she lay collapsed on the floor like a crushed flower. Since her illness began, my father had taken over everything. He changed my diapers, prepared my bottles, and ran his company during the day, only to rush home by six to cook and watch over my mother. Slowly, the people around us began to whisper, their sympathy shifting away from her. “She’s dragging him down,” his employees muttered. “Does she think Christian is a machine who doesn’t need sleep? He works all day and plays nurse all night.” “He does everything for that baby while she just looks for new ways to kill herself. Thank goodness Scarlett is there to help him at the office, or he would have lost his mind by now.” Scarlett was the secretary. She was “My Sunshine.” A sharp ring of the doorbell broke the silence of our apartment. Scarlett stood at the entrance, dressed in a sharp, tailored office suit. When she saw the pills scattered across the floor and my mother’s disheveled state, her eyes welled with tears. “Mrs. Shaw, are you torturing Christian again?” Scarlett asked, her voice trembling with indignation. “It’s just a baby. If you didn’t want to go through with it, you shouldn’t have had her. But don’t use your illness as an excuse to destroy him.” My mother froze, her limbs starting to shake uncontrollably. It was the onset of another panic attack. Seeing this, my father quickly retrieved her prescription bottle and a glass of water, gently coaxing her to swallow the calming medication. “Scarlett, that’s enough!” he barked, pulling her back. But Scarlett wouldn’t stop. “He almost fainted at his desk yesterday, Christian! And then he has to come home to this. Please, just let him go. I beg you.” Before she could walk away, I let out another sharp wail from my crib. Without a word, my father and Scarlett sprang into action. One wrapped me in a warm blanket while the other expertly prepared a fresh bottle. Their movements were so synchronized, so effortlessly harmonious, that they looked like a real family. My mother instinctively reached her pale, thin hand toward me. But my father gently, silently pushed her hand aside. In that moment, a quiet realization seemed to settle over her. She couldn’t even take care of herself. How could she ever take care of me? Slowly, she pulled her hand back, tucking it into her sleeve. When my father carried me out the door to take me to the clinic, he looked back at her one last time. His eyes held nothing but profound weariness and disappointment. The heavy front door clicked shut. My mother dragged her weak limbs into the bedroom. The cabinet where the sleeping pills were kept was locked tight, but she managed to pry it open with a heavy brass paperweight. She unscrewed the lid, tipped her head back, and swallowed the pills, one after the other. In those quiet seconds as the chemicals began to invade her system, fragments of the past flashed through her mind. She remembered my grandmother’s harsh demands, insisting on an heir despite my mother’s fertility struggles. She remembered the endless, painful rounds of IVF that left her body bruised and swollen. She remembered the smell of copper and rust in the delivery room when she began to hemorrhage, and my father’s frantic voice echoing from the corridor. “Jenny, I only want you! I don’t care about the baby, just stay with me!” But after thirteen agonizing hours of labor, I was born. And with my birth came the shadow that never left her. She had tried to hang herself, tried to swallow poison, tried to slit her wrists in the bathtub. Each time, my father had arrived just in time, catching the blade with his bare hands. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he would say. He had been her savior, the perfect husband, and the ultimate father in everyone’s eyes. But he had also started smoking heavily, and the dark circles under his eyes had turned into permanent bruises. That night, my father’s driver brought me back to the apartment, but my father didn’t return. I lay quietly in my stroller. My mother leaned over, her fingers tracing my cheek with a desperate, tragic tenderness. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. With her vision blurring from the slow-acting pills, she opened Scarlett’s social media page. There was a live photo posted just minutes ago. Through the shifting frame, she saw my father, shirtless, laughing as he leaned over Scarlett. The caption read: Only with you can I finally breathe. In the brief flash of the image, the tattoo on my father’s lower back was clearly visible. It was a small, radiant sun. The exact same icon he used for Scarlett’s contact name. And then my mother saw her own name in his contact list. He had saved her under a simple emoji: a dark, heavy raincloud. Tears silently spilled over her cheeks, soaking into the fabric of her collar. She shook so violently that she had to choke down several of her calming pills just to keep from collapsing on the spot. Then, the landline rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Genevieve Shaw? I am so sorry to inform you, but your mother suffered a massive cardiac arrest. She passed away ten minutes ago.” My mother gasped, clutching me to her chest as she ran out into the pouring rain. She fell several times on the wet pavement, scraping her knees, but she kept going until she reached the hospital. When she saw the white sheet draped over her mother’s face, she fell to her knees, her voice raw. “How could this happen? Her heart had been fine for years…” Lost and terrified, her first instinct was to call my father. The first call rang out. No answer. The second call was instantly rejected. By the third try, his phone was switched off. The cold, robotic operator’s voice repeated in her ear, matching the icy rain that dripped from her hair. He had promised her, sworn on his life, that he would always answer her calls on the first ring. Huddled on the freezing hospital floor with me in her arms, she felt the last piece of her world slip away. She walked into her mother’s empty hospital room to gather her belongings. On the floor by the bedside table, she found her mother’s phone. The screen was still active, displaying a video that had been sent earlier that afternoon. In the video, Scarlett was holding my father, a positive pregnancy test clutched in her hand. “Christian, I’ll get rid of the baby,” Scarlett sobbed in the recording. “I just want to be by your side, to take care of you and Genevieve. But please, give me some kind of status. Give me a reason to stay.” The camera panned slightly, catching my father’s conflicted face against the window. After a long, agonizing pause, he spoke. “Okay.” My mother felt as though a lightning bolt had pierced her chest. Clutching her marriage certificate, which she always kept in her purse, she ran through the rain to the local registry office. The clerk behind the desk looked at the database, then shook her head with a look of pity. “Mrs. Shaw, Christian Shaw’s legal spouse is not you. It is a woman named Scarlett Vance.” The words echoed in her ears, dragging her back to three months ago. My father had taken her marriage certificate, claiming he needed it to register a new downtown property under her name. “You’re the hero of our family, Jenny,” he had said, kissing her forehead. “You gave me our beautiful baby.” He hadn’t been buying a house. He had been quietly dissolving their marriage. My grandmother’s only wish had been for her daughter to have a happy, stable family. Seeing that video had literally stopped her heart. Under the gray, pouring sky, my mother’s vision went black, and she collapsed onto the wet concrete. When she opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital bed. My father was sitting beside her, the dark circles under his eyes deeper than ever. But when he saw her wake up, his face hardened with anger. “Did you really call me a dozen times and fake an illness just to get attention?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea that our daughter was running a high fever? Scarlett and I had to stay up all night at the clinic. Can’t you be sensible, just for once?” He hadn’t even looked at the death certificate resting on her bedside table. My mother swallowed the dry lump of grief in her throat. She lowered her head and remained silent. “I left the baby with Scarlett,” my father said, standing up to adjust his coat. “The company gala is tomorrow night. Make sure you wear something decent. Don’t embarrass me again.” At the gala, my mother wore a beautiful crimson gown, but no amount of silk could hide the ghostly paleness of her skin. On stage, Scarlett stood in a brilliant gold dress, receiving the “Employee of the Year” award directly from my father’s hands. The whispers from the crowd drifted over to where my mother stood. “If it weren’t for Scarlett, Christian’s company would have gone under by now.” “She thinks having a baby makes her royalty. Always throwing tantrums.” “Honestly, Christian and Scarlett look like the real couple here.” My mother watched them, realizing the crowd was right. They looked perfect together. Her eyes drifted to Scarlett’s wrist. Resting there was the heirloom emerald bracelet, a piece of jewelry traditionally passed down to the rightful matriarch of the Shaw family. My mother had almost broken it during one of her manic episodes, and my father had locked it away, promising to keep it safe. Now, it gleamed against Scarlett’s pale skin. Seeing my mother, Scarlett smiled, naturally linking her arm through my father’s as they walked over. “Mrs. Shaw,” Scarlett said, her eyes flashing with quiet triumph. “Please don’t play the sick card next time. Christian and I were genuinely worried about you.” My mother clenched her fists, trying to stop her body from shaking. Scarlett stepped closer, leaning in until her lips were inches from my mother’s ear. “I didn’t have time to visit your mother yesterday,” she whispered, her voice low and venomous. “So I sent her a little surprise instead. I wonder if she liked it?” The wicked, mocking grin on Scarlett’s face seemed to expand, filling my mother’s vision. Before she could think, my mother lunged forward, her fingers wrapping tightly around Scarlett’s throat. “Why did you do it?” my mother screamed, her voice cracking. “You killed her! Aren’t you afraid of hell?” Scarlett choked, struggling in her grip, but she didn’t look afraid. She smiled. The next second, my father slammed his hand into my mother’s shoulder, shoving her away so hard she hit the floor. He stepped in front of Scarlett, shielding her. “Genevieve, I told you to stop this madness!” he roared, his eyes filled with pure disgust. He didn’t see the malicious smirk playing on Scarlett’s lips behind his back. Just as my mother gathered the strength to stand, the smart tracker on her wrist began to beep frantically. It was the emergency alert linked to my baby monitor. My mother’s heart stopped. She looked up, meeting Scarlett’s cold, mocking gaze. “What did you do to my baby?” my mother shrieked. “If you touch her, I’ll tear you apart!” Scarlett shrank back, putting on a face of pure innocence. “Christian, I don’t know what she’s talking about. I placed the baby in the best private nursery in the city. I paid for the highest level of security. How is that a crime?” Without a moment of hesitation, my father turned and shoved my mother back down onto the floor. “Scarlett is trying to help you care for our daughter, and you accuse her of this?” he spat. “Are you ever going to stop?” The alarm on the watch was ringing louder, a high-pitched scream that tore at my mother’s soul. She crawled forward, clawing at his trousers. “The baby is in danger! I can feel it! She’s—” “Shut up!” he interrupted, kicking his leg free. “Scarlett has sacrificed her own time for our child, and you humiliate her in front of my entire company? Is this depression excuse ever going to run out?” My mother froze, her tears dripping onto the polished wooden floor. Scarlett stepped forward, her eyes red, looking like the victim of a terrible injustice. “Christian, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have argued with her. Since she’s sick, she can say whatever she wants.” With a theatrical sigh, Scarlett began to lower herself to her knees to apologize. My father caught her immediately, pulling her up before looking down at my mother with absolute coldness. “Apologize to her,” he commanded. Those two words crushed the last bit of life left in my mother’s chest. Suddenly, she coughed, and a spray of dark, clotted blood splattered across the floor. The guests gasped, drawing back in horror. My father took a step back, his face flashing with sudden alarm. “Jenny, what… what is that?” Only my mother knew that the massive dose of sleeping pills had finally begun to destroy her organs from the inside out. Without saying a word, she wiped the blood from her chin, dragged her body forward, and knelt before Scarlett. She bowed, pressing her forehead to the floor three times. “I am sorry, Miss Vance,” she whispered. She stood up, her eyes vacant as she looked at my father’s stunned face. “Can I go now?” Without waiting for an answer, she tapped the tracker on her watch. The signal wasn’t coming from the luxury nursery. It was coming from the top-floor warehouse of my father’s company building. Scarlett quietly raised her phone, showing my mother the screen. On the live security feed, I was tied to a small wooden chair in the corner of a locked storage room. Dark, thick smoke was already billowing under the door. My mother opened her mouth to scream, to beg, but before she could move, my father’s security guards pinned her arms behind her back. My father looked at her with cold indifference. “I am signing the custody of our daughter over to Scarlett. You need to be locked away until you can clear your head.” He turned and walked away, his arm wrapped protectively around Scarlett, who flashed a final, victorious smile over her shoulder. My mother screamed, thrashing against the guards, but her body was failing. As the connection between us slowly faded into nothingness, she collapsed onto the floor, her eyes staring blankly into the light. When my father finally returned to the quiet apartment late that night, the rooms were dark. He walked out onto the balcony, lighting a cigarette. He checked his phone, but there was no reply to the messages he had sent her. A strange, heavy weight settled in his chest. He walked into the master bedroom. As he opened the door, his shoe hit a plastic object. He looked down. It was an empty bottle of sleeping pills. A sudden, terrible dread gripped his throat as he picked it up. In that exact moment, his phone began to ring furiously in his pocket. It was the emergency room.

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1 At four o’clock in the morning, my codependent, drama-addicted best friend pounded frantically on my front door. “Paige! My boyfriend is going to break up with me! We have to go kneel outside his apartment together and beg him to stay, please?” I stared at her in utter disbelief. “Why do I have to kneel?” Natalie nodded quickly. “It makes me look more sincere! If he sees you swallowing your pride for me, he’ll definitely soften up!” I opened my mouth to refuse, but she suddenly whipped a kitchen knife from her purse, pressing the dull side against her own wrist. “Paige, I love him so much. If he leaves me, I swear I won’t survive the night!” Terrified of what she might do, I allowed myself to be dragged through the freezing pre-dawn air to the high-rise downtown. We knelt on the hard concrete, shivering as the darkness slowly gave way to the first pale light of morning. Finally, just as the first rays of the sun began to warm the glass facade, the lobby doors swung open. A tall man walked out, his arm wrapped protectively around a heavily pregnant woman. The moment I raised my head, my mind went completely blank. The man was Derek Harrington, my husband of seven years, the man I had been in a bitter cold war with for the past month. Beside me, Natalie’s tears vanished. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees, and smugly pulled Derek away from the pregnant woman’s side. “We had a bet, Derek! Whoever got Paige to kneel and apologize first got you to yourself for a whole month! I won, sweetie. You can’t break your promise now.” My eyes drifted to the pregnant woman. She looked horribly familiar. She was Scarlett Moore, the underprivileged student Derek and I had sponsored through our charitable foundation for the past seven years. “No wonder you agreed to let me have Derek last night, Natalie,” Scarlett murmured, resting a hand on her round stomach, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “You already had this little performance planned.” “That’s enough,” Derek said, raising a hand to pacify both women. “Scarlett, you’re pregnant, go home and rest for the month. Natalie, you won, but you need to show some consideration for Scarlett’s condition.” Only after he had comforted them did his gaze finally land on me. “Stop fighting it, Paige,” he said, walking over to grab my hand. Our matching platinum wedding bands glistened in the morning light, feeling like cold iron against my skin. “Why that face? It was just a harmless joke. Besides, you know how I am.” Yes, I knew exactly how Derek Harrington was. He was a notorious playboy, a man driven by a desperate need to win. When our families arranged our marriage of convenience, he had promised to clear out his harem, and I had foolishly believed the reformed bad boy myth. “So… you slept with the girl we sponsored, slept with my childhood best friend, and conspired with them to make me kneel on the street, all just to see me submit?” “Of course,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my forehead. “In a marriage, someone has to have the upper hand.” “I admit the method was a bit extreme this time, but you’re my wife. No matter what happens, I would never let an outsider threaten our home.” Natalie grabbed my arm, her expression bright. “Paige, we’ve been best friends forever. You always said you wanted me to find a reliable man. I trust your taste, Derek is perfect. Besides, I’m a free spirit, I have no intention of marrying him or ruining your household.” Scarlett offered a timid smile, cradling her stomach. “Me too, Mrs. Harrington! This baby was an accident, but I only view you and Mr. Harrington as my benefactors. No matter the gender, I only want financial security, I would never try to take your place.” Looking at my husband’s modern-day harem, I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “This is the fidelity you promised me after our wedding?” Derek blinked, looking genuinely surprised. “Isn’t this enough?” “I’m a man, Paige. I was never going to spend my entire life tied to one woman. I agreed to the merger because I thought you understood that. I thought you didn’t mind.” “If you hadn’t tried to freeze me out this month, you would have never even known about them.” He wiped a tear from my cheek. “Be good, Paige. Stop making a scene. You are still the only one who matters to me.” I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. He didn’t get angry. He simply chuckled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Go home and wait for me. Tonight, I’m all yours.” 2 By the time my driver found me sitting near the apartment gates, I was shaking with silent sobs. As the city lights blurred outside the window, my mind drifted back to our university years in London. Derek had been the campus playboy, always surrounded by beautiful women. At a party once, a classmate had joked about who would eventually be forced to marry him to settle his wild streak. When someone mentioned my name, the others immediately laughed it off. “No way! Paige Reynolds believes in true love and old-school romance. She’d never touch a guy like him.” Amid the laughter, Derek’s expression had turned serious. He pushed his companions aside, sat down next to me, and whispered, “If my partner is you, Paige, I’d give it all up.” I had looked away, hiding the secret love I had carried for him ever since he had defended me against high school bullies years before. Later, when the Harrington family faced a severe liquidity crisis, I found him drinking himself to sleep at a private club, and proposed our corporate merger. He had looked at me with tear-filled eyes, promising, “I’ll clear everyone else out, Paige. No matter how rotten I am, I’ll never bring that dirt home to you.” The car came to a stop. We were back at the estate we had designed together, the home we had shared for seven years. In corporate marriages, emotional decay was common, but I had never expected Derek and me to end up like this. I packed my bags quickly, preparing to move to a private townhouse under my own name. But as I opened the passenger door, my assistant called, her voice tight with panic. “Mrs. Harrington, we have a crisis!” “The shares of Harrington Enterprises are plunging. Someone leaked photographs of Mr. Harrington taking a young woman to an OB-GYN clinic. The media is claiming your marriage is over, and institutional investors are threatening to pull their capital!” I ordered the driver to take me directly to the medical plaza. The main entrance was already swarming with reporters, their flashes reflecting off the glass doors. I pushed through the crowd, heading straight to the private VIP wing on the top floor. Inside the examination room, Derek was kneeling beside Scarlett’s chair, his ear pressed against her pregnant belly. “You’re here,” he said, standing up and smoothing his tailored suit. “The lobby is packed with reporters. Did you have any trouble getting past them?” The truth hit me with sudden, freezing clarity. “You leaked those photos yourself.” “Of course,” he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I told you to wait for me, but you tried to leave. I had to use a little leverage to bring you back.” I couldn’t believe my own ears. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much this scandal is going to cost the firm?” Scarlett whimpered, shrinking behind him. “Mrs. Harrington, please don’t be mad at Derek. It’s my fault, my stomach was hurting, and he only came to support me. If you want to blame someone, blame me!” “Blame you?” I let out a cold laugh, thrusting my phone screen toward her face. “In three hours, we lost seventy million dollars. I could liquidate every asset you own, and you still couldn’t cover the margin call!” Scarlett burst into tears. “Why are you yelling at her?” Derek snapped, pulling her behind him. “Scarlett grew up in a small town, she doesn’t understand corporate finances. It’s nothing a joint public statement can’t fix. Why take it out on a pregnant woman?” “I only wanted to teach you a lesson, I didn’t expect the market to react this violently. But since we’re here, you’ll have to help me coordinate with the public relations team to clean this up.” His casual tone reminded me of our first year of marriage. An aspiring actress had tried to use Derek’s name for publicity, leaking photos of him escorting her to a hotel. Before the story could even break, Derek had blacklisted her and sued the photographer into bankruptcy. When the dust settled, he had thrown himself into my arms, murmuring, “My darling, you have no idea how hard I had to fight to keep my reputation clean for you.” Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen, forcing me to gasp. Derek’s eyes narrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?” He reached out to steady me, but I flinched away from his touch. He turned to his assistant. “Take my wife downstairs to the executive clinic for an immediate evaluation.” Then, he looked back at me, his voice softening. “Let them check you over, then go back to the house and wait for me. I’ll make sure this is settled by tonight.” I pushed past him, walking out of the ward. Just outside the clinic doors, a familiar physician called out to me. “Mrs. Harrington! I was just about to call you. Your laboratory results from last week are finalized. Congratulations!” 3 Even as Derek pushed open the front door of our estate that evening, the doctor’s words from earlier were still echoing in my ears. “Twins. Almost eleven weeks along. Everything looks perfectly healthy.” “Three months already…” I whispered, my hand resting gently on my flat stomach. “If I terminate the pregnancy now… will it be very painful?” The doctor had paused, her expression turning incredibly serious. “Mrs. Harrington, from a professional standpoint, I strongly advise against that. Your uterine lining is exceptionally thin. If you choose to terminate this pregnancy, it is highly unlikely you will ever conceive again.” A hand waved in front of my face, breaking my trance. “Are you listening to me?” Derek’s voice brought me back to the dim living room. “I’ve scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning to clarify the hospital photos. As long as we stand together before the cameras, the rumors will die down.” I didn’t answer, my palm pressing against my stomach. “Derek,” I said softly, “if I were pregnant… would you change?” He froze, then let out a low laugh. “What a question. Are you really this jealous of Scarlett?” He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “No matter what happens, you are my only wife. Natalie, Scarlett… they’re just distractions. They don’t compare to you.” “Even if Scarlett has the baby, I’ll simply establish a trust fund and send them abroad. Then, it will just be you and Natalie left here with me.” He looked down at me, his tone filled with a sickening kind of tenderness. “Don’t worry, you and Natalie have been friends since childhood. She would never hurt you.” I smiled. It was exactly what I had expected. Every trace of the love I had carried for him since our youth vanished into nothingness. So be it. Our marriage was a commercial transaction, a quest for profit. I should have never expected a soul. For the sake of the life growing inside me, I agreed to the compromise. “What time is the conference?” Derek let out a long, visible sigh of relief. “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” He patted my head. “You’ve had a long day. Go get some rest.” With that, he turned and walked toward the master bath. The next morning, we stood arm-in-arm before a wall of flashing cameras, presenting the perfect picture of corporate solidarity. Derek addressed the room with his trademark charm. “First, I want to thank everyone for their interest in our personal lives.” “The young woman in the photographs is an employee of our foundation. As her employer, I was merely assisting with a medical emergency. Any rumors of inappropriate conduct…” He offered a self-deprecating smile. “A few blurry photos and some internet gossip shouldn’t be enough to cause such a stir, surely?” A reporter in the front row pressed further. “Mr. Harrington, your bachelor years were quite colorful. Is this joint appearance merely a public relations stunt to stabilize the stock price? Is your marriage actually intact?” Derek’s laugh was warm and easy. “We all have our wild years. But from the day I married Paige, I understood the responsibilities of a husband.” He offered me a playful, apologetic look. “If you keep digging up my past, my wife might make me sleep on the couch tonight!” The room filled with polite laughter. I offered a gentle nod and a warm smile for the cameras, doing exactly what was required to reassure our institutional investors. The narrative was already shifting online: The Reformed Playboy, Corporate Power Couple, True Love in High Society. I kept the smile fixed on my face, watching him. Seeing the crisis averted, Derek relaxed, preparing to deliver his closing remarks. But suddenly, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. My smile grew wider.

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When I awakened my Riftweaver class, I became a god in this nightmare of a survival game. I could tear through the fabric of reality, slipping in and out of the most lethal, high-tier raids as if I were taking a walk in the park. Naturally, whenever a raid team got completely wiped and trapped, I was the first person they called for a rescue. And being the pragmatist that I am, I hung a massive neon sign in the Nexus Hub. My price? One thousand Credits per extraction. I made an absolute killing. After casually ripping open a portal to drag a few half-dead nobodies out of a death zone, a brand new player suddenly pointed her finger at my face and started screaming. “Are you serious? You just casually open a door and demand a thousand Credits? Talk about bloodsucking greed!” She turned to the crowd, puffing out her chest. “If any veteran players need a rescue, you can call me! I am also a Spatial class.” “I don’t need your Credits. We are all players trapped in this hellhole. Helping each other is just basic human decency!” Watching the major guilds, the very same people I had bled to save time and time again, flock to this shiny new saint, I smiled so hard my cheeks ached. Little did they know, the staggering fortune sitting in my bank account was already enough for me to live like royalty for the rest of my life. I could finally retire. 1 Thud. My arms burned with exhaustion as I hurled the last player out of the distorted, crackling void rift. His tactical armor was shredded into metallic confetti. A gruesome claw mark, deep enough to scrape bone, ran across his chest, sizzling with toxic black mist. I took a slow, deep breath, stabilizing the heavily depleted spatial energy in my core. “That makes four of you. Invoices have been sent to your HUDs. One thousand Credits each. Settle up.” I wiped a streak of someone else’s blood off my cheek, leaning lazily against a glowing obsidian pillar. Before the survivors could even catch their breath, a shrill, drippingly righteous voice echoed across the crowded Hub. “A thousand Credits? That is pure extortion!” I cracked one eye open. The voice belonged to a girl in a pristine white sundress. She was young, sporting one of those incredibly innocent, harmless faces. Right now, she was biting her lower lip, pointing a trembling finger at me with a look of absolute disgust. “Look at them! They are half dead, and you are taking advantage of their trauma! Do you have a shred of empathy?” I let out a dry laugh, tossing a heavy silver coin in the air and catching it. “And who the hell are you, sweetheart?” “I risked half my life dragging them out of an SSS-Tier death trap. A thousand is market rate. Do you think opening dimension rifts runs on hopes and prayers? You think stabilization anchors are free? If it is too expensive, next time, you can rot in the abyss.” “We are all human beings! We should be looking out for each other. Demanding money just ruins the solidarity.” The girl in the white dress took a bold step forward, spreading her arms to shield the groaning casualties behind her. “You clearly have a spatial gift. You can save lives with the snap of your fingers, yet you bleed your own people dry. You are a monster!” A crowd was forming. Among the onlookers, I spotted several familiar faces. People whose lives I had saved. They were shifting uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze, and whispering among themselves. “Honestly… a thousand is pretty steep. I only cleared eight hundred on my last raid.” “Right? Val charged us the same rate back then. It drained everything we had, but we were too scared to complain.” “She could just help out. Why does she have to be so corporate about human lives?” I stared coldly at this gallery of hypocrites. These were the exact same people who had once crawled on their hands and knees, begging me to save them. The loudest whisperer was Gideon, the leader of a top-tier guild known as The Vipers. He had hired me multiple times. He stepped to the front of the crowd, casually spinning a heavy obsidian ring on his thumb. “Val, the rookie has a point. A thousand Credits is an outrageous premium. We put our lives on the line for every single Credit we earn. We shouldn’t be treated like walking ATMs.” Seeing a major guild leader back her up, a flash of pure triumph crossed the white dress girl’s eyes. “Since Val treats human life like a business transaction, I suggest we stop giving her our hard-earned money! Let me introduce myself. I am Daisy, and I awakened a Spatial class today too.” “Starting right now, I am forming the Player Vanguard Alliance! If anyone needs an emergency extraction, I will do it absolutely free! I will not take a single Credit from you!” The Hub went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Then, the entire hall erupted into deafening cheers and applause. “Free! Oh my god, Daisy is an actual angel!” “Exactly! Not like some people who are infected with the rot of greed!” I looked at the furious, self-righteous mob, and then at Daisy’s face, which was practically glowing with vanity and desperate ambition. I dusted off my gloves and glanced down at the four bleeding men still groaning on the floor. “So, is that how you guys feel too?” 2 The four men wouldn’t look at me. Some stared at the marble tiles, others clutched their wounds and whined, but none dared to meet my eyes. “Look, Val… we are in pretty bad shape. Medical supplies are going to cost us a fortune…” One of them, a bulky guy nicknamed Jax, mumbled, his voice shrinking like a coward. “Stop right there.” I tapped the holographic screen on my wrist. “You signed a soul contract before I went in. Two hundred Credit deposit, eight hundred upon delivery. Pay up. Stop wasting my time.” “Oh please, Val! We were all dragged into this nightmare game from the real world. Why do you have to push them to the brink?” Daisy bit her lip again, keeping her arms wide as if protecting them from a dragon. Her big, doe eyes were full of judgment. “It is hard enough out here. How about this? I will make the call for them. They will each give you a five hundred Credit tip. You hardly used any energy opening that door anyway. Just treat it as your good deed for the week.” The surrounding crowd nodded vigorously, murmuring about how Daisy’s compromise was perfectly reasonable. I actually laughed out loud. “You will make the call for them? Who made you queen of the slums? It is incredibly easy to be a saint when you are spending someone else’s money.” I locked eyes with Daisy, my voice dropping to absolute zero. “I have heard of paying debts with gratitude. I have never heard of demanding the rescuer eat the cost of energy and lifelines. What, is my life not worth anything? Does my mana just fall from the sky?” “Valerie, watch your mouth!” Gideon intervened, his face darkening to play the hero. “Daisy is looking out for the community. Don’t burn your bridges. We are all stuck in this game together. You do not want to make enemies out of everyone.” “Enemies?” I let out a sharp sneer. I raised my hand and clenched my fingers violently in the empty air. A sickening tearing sound echoed through the Hub. A jagged, pitch-black rift ripped open right behind me. A howling, freezing gale blasted out from the void, carrying the blood-curdling screeches of the abyssal horrors lurking on the other side. It was the exact SSS-Tier death zone they had just escaped from. The color instantly drained from the faces of the four survivors on the floor. They scrambled backward in sheer terror. “Don’t want to pay the balance? No problem.” I pointed at the swirling vortex of destruction. “Your two hundred deposit only covered the trip from the boss room to this exact spot. Since the balance is too steep, I will offer premium customer service and put you right back where I found you.” “You wouldn’t dare!” Daisy shrieked, tears instantly spilling down her cheeks on command. “How can you be so barbaric!” “Barbaric?” I took a step forward, my amber eyes drilling into hers. “Sweetheart, isn’t your free rescue alliance supposed to be top tier? I really don’t mind throwing you in there with them. You can give everyone a live demonstration of how a free extraction works.” The violent winds from the rift whipped Daisy’s pristine dress around. Staring into a void that looked ready to devour the world, all the blood vanished from her face. Without her shielding them, the four men completely lost their nerve. “I’ll transfer it! I’m paying right now!” “Val, don’t do it! Please close the door!” Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Four crisp chimes rang out from my system interface. Seeing the additional three thousand two hundred Credits hit my account, I clapped my hands together. The terrifying rift snapped shut in an instant. “Pleasure doing business with you.” I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to waste another glance at the pathetic lot, and turned toward the VIP lounge area. The trust was gone. This business was dead. I had saved up more than enough anyway. It was time to wash my hands of this mess and enjoy a very early retirement. But before my boot could even cross the threshold of the lounge, the system bracelet clamped to my wrist began vibrating violently. A blood-red notification forced its way onto my retina display. [Alert: Player ‘Valerie’ has triggered the Weekly Mandatory Raid requirement. The System is now matching you with a party…] I frowned. I was planning to just breeze through a low-tier zone for this week’s quota. Why the hell was it forcing a match? A split second later, the roster of my new teammates materialized. Slot one: Daisy. Followed immediately by Gideon, and the four cheapskates who had just tried to scam me out of my fee. Before I could even process the absurdity, the teleportation array beneath my boots exploded into a blinding crimson light. 3 After a sickening wave of vertigo, damp, freezing fog hit my face. I opened my eyes. My boots were sinking into the muddy soil of some ruined landscape. Looking around, I found five sickeningly familiar faces staring right back at me. Gideon, Daisy, and the four deadbeats. However, thanks to the system’s raid entry mechanics, all their previous fatal injuries had been fully healed the second we loaded in. “Well, well, well. Look who it is. Small world, isn’t it, Val?” Gideon gave a predatory smile, twisting that obsidian ring on his thumb. “Oh wow, Val! How did you end up in this zone?” Daisy bit her lip, faking a look of pleasant surprise. “Since we are a team now, let’s just let bygones be bygones. You are just a Spatial support class. You don’t have any real combat power. Don’t worry, we will take very good ‘care’ of you.” She leaned heavily on the word ‘care’. The men around her chuckled darkly, sharing a knowing look. I patted a speck of mud off my tactical jacket, my expression completely flat. “Don’t flatter yourselves. Just worry about keeping yourselves alive.” “Nonsense! We are all players, we have to look out for each other.” Daisy delicately wrapped her arms around Gideon’s bicep. “Gideon, Val might overcharge people, but she is still just a girl. When we run into danger, we have to make sure she is protected.” I didn’t even bother acknowledging the white lotus act. A quick glance at the system told me this zone was called “Whispering Hollows”. It was merely a C-Tier raid. With my agility alone, I could walk out of here without even triggering a rift. But it took less than five minutes for me to realize I had severely underestimated how utterly spineless these people were. The thick brush ahead rustled violently. Three massive Abyssal Hellhounds, each the size of a grizzly bear, lunged out of the fog, their glowing toxic green eyes locked onto us. “Weapons out!” Gideon roared. His heavy mechanical exoskeleton hummed to life, glowing with red energy lines. I took a step back to maintain a safe distance, but Jax suddenly slammed his shoulder into my back. He shoved me straight into the path of the lead Hellhound’s leaping jaws. “Whoops! Slipped!” Jax gave a fake apology while scrambling backward faster than a rat. “Val! You have spatial speed! Kite two of them away for us! Once we kill this one, we will come save you!” Daisy screamed from the backline, her eyes filled with toxic malice. “Yeah, Val! You’re a pro! Hold the line!” Gideon swung his heavy broadsword at the remaining hound, but deliberately slammed his massive riot shield into the dirt right behind me, completely blocking my only escape route. It was entirely orchestrated. They wanted me to be their free meat shield. They wanted me to die right here. Inside a raid zone, the spatial dimensions were locked by system rules. I couldn’t just tear open a portal back to the Nexus Hub. They clearly knew that. Watching the rotting, razor-sharp jaws snap toward my face, I didn’t even blink. I strolled through SSSS-Tier nightmares for a living. Did they really think a pack of C-Tier trash mobs could take me out? They thought I was soft. Moving with deliberate slowness, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a shimmering gold talisman, and crushed it in my palm. [Alert: God-Tier Consumable ‘Aegis Ward’ activated. Immune to all physical and magical damage. Duration: 30 minutes.] A halo of brilliant golden light instantly wrapped around my body. The Hellhound’s jaws, capable of snapping steel girders, clamped down hard on the barrier. A dull, metallic gong echoed through the trees. The recoil shattered the beast’s fangs, sending black blood flying in all directions. Standing safely inside the golden bubble, ignoring the monster’s infuriated roars, I casually found a clean boulder and sat down. I even dug a can of soda out of my inventory and popped the tab. “Good luck, guys. Rooting for you.” I took a sip of the fizzing drink, smiling pleasantly through the translucent golden dome at Gideon and his crew. Their faces were an absolute picture of shock. They wanted to use the environment to murder me. They forgot that as the premier rescue specialist of the server, the one thing I had an infinite supply of was god-tier survival items. The cost of this single talisman could fund their entire guild for six months. Gideon’s face turned black with rage. Daisy’s innocent mask completely shattered, revealing a twisted, ugly grimace. But before they could formulate a new dirty trick, a deafening, earth-shattering roar erupted from the deepest part of the hollow. The ground began to quake violently. A shadow the size of a skyscraper slowly rose through the dense fog. 4 “ROAR!” The blast of sound shredded the mist. This wasn’t a standard mob. It was a raid boss, an absolute behemoth. Gideon’s face drained of all color. “Damn it! Who crushed the beast egg?!” Daisy was hiking up her pristine skirt, her face turning green with terror. In her hand, she was clutching a glowing red crystal. She had gotten greedy and tried to steal the boss’s loot while the hounds distracted us. “Gideon, save me! It’s looking right at me!” Daisy shrieked, diving behind Gideon’s armored back. The behemoth went into a frenzy. It swiped a massive claw, turning a cluster of ancient trees into splinters. A monster like this did not belong in a C-Tier zone. “Run! Move it!” Gideon screamed. He pushed his exoskeleton to the absolute limit, grabbing Daisy and sprinting for his life. My Aegis Ward was still active. I could have casually walked behind them. But the enraged boss was blindly smashing the terrain. The ground beneath us began to fracture and cave in. As we ran, the path ahead suddenly vanished, giving way to a bottomless, jagged chasm that looked like the gaping maw of the earth. “Dead end!” Jax screamed in despair. Gideon glanced back at the rapidly approaching titan. A flash of pure, ruthless desperation crossed his eyes. He whipped his head around and locked eyes with me. “Don’t blame us, Val. Blame yourself for being a selfish bitch!” Before the words even settled, he lunged at me. At the exact same time, Jax and the other players moved in unison, using all their momentum to shove me toward the edge of the abyss. My Aegis Ward negated damage, but it didn’t prevent physical displacement. My boots left the ground. Freezing wind rushed past my ears. In that split second of freefall, I looked up at the ledge. Daisy was peering over the edge, looking down at me. Her sweet, pitiful act was gone, replaced by a smile of pure malice. “You’ve got so many Credits, Val! You can spend them all by yourself down there! You deserve this!” Without missing a beat, Gideon’s crew turned and sprinted in the other direction. I let out a cold laugh. Did they really think I came unprepared? Just inches before my spine could be impaled on the jagged stalagmites below, I pulled a pitch-black token from my jacket and crushed it. It was an Absolute Anchor Beacon. Price tag: One hundred thousand Credits. It bypassed any and all zone locks. BOOM! A violent storm of spatial energy swallowed me whole. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting on the cold marble floor of the Nexus Hub. Although I avoided lethal damage, the violent spatial turbulence had bruised my ribs. A trickle of blood ran down my chin, and my tactical jacket was torn to shreds. “Holy crap! Is that Val? How did she get out of the raid?” “Wasn’t she in Whispering Hollows? Oh my god, look at the main screens!” Gasps of horror rippled through the Hub. No one stepped forward to help me up. Every single player was paralyzed, staring up at the massive central broadcast screens. I wiped the blood off my mouth, grabbed a stone pillar to pull myself up, and followed their gaze. The screens were live-streaming Gideon’s team. Without me taking the fall, the enraged boss had cornered them against the edge of the abyss. “Daisy! Open a rift! You said you were a Spatial class! Do it now!” Gideon roared hysterically. Half of his mechanical armor was crushed, and his face was a bloody mess. “I… I’m trying! But the spatial frequency here is too chaotic! I can’t lock the coordinates!” Daisy was sobbing hysterically, snot and tears ruining her pretty face. She waved her hands frantically, conjuring a pathetic, flickering blue spark in the air. The legendary, miraculous “free rescue portal” she had bragged about managed to tear open a gap roughly the size of a human hand. Forget the heavily armored Gideon; you couldn’t even shove a house cat through that hole. “This is your grand spatial magic?!” Jax shrieked in absolute despair. ROAR! The behemoth raised its gargantuan claw, blotting out the sky. Carrying the force of a hurricane, the claw came crashing down on the screaming team.

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1 After slaving away like a dog for the Campbell family for twenty years, I received my termination notice on the exact day their biological daughter returned. My mother pointed at her and said, “From now on, she will be running all operations at Campbell Corporation.” The biological daughter, Bianca, who didn’t even know how to format a basic spreadsheet, immediately posted a smug picture on her social media, showing off the Porsche and the company shares that used to be mine. Our chief financial officer looked at the measly three-hundred-dollar severance check in his hand and let out a long, heavy sigh. I calmly handed over every key in my possession, walked out the door, and took a position at our fiercest rival’s firm. Two weeks later, my mother found me, weeping hysterically. “Why did the banks freeze all of our credit lines? What did you do to us?” … “My biological daughter is back. The corner office belongs to her now.” Before I could even speak, a girl dressed in my custom-tailored haute couture outfit sashayed over. This was Bianca, the true heiress of the Campbell family. She pointed a manicured finger at my face, her lips curling into a mocking sneer. “The fake should know her place. Pack your bags and get lost.” “This dress is entirely wasted on you anyway.” She gestured to my wrist. “And that watch you’re wearing, my mother bought that for me. Take it off.” Her tone was so self-assured, as if she were confronting a common thief. I looked at them: the woman I had called Mother for twenty years, and the biological daughter who had been back for less than a day. “Starting today, Bianca is in charge of everything,” my mother announced, her words signaling the end of an era. With that single sentence, my twenty years of dedication to the firm were entirely wiped clean. Our CFO, Mr. Henderson, walked over, his hand trembling slightly as he held an envelope. He slid a few bills across the polished desk, his voice barely a whisper. “Mrs. Campbell’s orders… this is your severance. Not a single penny more.” Three hundred dollars. It wasn’t even enough to fill the tank of the Porsche I had been driving. It wasn’t a severance package: it was spare change thrown to a beggar. The profits I had generated for this company were measured in the tens of millions. Now, my exit was valued at three hundred dollars. I didn’t touch the cash. I simply looked at my mother and Bianca with absolute calm. I placed my apartment keys, the office keys, and the combination to the corporate safe onto the mahogany desk. Then, I unclasped the luxury watch from my wrist and let it clatter beside them. “I hope you don’t regret this.” Bianca let out a sharp laugh, snatching up the car keys and snapping a photograph. She grabbed the share transfer agreement my mother had prepared, posting both images to her social media with the caption: Returned to the rightful owner. I’m back! Within seconds, my phone vibrated with notifications as the company group chats lit up. The very employees who had called me “Director Campbell” yesterday were now lining up to flatter Bianca. Even the security guard at the front gate looked away, pretending not to see me as I walked past. I was treated like a leaper carrying a plague. I walked out of the building carrying a single cardboard box containing nothing but a few of my favorite business textbooks. I took one last look at the glass tower. I no longer had a home. The moment I stepped onto the street, I dialed a number I had kept saved in my phone for three years. “Mr. Crawford, does your previous offer still stand?” 2 A low laugh echoed from the receiver. “Of course, Natalie. I’ve been waiting for you.” The moment I hung up, my screen filled with dozens of unread messages from suppliers and banking representatives. “Director Campbell, is the proposal for next quarter finalized?” “Natalie, when will our outstanding invoice be cleared?” I drafted a single, cold template and sent it to everyone: I have officially resigned from Campbell Corporation. Please direct all future business inquiries to Miss Bianca Campbell. The top-floor office of Crawford Enterprises offered a sweeping view of the city’s financial district. Marcus Crawford slid an authorization agreement across the glass desk. “Full executive authority. HR, finance, and operations: you have the final say.” I signed my name without a moment’s hesitation. “My first move is to secure the talent.” Meanwhile, Campbell Corporation was undergoing a massive, chaotic restructuring. Bianca had decided my old office was too plain, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars to redecorate it. The sleek leather chairs were replaced with pink velvet sofas, and the desk was cluttered with useless, expensive crystal ornaments. “That old-fashioned style of management is completely obsolete,” Bianca boasted, spinning in her executive chair while taking selfies for her followers. “We’re adopting a flat structure now. No more bureaucratic approvals, if I like a proposal, we move forward.” Mr. Henderson rushed into her office, holding a stack of corporate expense reports. “Miss Campbell, how can we charge these luxury handbags to the company account? This is a severe compliance violation!” Bianca didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’m the executive director. What’s wrong with buying a few bags? It’s for corporate public relations.” Mr. Henderson’s hands shook with frustration. He marched down to my mother’s office to protest, but she merely waved her hand dismissively. “Bianca is just settling into her role. What’s wrong with spending a little money? Don’t bring Natalie’s rigid, joyless rules into my office.” Mr. Henderson stood frozen, letting out a silent sigh before retreating from the room. That afternoon, a major municipal client called demanding the technical specifications for an active project. The files were locked on my old computer, secured with an advanced encryption protocol. Bianca tried a dozen passwords, growing increasingly frustrated. “Call IT! Tell them to break this piece of garbage open!” The IT department was summoned, and they forced open the hard drive. But because the security protocol had been bypassed, the system triggered a self-defense wipe, leaving the data corrupted. “What is this garbage?” Bianca sneered, staring at the screen. “Miss Campbell, the data is corrupted. We cannot send this to the client,” the technician warned. “The client is screaming for it,” Bianca said, applying a fresh layer of nail polish. “Just make up some numbers and send it over. They won’t know the difference anyway.” Two hours later, the client’s furious tirade was directed straight to my mother’s personal line. My mother spent the evening offering groveling apologies and promising discount rates, barely managing to salvage the relationship. When she hung up, she offered Bianca nothing more than a gentle scolding. “Be more careful next time, darling. Don’t let them catch you making mistakes.” Bianca rolled her eyes. “That client was just looking for a reason to complain.” At that exact moment, I was sitting in a quiet cafe across the street. Campbell Corporation’s Sales Director sat opposite me, his face lined with exhaustion. “Natalie, it’s a circus over there. That spoiled child doesn’t know the first thing about logistics, but she insists on micromanaging every shipment.” I took a sip of my coffee and slid a contract across the table. “Crawford Enterprises is expanding. We’re offering double your current compensation package.” His eyes lit up, his hand dropping over the contract. “Let me pack my desk.” That evening, Bianca posted another update on her social media, showing her signing a stack of documents with the caption: Running a corporation isn’t that hard. Some people just liked to pretend they were busy to seem important. I zoomed in on the photograph. The documents she was signing were non-binding letters of intent, riddled with glaring legal loopholes that left the company completely vulnerable. I put my phone down and dialed our acquisitions department. “The Westside development project Campbell Corp is bidding on: intercept it.” The next day, the news of the lost bid reached the Campbell executive suite. Instead of panic, Bianca addressed the senior management with condescending amusement. “A low-margin project like that is only fit for beggars. We are focusing on high-end ventures. Let them have the scraps.” She had no idea that the Westside project was Campbell Corporation’s only source of steady liquid cash flow. In the company’s inbox, an automated red-flag warning from their primary lending institution arrived. Bianca glanced at the screen, annoyed by the notifications. “Why is there so much spam today?” She selected all, clicked delete, and emptied the trash folder. The screen was clear, and her world was quiet once more. 3 The annual regional commerce summit was held at the grand convention center. Desperate to save face after losing the Westside project, my mother made a grand entrance with Bianca by her side. I encountered them near the registration pavilion. I was wearing a tailored, unadorned black power suit, devoid of any jewelry. “Well, look who it is,” Bianca sneered, clutching my mother’s arm. “Does Crawford Enterprises pay that poorly? You can’t even afford a decent necklace. Still looking like a basic assistant.” I ignored her, walking past to greet several prominent industry leaders. “Mr. Ross, Mr. Thomas, it’s wonderful to see you again,” I said, offering a warm smile. The executives immediately paused their conversation, their faces lighting up as they reached out to shake my hand. “Natalie! We heard you joined Crawford Enterprises. Marcus certainly lucked out getting you on his team!” “We must schedule a lunch next week to discuss the new distribution channels!” Bianca was left standing on the perimeter, her smug smile hardening into a mask of embarrassment. My mother’s face turned pale as she quickly ushered her daughter toward their assigned seats. When it was Campbell Corporation’s turn to present, Bianca walked onto the stage, clutching a speech she had spent the previous night memorizing. Her presentation slides were filled with overly stylized fonts and flashy graphics. “In the coming fiscal year… we plan to… build a synergy… of luxury ecosystems…” she read, her voice flat and devoid of any logical structure. The applause from the audience was polite but sparse, most of the executives already checking their phones. During the Q&A session, I raised my hand. The moderator immediately recognized me, passing the microphone down the row. Seeing me stand, Bianca’s eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp panic. “Miss Campbell, in light of the projected volatility in raw material costs next quarter, what is Campbell Corporation’s specific hedging strategy?” It was a standard industry question, but it was the lifeblood of a manufacturing firm. Bianca froze. She didn’t even know what the word “hedging” meant. She looked desperately toward our mother in the front row, who was frantically making hand gestures, but it was useless. “Regarding that query…” Bianca stammered, forcing a nervous laugh. “We will simply negotiate with our suppliers to bring the prices down.” A heavy, dead silence descended on the hall. Then, a ripple of quiet amusement broke through the crowd. Negotiating against global market index prices was an absolute joke. Marcus Crawford took the microphone from my hand, adding a dry postscript. “It seems Campbell Corporation’s strategy relies on wishful thinking. Fascinating.” The laughter in the hall grew louder. Bianca’s face burned crimson, and she looked as if she wanted to sink through the floor. My mother rushed onto the stage, grabbing the microphone. “What my daughter means is that we are optimizing our supply chain management to mitigate overhead,” she explained, using her twenty years of industry standing to salvage the situation. The next morning, the financial media was ruthless. Campbell Corp’s New Director Displays Shocking Ignorance. Attempting to Negotiate Against Global Markets: A Corporate Comedy. Campbell Corporation’s stock price immediately began to slide. Back at their estate, my mother threw the morning papers onto the coffee table. “This is your idea of being prepared?” Bianca burst into tears. “Mom, Natalie set me up! She used industry jargon I’ve never heard of before!” My mother let out a tired sigh, her heart softening at her daughter’s tears. “Alright, dry your eyes. Once the bank approves our capital injection, we can stabilize the stock price. The Campbell family can weather this storm.” Desperate to prove herself, Bianca secretly took a meeting with a foreign investment firm called Sinclair Holdings, which promised a guaranteed thirty percent return on short-term capital. The representative was impeccably dressed and spoke with a smooth, aristocratic accent. Bianca bypassed my mother’s approval, signing a high-yield leverage agreement. “Once this return clears, I’ll see who dares to look down on me,” she whispered as she signed the document, already imagining the city’s elite bowing to her success. In my office, I reviewed the photographs sent by my private investigator. The man shaking hands with Bianca in the pictures was a notorious international financial fugitive. I closed the file and opened a finalized document. With a single click, I sent a hundred-page risk assessment report to Campbell Corporation’s primary credit institution. The report detailed their fraudulent R&D claims, their corrupted technical data, and Bianca’s unauthorized, high-yield leverage agreements. Ten minutes later, the Campbell executive suite erupted into chaos. Our former Sales Director, accompanied by the entire corporate accounts team, walked into Bianca’s office and dropped their resignation letters onto her desk. “What is the meaning of this? This is mutiny!” Bianca shrieked. “Crawford Enterprises offered us double our salary,” the director replied with a cold smile. “And honestly, we’d prefer not to starve under your leadership.” Before she could process their departure, the procurement manager burst into the room, his face white with panic. “Miss Campbell! Our raw material shipments have been halted! The budget supplier we switched to has been shut down by federal regulators for toxic waste violations! Our warehouses have been sealed by court order!” Bianca collapsed into her chair. “Call Sinclair Holdings! Tell him we need an immediate withdrawal of our investment to cover the emergency procurement!” She dialed the number with trembling fingers. We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service. Only the cold, automated recording echoed in her empty office. The luxury investment firm had vanished into thin air, taking the company’s remaining liquid cash with them. Mr. Henderson marched into my mother’s office, holding a red-inked financial summary. “Mrs. Campbell, we are ruined! All of our corporate accounts have been frozen!” My mother’s vision blurred, and she gripped the edge of her desk to keep from fainting. “How is that possible? What about our credit lines?” “The bank just issued a formal default notice.” Mr. Henderson’s hand shook as he handed her the document. “Due to material breaches of contract and extreme operational risk, the bank has recalled all outstanding loans, halted all pending credit, and initiated asset liquidation.” My mother clutched the document, her manicured nails tearing through the paper. “Natalie… this was Natalie’s doing!” The empire was crumbling in an instant. Suppliers lined the street outside their building, holding signs demanding unpaid wages. The factory floors fell silent as workers walked off the job. Bianca locked herself in the executive washroom, her phone ringing continuously with threats and demands from creditors. Late that night, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I picked it up, and the agonizing, hysterical crying of my mother echoed through the line. “Why? Why did the banks freeze everything?” she wailed, her voice thick with panic. “Natalie! What have you done to us?”

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Fiscal year-end: I’d landed the company’s six biggest accounts, expecting a 900,000commission.Myphonebuzzed—depositreceived:900.00. I stormed to accounting. The manager wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Ariana rerouted your entire commission to Stephen’s account,” she whispered. Stephen, Ariana’s ex, joined three months ago and never made a single cold call. Yet at the annual gala, Ariana handed him the “Sales Executive of the Year” trophy. Passing my table, he smirked, “Don’t worry, man—you’ll get it next year.” Two hundred guests held their breath. I sipped my water, then linked my phone to the projector. The giant LED lit up with six scanned contracts—my signatures, corporate seals, exact figures, dates. Silence choked the room. Champagne spilled from Ariana’s glass onto her dress. I grabbed a mic. “Ariana, care to explain to everyone here how Stephen closed these six accounts?” “Marc, do you really have to make a scene and embarrass everyone tonight?” Ariana slammed her glass onto the table. The sharp crack of shattering glass was deafening in the dead quiet room. She marched up the stage in her heels, her face flushed with fury, and snatched the microphone right out of my hand. I stood my ground, my eyes calmly meeting her enraged glare. “I am simply asking a professional question, boss.” I pointed at the glowing screen behind her. “From the initial cold outreach and needs assessment, all the way to the pitch and the final hard close, I ran those six contracts entirely on my own.” “Your boy Stephen doesn’t even know where our clients’ headquarters are located. Doesn’t that trophy burn his hands?” The whispers in the crowd were finally bubbling up. Stephen did not look ashamed in the slightest. Instead, he let out a mocking scoff, tossing my crystal trophy up and catching it with one hand. He tilted his chin up. “Look, I know you’ve always had a chip on your shoulder about me.” His voice dripped with provocation. “But you can’t just erase my hard work in front of everyone. Closing deals isn’t just about blue-collar grunt work.” I almost laughed out loud. “Your hard work? You mean grinding reps at the gym during office hours? Or was it the grueling effort of picking out a Rolex on company time?” “Marc! That is enough!” Ariana took a step forward, shielding Stephen behind her like a fiercely protective mother. “Clients are company resources. They are not your personal property!” She pointed at the screen, her tone dripping with self-righteousness. “Yes, you did the initial legwork. But the backend data analysis, the risk assessment, the ongoing relationship management… Stephen handled all of that.” I stared into Ariana’s eyes. The woman standing in front of me felt terrifyingly like a stranger. Three years ago, we built this startup from the ground up in a dingy garage. Back then, she held my hands and promised that half of this empire would belong to me. Now that the company was pulling in real money, she shoved her ex-boyfriend into the ranks and robbed me of the very deals I bled for. “Data analysis?” I looked at her with pure ice. “Ariana, are you insulting my intelligence, or the intelligence of everyone in this room?” “Those six clients are undergoing supply chain upgrades for heavy manufacturing. They don’t need risk assessments from a guy who doesn’t even know how to write a basic Excel formula!” “Shut your mouth!” Ariana was completely unhinged now. She whipped her head around and screamed at the tech guy at the soundboard. “What are you staring at! Cut the projector! Now!” The screen went pitch black. The ballroom dimmed, leaving only the harsh spotlights hitting Ariana and Stephen. Stephen gave an arrogant shrug and shoved the trophy toward my chest, his tone sickeningly sweet. “Babe, don’t fight with him over me. If he is that desperate for a piece of glass, I’ll just give it to him. It’s not a big deal.” Ariana grabbed his wrist and pushed the trophy firmly back into his chest. “No one is taking away the honor you earned.” She turned around, looking down at me with absolute cruelty and disgust. “Marc, you are arrogant, you destroy team morale, and you publicly slander your colleagues.” “Effective immediately, you are suspended.” The crowd gasped. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “Ariana, you are throwing away the entire foundation of this company for a guy who acts like a parasite?” “This is my company. I set the foundation.” She spat the words out like venom. “Pack your desk. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” I took a deep breath, watching her turn her back on me. “I really hope you don’t regret this, Ariana.” She stopped in her tracks but didn’t bother to look back. “Security, escort Marc out.” “Hey man, I packed up your cubicle for you. Figured I’d save you the trip tomorrow.” The next morning, the second I stepped into the sales floor, Stephen called out to me. He was lounging on the leather sofa, legs crossed. At his feet sat a beaten-up cardboard box. Inside were my coffee mug, a neck pillow, and some crumpled scratch paper, all tossed in like garbage. I didn’t touch the box. Looking past his shoulder, I saw my office. My desk had been wiped completely clean. Sitting right where my monitor used to be was his limited-edition Patek Philippe watch and a shiny new Porsche key. “Who gave you permission to touch my things?” I didn’t yell, but the frantic clicking of keyboards across the entire sales floor instantly died. Stephen smirked, standing up to adjust the collar of his tailored suit. “Ariana told me to move in. She said the Director of Sales office shouldn’t sit empty, so she asked me to manage the team for a few days.” He leaned heavily on the title, his face swollen with pride. I let out a cold laugh. “Manage the team? You don’t even have the admin password to the CRM system. What exactly are you managing? How they book your golf times?” Stephen’s face twitched, but he quickly recovered that smug, punchable look. “Look, I know you’re bitter.” He lowered his voice, leaning in. “But Ariana said it herself. Your era is over. The company needs big-picture thinkers now, not just some meathead who only knows how to charge forward.” I didn’t have the patience to entertain his delusions. I walked straight toward my computer. “Move. I need to back up my personal files.” Stephen suddenly shot his arm out, blocking the monitor. “No can do! Boss gave strict orders. Every piece of client data on this hard drive is company property. You are not taking a single byte out of this building.” Looking at his obnoxious face, I felt the anger rising from the pit of my stomach. “Get this through your thick skull. I hunted down those accounts one by one. Apex Solutions had absolutely nothing to do with it.” “Whether they belong to Apex is not for you to decide.” Ariana’s voice drifted over from behind. She was wearing a razor-sharp business suit, casually sipping an espresso as she strolled over. “Your suspension notice went out to the entire company last night, Marc. You are no longer an active employee.” She stopped next to Stephen and naturally looped her arm through his. “You do not have clearance to touch company hardware.” Seeing her arm wrapped around him felt like a physical eyesore. “You are holding my personal hard drive hostage?” “It is standard protocol to prevent corporate espionage.” She took a sip of her coffee, her tone completely robotic. “As for those accounts, Stephen has already taken over. He is much more diplomatic than you. He is better suited for long-term relationship building.” The sheer audacity made me laugh. “Him? The guy doesn’t even know the difference between gross margin and net revenue. You are sending him to deal with industry sharks?” Ariana frowned, clearly annoyed by my lack of submission. “That is none of your concern. Security is waiting for you by the elevators.” I took a deep breath, swallowing the urge to smash that monitor over his head. As I turned to leave, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was the company-wide chat. Stephen had just uploaded a screenshot of a bank transfer. Amount: $900,000.00. He made sure to tag my name underneath it. “Thanks for laying the groundwork, man! Your clients are taking really good care of me.” I stood by the elevator, staring at the glaring nine hundred grand on my screen. Ariana’s voice echoed from down the hall. “Without this company, you are nothing, Marc.” “I’m so sorry, your keycard has been deactivated.” Ben, the kid at the front desk, kept his head down. He was too scared to look at me. I stood outside the glass doors of Apex Solutions, gripping my dead ID badge. It had been three days since the suspension. For three days, I tried calling my six core clients. Their lines were either dead, or their assistants gave me polite, scripted brush-offs. It wasn’t until last night that a buddy from a rival firm forwarded me an internal industry memo. Ariana had sent it out under the company’s letterhead. The memo heavily implied that I was under investigation for “severe ethical violations” and warned all partners to cease contact with me. She was trying to salt the earth so nothing would ever grow for me again. I only came back today for one thing. “Ben, I just need to grab one personal item. I will be in and out.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “I… I can’t. Ariana was very clear.” Ben looked like he was about to cry. “Let him in.” The glass doors pushed open from the inside. Stephen strutted out in a flashy burgundy blazer and custom loafers. He looked me up and down, unable to hide his absolute glee. “Well well. Rough few days, huh? You look like garbage.” I ignored him and stepped forward to walk inside. “Hold it.” Stephen threw his arm across the doorway. “You think this is a public park? You can just waltz in whenever you want?” He turned back to the reception desk and pulled a small velvet box from the drawer. It was a vintage Parker fountain pen. A gift from Robert, the veteran who taught me the ropes my first year in the trenches. I always kept it locked in the deepest part of my desk. “This what you’re looking for?” Stephen tossed the box lightly in his hand, a malicious smirk spreading across his face. “Want it?” “Give it back.” My voice dropped to absolute zero. “Sure thing.” Stephen’s smile widened. He suddenly opened his fingers. Clack. The velvet box hit the hard marble floor. The fountain pen spilled out, rolling across the stone. Instead of picking it up, Stephen took a deliberate step forward. His heavy, expensive loafer came down hard right on the gold nib. “Oops. Butterfingers.” He blew a carefree whistle, his eyes dancing with cruel amusement. “My bad, man. It’s just a cheap piece of junk anyway. I’ll have Ariana buy you ten new ones.” I stared at the crushed metal on the floor. Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my head. I lunged forward and grabbed him by the lapels of his stupid blazer. “What are you doing!” Ariana materialized out of nowhere, grabbing my wrist and shoving me backward with all her strength. I stumbled back, my shoulders hitting the glass door with a heavy thud. I stared dead at Ariana. My eyes felt like they were bleeding ice. Stephen instinctively flinched behind her, but realizing his sugar mama was there, he puffed his chest back out. “Did you see that? He tried to assault me.” Stephen leaned into her shoulder, playing the victim perfectly. “I accidentally dropped his pen and he completely lost his mind.” Ariana looked at him with tender concern before whipping her head around to glare at me. “You are acting like an absolute psycho!” “That was my mentor’s last gift before he died.” I pointed at the mangled pen, my voice shaking with pure rage. “It’s just a pen! Are you really throwing a tantrum in the lobby over a pen?” She crossed her arms, thoroughly disgusted. “I am warning you. Apologize to Stephen right now. Or you can kiss your final paycheck and your severance goodbye.” I looked at the woman who once swore we would conquer the corporate world together. To impress her new toy, she had stolen my blood, my sweat, and now she was trying to stomp on my dignity. I slowly crouched down, picked up the broken pieces of the Parker pen, and gripped them tightly in my fist. The sharp metal pierced my skin, but I couldn’t feel the pain. “Ariana. I promise you, you are going to pay for this.” I stood up, staring directly into her soul. She let out a dismissive scoff. “Pay for what? With what leverage? Listen to me very carefully. Tomorrow morning is the all-hands meeting. You will show up, sign your termination papers, and apologize to Stephen in front of the entire staff.” “And if I don’t?” “Then I will make sure every firm in this city knows that Marc is a corporate thief.” The all-hands meeting was held in the largest boardroom. Over two hundred employees were packed inside. You could hear a pin drop. When I pushed the doors open, every single pair of eyes stabbed into me. Some looked pitying, some mocking, but most just had the cold indifference of people watching a car crash. Ariana sat at the head of the massive table. Stephen sat right next to her, occupying my former seat as Vice President. “You’re three minutes late.” Ariana tapped her pen against the mahogany wood, her tone frosty. I pulled out a chair in the very back row and sat down, not even bothering to look at her. “Hand over the papers. I have places to be.” Her face darkened. She shot a glance at Stephen. He immediately stood up, holding a thick stack of documents. He looked like a king addressing his peasants. “Everyone, we called this meeting to address two items.” Stephen cleared his throat, projecting his voice loudly. “First. Due to severe policy violations, including hoarding client resources for personal gain and creating a hostile work environment…” He paused, flashing a brilliant, victorious smile at me. “The board has decided to officially terminate Marc’s employment. We reserve the right to pursue further legal action.” A collective, muffled gasp rippled through the room. Getting fired versus getting laid off was the difference between life and death on a resume. Ariana was trying to execute my career on live television. “Second item.” Stephen’s smile grew even wider. “The six major accounts I recently inherited have all cleared their first-phase deposits. This proves that once we cut out the dead weight, this company operates smoother than ever!” He started clapping. A few brown-nosing department managers quickly joined in, and soon a pathetic, scattered applause echoed through the room. I sat in the corner, watching this absurd circus. It was actually hilarious. “First-phase deposits?” I spoke up, cutting right through their little victory parade. “Did you even bother to read the contract terms? Those deposits are strictly automated. They trigger three days after the ink dries, no matter who is holding the account.” I stood up and slowly walked toward the front of the room. “The real crisis you need to manage is the phase-two API integration testing. Do you even know what an industrial PLC protocol is? Can you even spell ‘backend redundancy’?” Stephen’s face froze. He instinctively glanced at Ariana, but his ego wouldn’t let him back down. “Stop trying to scare people with your tech jargon! I will have the IT guys handle the technical details!” “Marc! You are fired! You do not get to dictate company strategy anymore!” Ariana slammed her hands on the table and stood up. “Whether Stephen can handle it or not is my problem. You will sign this termination notice right now and get out of my building!” She grabbed a folder and violently slid it across the table toward me. “I’m not signing garbage.” I looked at her, enunciating every syllable. “You have zero proof of any violation. This is wrongful termination.” “Proof?” Ariana sneered. “I am the CEO. My word is the proof.” She pointed a shaking finger at the heavy oak doors, the veins popping in her neck. “Security! Drag him out of here! I am officially terminating Marc right now!” Just then.

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