Category: English

When we got to my boyfriend’s apartment, I stopped dead in my tracks at the front door. “You need to text your mom for the temporary passcode, right? I can sit here and wait…” Liam expertly punched a string of numbers into the keypad. With a soft click, the heavy door swung open. “Why would I need a temporary passcode to get into my own house? Those are for plumbers and dog walkers.” He cheerfully typed the code into my phone so I’d have it. “From now on, you don’t even need to knock. Just let yourself in!” I stared at the numbers on the screen, and I suddenly broke down. Because my entire life, my mother had told me that the code to our front door changed every single day, and she was the only one who knew it. So every time I came home, I had to beg her to text me a temporary guest PIN. If she didn’t see my text, or if she was just in a bad mood, I had to sit on the concrete outside the door, waiting for her and my brother to get back. If I didn’t make it home before the temporary PIN expired, she would lock me out, claiming the app “only lets me generate one code a day.” It turned out, master codes existed all along. She just never wanted me to have it. Mrs. Carter walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on an apron. She had a naturally stern face. “You’re here? Come on in.” My heart skipped a beat. She looked incredibly intimidating. I forcibly swallowed my tears, took a timid half-step back, and acted as submissive as possible. “Mrs. Carter, do you have any disposable plastic shoe booties?” Her eyes dropped to my feet. She turned around, pulled something out of the shoe cabinet, and dropped it right by my toes. It wasn’t a plastic bootie. It was a pair of brand-new, plush pink slippers. The tags were still on them. “I bought these specifically for you. Whenever you come over, you wear these.” I stared down at the pink slippers, my throat tightening until it ached. At my house, I was only ever allowed to wear cheap, disposable plastic booties. They were paper-thin, squeaking loudly against the hardwood with every step I took. If we ran out, I had to use my own pathetic grocery allowance to buy more. My brother, Tyler, never had to wear them. He was allowed to track his muddy sneakers all over the house. Seeing my frozen expression, Mrs. Carter looked a little impatient. “What’s wrong? You don’t like pink? I don’t have time to run back to Target to buy you another pair!” Liam pouted, about to say something to defend me, but I quickly grabbed his arm and frantically slipped my feet into the shoes. “No, no! I love them!” At the dinner table, I stared blankly at the massive spread of food. Every single dish was my absolute favorite. At my house, Mom only ever cooked the things Dad and Tyler liked. Whenever I asked for something, I was met with a heavy, guilt-tripping sigh. “Anna, I’m just so exhausted. I promise I’ll make your favorite next time…” Mrs. Carter ate her food without paying much attention to me, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw her watching my reaction. She leaned over and whispered to Liam. “Are you sure these are her favorites? If you made me cook all this for nothing, I’m going to kill you.” I immediately started shoveling food into my mouth like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. The two of them stared at me in shock. As soon as dinner was over, Mrs. Carter dragged me to the smart lock on the front door. “Give me your hand.” I held my hand out blindly. She grabbed my index finger and pressed it against the biometric scanner. “Fingerprint is registered. From now on, you come over whenever you want. You don’t need to text me first.” Liam sneakily leaned into my ear and whispered, “This means my mom loves you. She basically considers you her daughter-in-law already!” I stared blankly at the heavy wooden door. I opened my mouth to say thank you, but the tears rolled down my cheeks first. Mrs. Carter jumped in surprise, then delivered a swift kick to Liam’s shin. “You little brat, did you bully her in the car on the way over?!” Liam winced in pain. “I didn’t do anything!” As I cried, I felt even more confused. She looked so intimidating, yet she wasn’t mad at me for crying. My own mother, who always put on the face of a gentle, long-suffering saint, would look at my tears and sigh. “Anna, you give me such a headache when you cry. Can’t you just be a little more mature?” Right at that moment, my phone buzzed. It was my mom. “Your curfew is almost up, Anna. Better run.” The call disconnected. A screenshot popped up in my texts: A six-digit temporary PIN. Below it, an active countdown timer: 29 minutes and 47 seconds. Ever since I was old enough to understand what a door was, getting inside my own house had been a battle. When I was little, we had a regular deadbolt. Mom, Dad, and Tyler all had keys. I didn’t. When I asked why, Mom patted my head with a look of deep, sorrowful apology. “You’re so clumsy, sweetie. If I gave you a key, you’d definitely lose it. It costs five dollars to cut a new one! That’s such a waste.” But Tyler was the one who constantly lost things. He lost his house key three times in the sixth grade alone. Every single time, Mom went to Home Depot the very next day to get him a new one, complete with a brand-new Marvel keychain. Tyler would dangle the shiny key right in my face. “Look, Anna! I’ve got a key! Now I can sneak out to the arcade at night and come home whenever I want!” I didn’t have a key, so I couldn’t leave the house. If I did, I might never get back in. When I was in high school, my parents upgraded to a digital smart lock. It had a keypad and a fingerprint scanner. Mom only called Tyler over. “Tyler, come register your thumbprint so you don’t have to memorize a code.” I stood to the side, my eyes full of hope. She noticed me looking. “Oh, Anna. The scanner only holds one fingerprint. Your dad and I can’t even use it.” I refused to give up. “Then what’s the master code?” Mom awkwardly looked away. “There is no master code. They generate randomly. It’s for security. If I gave you a permanent code, you might accidentally tell your friends, and what if we get robbed?” But Tyler was the one who lost keys! Tyler was the one who brought random friends over! I swallowed the words I wanted to scream, and gave a weak, pathetic nod. Mom was already abused by Dad and disrespected by Tyler. She had it hard enough. I needed to be the easy child. From that day on, every time I wanted to come home, I had to beg her to text me a temporary PIN. I tried to beg them to let me live in the dorms for college. When Mom heard that, her eyes turned red. “Dorms cost thousands of dollars extra a semester! Your father will beat me if I ask for that kind of money! The campus is only thirty minutes away… Anna, can’t you just run a little faster?” I felt incredibly guilty. I never brought it up again. But the temporary PIN was only valid for thirty minutes, and the countdown started the exact second she texted it. My campus was thirty minutes away on a good day. It meant I had to sprint like my life depended on it. When my last class ended, I was the first one out the door, sprinting to the bus stop. If I missed the bus, I ran the entire way home. I ran until my lungs felt like they were bleeding, my clothes soaked in sweat. Even then, there were times I didn’t make it. When the code expired, I would stand on the porch and ring the doorbell. Mom was always conveniently “not home.” Dad and Tyler were inside, but they would never open the door for me. So I would sit on the concrete porch doing my homework. When I got too tired, I would drape my jacket over my shoulders, curl into a ball, and sleep outside for the night. For all these years, I had been lying to myself. What if the person who wanted to keep me locked out… was my mother all along? I decided to stay the night at Liam’s apartment. Mrs. Carter specifically set up the guest room for me. The sheets were brand-new, powder-blue Egyptian cotton, incredibly soft to the touch. The pajamas were new, too. Simple, but the fabric felt like a cloud. It was a violent, jarring contrast to my home, where I slept in scratchy, faded clearance-rack pajamas on a mattress with torn bedsheets. I sat on the edge of the plush guest bed, staring at the wall. Thirty minutes had passed a long time ago. Mom didn’t reach out. No missed calls. No texts. I opened Instagram and posted a photo dump. The massive, beautiful dinner Mrs. Carter cooked, the pristine guest room, and a mirror selfie in my brand-new pajamas. Less than five minutes after I hit post, my phone exploded. It was Mom. “Anna, what the hell is that post?! Where are you?!” “At a friend’s house.” “Which friend?! A boy or a girl?! A young woman staying out overnight?! Get your ass home right now!” Her tone was shockingly frantic. It sounded like something had finally slipped out of her absolute control. I spoke completely flatly. “Didn’t my curfew expire? You want me to come back and sleep on the concrete porch?” “Then sleep on the concrete! That’s your punishment for missing curfew!” The moment she said it, she realized she had slipped up. She quickly pivoted back to her usual act. “I mean, it’s dangerous for a girl to be out all alone at night! Mommy is just worried about you!” “Hurry up and come home! I’ll make an exception and send you one more passcode today. If your dad yells at me, I’ll just take the blame…” I cut her off. “Mom. When I was in high school, there was a serial assaulter roaming our neighborhood. Do you remember?” She froze. “…Why are you bringing that up?” “I was late getting home from school that day. The passcode had already expired. No one would open the door for me. I was so terrified of being seen on the porch that I slept behind the community dumpsters all night.” The line went completely dead silent. “Were you really worried about my safety?” “Weren’t you afraid I was going to be murdered right outside our front door?” Silence. My heart turned to absolute ice. I was about to hang up. But suddenly, I heard the sound of plates violently shattering in the background. Then, Dad’s muffled, enraged roar: “What the hell are you doing?!” Mom’s voice broke into a terrified sob. “Anna, please, help me…” The call was violently disconnected. I shot up from the bed. Liam jumped in surprise. “Anna, what’s wrong?” I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. “I have to go back. I think my mom is in trouble.” Liam immediately grabbed his keys. “I’m coming with you!” “No. This is my family’s mess.” The entire Uber ride home, my heart hammered against my ribs. Childhood memories of Dad beating Mom until she sobbed flashed before my eyes. She used to hold me in the dark, whispering, “Anna, you’re all Mommy has left,” and “As soon as I save up enough money, we’re leaving him.” I believed those words for a decade. Even if I was cutting ties with her, I had to make sure she was okay first! I sprinted from the drop-off point to my familiar front door and pounded on the wood. No response. Not a single sound from inside. I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. It rang fifteen times before she finally picked up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded incredibly relaxed. She was actually laughing. I froze. “Mom, are you… are you okay?” “Oh, I’m perfectly fine! I just accidentally dropped a plate earlier and your dad yelled at me.” I gripped my phone. My throat went completely dry. A wave of profound, suffocating exhaustion washed over me. I had been played for a fool. “Are you at home right now?” Her next sentence completely shattered my reality. “No… we’re heading out for a family vacation! Your dad said he’s been super stressed at work and needs to unwind.” “We already bought the plane tickets. We’re in the Uber heading to the airport right now! Oh, and I have your debit card with me, so don’t worry, it’s safe.” The very next second, my phone vibrated. Push notifications from my banking app. Charge: Delta Airlines. Charge: Marriott Hotels. Charge: Uber. I made a decent salary at my corporate job. Over the last two years, I had saved up nearly twenty thousand dollars. Because Mom constantly played the victim, crying about how Dad controlled all the finances and wouldn’t give her a dime, I had secretly given her my debit card so she could buy groceries and things for herself. I never, ever intended for Dad and Tyler to touch a single cent of it. Let alone fund their luxury vacation! I needed to call the bank and freeze the card immediately. But my driver’s license and passport were locked inside my bedroom. I stared at the banking alerts. My breathing grew heavy. “When are you coming back?” “Next week! Gotta go, we’re boarding!” “Wait!” I yelled frantically. “I need to get into the house to grab my ID! Give me the master code!” Mom paused. “Code? What code?” “The front door code!” Mom’s voice instantly morphed back into that pathetic, helpless, victimized tone. “I told you, the smart lock generates random codes. I gave you one yesterday, but the app is glitching today and won’t give me a new one.” “You’re lying! Liam’s house has a permanent master code! Why doesn’t ours?!” Mom’s voice cracked into a fake sob. “Other people’s houses are different from ours!” “Anna, have you been listening to outsiders poisoning your mind against me? Have I not been a good mother to you? I raised you from a baby…” I had heard this exact speech hundreds of times. Right now, I felt nothing but absolute disgust. “Enough. Give me the code.” She snapped, dropping the act entirely. “If I say there isn’t one, there isn’t one! We won’t be back until next week! Figure it out yourself! You have someone else giving you a bed anyway!” With that, she hung up. Listening to the dead dial tone, standing outside the house I grew up in, I felt every ounce of strength drain from my body. For my entire life, I had been lying to myself. Lying to myself that my mother loved me, she just didn’t know how to show it. Lying to myself that she was a helpless victim who needed my protection. But now, the final, pathetic illusion had been completely ripped away. She didn’t love me. She never did. I wiped my face aggressively, pulled out my phone, and Googled local 24-hour locksmiths. A guy in a heavy canvas jacket arrived twenty minutes later. In less than five minutes, the smart lock that had kept me prisoner for a decade was easily bypassed. I walked in, grabbed my ID from my drawer, proved my residency to the locksmith, and handed him a massive cash tip. “Please wipe all the existing passcodes and fingerprints from the system.” “Then, re-program it. Register my fingerprint only, and set a brand-new master code.” The locksmith saw the dead, hollow look in my eyes. He hesitated for a second, but did exactly as I asked. Ten minutes later, the lock was completely wiped and reset. I registered my thumbprint. I set a brand-new master code. A code that only I knew. Next stop: The bank. Freezing the debit card and ordering a replacement was quick. The bank teller noticed how incredibly pale I was and gently asked if I needed any help. I shook my head, signing the final piece of paperwork. By the time I walked out of the bank, the sun had set. I stood on the bustling city street, watching the headlights blur into traffic, and suddenly had absolutely no idea where to go. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Liam: “Anna, how are things? Do you need me to come pick you up?” I stared at the text. My eyes burned. So there was still someone in this world who cared if I had a place to go. When I got back to Liam’s apartment, the dam finally broke. I collapsed into his arms and sobbed hysterically. Mrs. Carter handed me a glass of warm water, while Liam gently rubbed my back. Neither of them interrupted. They just sat with me and let me cry. I don’t know how long I cried, but I didn’t stop until my voice was completely hoarse. Right at that moment, my phone rang. It was Mom. I took a deep breath, hit accept, and put it on speakerphone. “ANNA!” Mom’s voice blasted through the speaker. It wasn’t relaxed anymore. It was vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage. “What the hell did you do?! Why is the card declining?!” “Go to the bank and unfreeze it right now! Your brother wants to buy souvenirs! He found a crystal sculpture he wants, it’s three grand! Wire the money to my account immediately!” I spoke with eerie, absolute calmness. “I reported the card stolen.” The line went dead silent for three seconds before exploding into a hysterical scream, laced with the panic of losing absolute control. “STOLEN?! How did you report it stolen?! Your ID is locked inside the house!” “Want to know how? Come home and find out.” I hung up the phone. I opened my contacts list and permanently blocked all three of their numbers. When I was done, I looked up at Liam and Mrs. Carter. They were both staring at me, their expressions incredibly complex. I forced a bitter, broken smile. “Mrs. Carter. Liam. You’ve seen what a disaster my family is.” “A family that worships their golden-boy son and treats their daughter like trash. If I stay tied to them, my future is just going to be bleeding myself dry to pay for my deadbeat brother’s life.” “If this is too much drama for you guys, I completely understand. I can pack my things and leave right now. I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess.” I lowered my head, biting my lip to stop it from trembling, waiting for the inevitable rejection. Suddenly, Mrs. Carter stood up and marched right up to me. Her normally stern face was flushed red with fury. But it wasn’t directed at me. “What kind of mother treats her own flesh and blood like that?! ‘Temporary passcodes’ my ass! What absolute bullshit!” She pointed a furious finger at my phone, her voice shaking with rage. “Stealing her daughter’s hard-earned savings to fund a luxury vacation, while literally locking her child out on the street like a stray dog?! What kind of psychopathic monsters are they?!” I was stunned. Liam pulled me into his arms, patting my head like I was a startled kitten. “Mom, you’re scaring Anna.” Mrs. Carter got even angrier. “I am furious! Such a sweet, hardworking girl, being tortured by those leeches! It’s a miracle she survived this long!” She glared at Liam. “What the hell are you standing around for?!” Liam let out a quick “Oh!” and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He slid a sleek debit card out and pressed it directly into my palm. I was completely bewildered. “What is this…” Liam looked at me with absolute sincerity. “My debit card. The PIN is your birthday.” “From now on, my money is your money. And your money is your money.” Mrs. Carter chimed in from the side. “My son makes a very solid salary. Adding his income to yours, you guys can easily save up a down payment for a condo in two years. We’ll put the deed entirely in your name. Then you’ll finally have a home that’s truly yours.” I held the plastic card in my hands, looking at the mother and son in front of me. The tears surged up again. So this is what a real family looks like. Mrs. Carter saw me crying and immediately put her stern face back on. “Stop crying! Wipe your tears! Your psychotic parents are definitely not going to let this go. We need to prepare for war.” I nodded heavily and wiped my face. The next day, Liam and I hired a moving company and drove back to the house I had lived in for over twenty years. The master bedroom belonged to my parents. The massive guest room belonged to Tyler. I lived in a makeshift, windowless storage space partitioned off from the living room. It held a twin bed and a cheap canvas wardrobe. Liam looked around the claustrophobic space, his jaw clenching. “You slept here?” I nodded casually. “Yeah. Since middle school.” He clenched his fists, saying nothing. I started packing, but I owned almost nothing of value. I took a few stacks of books, my diplomas, my birth certificate, birthday gifts from my friends, and the very first expensive lipstick I bought with my own paycheck. Everything I owned in the world fit into two suitcases. The movers took my things to Liam’s apartment for temporary storage until I could find my own place. That night, Liam and I sat on his couch, excitedly scrolling through Zillow listings. But right after dinner, a violent, aggressive pounding echoed from his front door. Liam and I exchanged a tense look. A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. I told him to call the building security immediately. Sure enough, a familiar, shrill voice screamed from the hallway. “ANNA! GET OUT HERE! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!” When we opened the door, Mom was standing there, radiating fury. Dad and Tyler were nowhere in sight. “Anna! What the hell did you do to the smart lock?! Why did my master code of ten years suddenly stop working?!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Ten years? Mom, didn’t you swear to me that the lock didn’t have a master code?”

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This is the story of the day before my boyfriend was supposed to finish his three-year assignment at one of our remote manufacturing plants. I hadn’t told him I was coming; I wanted to surprise him. When I got to the apartment door, I heard him inside, having a dinner party with his colleagues. “Come on, just let Chloe have one glass of wine. Don’t be such a protective tightwad.” “Seriously, you guard her so closely, you might as well just lock her in a tower.” Then, I heard that familiar voice respond. “Stop it, guys. She’s my star trainee. If she gets pissed off, I’m the one who suffers for it.” My heart did a painful somersault. Just yesterday, he had grumbled to me over text: [This trainee is so incompetent. It’s exhausting to teach her! I’m so over it!] But now he was calling her his “star.” I pushed down the instant flash of suspicion, punched the code into the keypad, and opened the door. Chapter 1 The second the door swung open, the laughter inside stopped dead. Several pairs of eyes snapped toward me, filled with shock and defensiveness at my sudden appearance. Blake casually removed his hand from the back of the girl’s chair. He forced a look of absolute delight onto his face at my arrival. “Audrey! What are you doing here?” Around the table, glances were exchanged, followed by a few forced, awkward laughs. I didn’t respond. I just looked directly into Blake’s deep, bright eyes and said, “Aren’t you flying back to New York tomorrow? I came to pick you up.” The room fell silent. Even Blake’s smile faded a little. Then, the sharp sound of glass shattering broke the tension. Someone shouted urgently: “Chloe!” I felt Blake go instantly rigid in front of me. He threw my hand off in a second. “I’ll go check on her.” Half the sentence was lost in the rush of air he left behind. In the blink of an eye, Blake had rushed to the girl’s side. She stood there looking completely helpless, a shattered glass at her feet. Her gaze was filled with suppressed grievance and vulnerability as she gazed adoringly up at Blake, who was checking her anxiously for injuries. A few knowing looks floated my way, tinged with schadenfreude. “It’s fine, it’s just a glass,” Blake said, trying to comfort her. Someone else joked, “Hey, let it break! Breaking glass is good luck, right? Fresh start and all that.” “Besides, it’s just a glass. Your mentor adores you; are you really afraid he’s going to yell at you?” The girl cast a timid glance at me. Blake followed her gaze, looking over. Our eyes met in mid-air. He froze for a second, as if finally remembering I was in the room. He forced a casual chuckle. “I’m always giving her a hard time at work, so she’s a little scared of me. Breaking a glass nearly scared her to death.” “Come, let me introduce you. This is my trainee, Chloe Bennett.” Chloe Bennett. I knew her very well. In Blake’s texts, she was the girl who was incompetent, clumsy, and always getting into trouble. He was always complaining that mentoring her was a massive headache. I felt bad for him and asked if I should call the plant manager—a friend of my father’s—to switch trainees. Blake had refused, saying it was a learning experience and that he couldn’t let my father down. It seemed there was another reason entirely. At the very least, his actual “headache” over Chloe wasn’t one-thousandth of what he’d told me. I ignored his cheerful introduction. I just looked at the pile of shards on the floor. “It’s just a glass. Who cares that it broke?” “Audrey, let’s not make a deal out of this.” Blake’s tone was solemn, as if he were trying to teach me a lesson in manners. “I’m sorry, this is all my fault,” Chloe said, moving to apologize by bending over to pick up the pieces. Blake stopped her immediately. He started cleaning up the mess for her. But the moment his eyes fell on the shards, he froze. The crystal fragments reflected the light beautifully. That was the gift I had given Blake for Valentine’s Day last year. Custom-made, private reserve crystal. Only two in the world—his and mine. I was too proud to say “forever,” so I used the gift to express it. He looked up at me carefully, tentatively. After several attempts to speak, he finally said, “Audrey, it was my fault. It had nothing to do with Chloe—” “It’s fine, it’s just a glass,” I interrupted him, my voice flat. “If it breaks, you get a new one.” In the past, he had treasured every single gift I gave him, not allowing anyone to touch them. Yet today, everyone at the party was using paper cups. Including Blake himself. That single broken crystal glass was the smoking gun of his blatant favoritism toward Chloe. It wasn’t an illusion, and it wasn’t baseless paranoia. Even before Blake had said that sentence, I was trying to rationalize his behavior. I was blaming my discomfort on oversensitivity. But the facts were right there. I couldn’t lie to myself. At the dinner table, his colleagues tried too hard to obscure the truth. They kept telling me stories about Blake’s strictness and hilarious mistakes Chloe had made under his supervision, trying to frame it as a strict-mentor/clumsy-apprentice dynamic. But they couldn’t hide the edge of hostility in their tone toward me. It was as if my appearance had forcibly broken up the perfect couple in their eyes. They tried to run interference for Blake, but couldn’t resist sticking up for Chloe. My blatant coldness caused the party to end awkwardly. After everyone left, Blake had me sit on the sofa in the living room. He knelt down and carefully placed some cozy, pink slippers in front of me, taking off my heels. He made me hot tea and brought over some fruit. Then he rolled up his sleeves to go clean up the mess in the dining room. He was exactly like he used to be—attentive, detailed, taking care of my every need. I looked at the steaming tea on the table and remembered college, how Blake always followed right behind me. I had a bad temper back then. Proud, cold, and unapproachable. Blake was the warm, friendly guy who could talk to anyone. He pursued me relentlessly for four years. He was like a servant who willingly accepted my dominance, ready to follow my commands at a moment’s notice. He wouldn’t let other guys get near me, wouldn’t let anyone else try to do me favors. For anything involving me, big or small, he refused to let anyone else handle it. “You’re my Rapunzel, Audrey. I can only rest easy when you’re tucked away safely in your tower.” I struggled in the memories, almost starting to let go of my reason. Then came the click of the lock. The door opened. Chloe Bennett had come back. She nodded at me but didn’t speak. She walked directly to the shoe rack, opened it, dug around, closed it, and finally, her gaze fell on my feet. Her expression was timid, but her words carried a definite edge of provocation. “Um, Audrey? Those are my slippers you’re wearing…” They were pink house shoes, very cute, but not my style. However, Blake was wearing a dark blue pair. I had assumed Blake had specifically prepared a matching couple’s set for my visit. Hearing her words, I lowered my eyes for a moment, then stood up and took the shoes off. The moment my bare feet touched the hardwood floor, a wave of coldness surged through me, chilling me to the core. I changed back into my own high heels and looked down at Chloe. I was practically laughing from rage. I wasn’t even planning on counting her in this, initially. But how could someone be so stupid as to go begging for a slap in the face? “Audrey!” Blake appeared from behind me. The sound of his rapid footsteps betrayed his anxiety. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He stood directly between me and Chloe, terrified I was going to do something to her. “I didn’t have time to tell you beforehand. I’m living in the factory dorms right now, so I let Chloe stay here temporarily.” “She was afraid you’d get the wrong idea and offered to stay in a hotel.” “But it’s very late now. There are probably no rooms left.” Before Chloe could explain anything, Blake had already found the perfect excuse for her. I remained silent. I just scanned the room briefly, and I already saw many matching couple’s items. The place was filled with traces of two people living together. Blake tried to offer another explanation: “Chloe’s boyfriend comes over occasionally.” “Is that so?” “Yes.” Blake’s gaze didn’t waver. After a brief staredown, a sarcastic laugh escaped my lips. “Fine. Whatever you say.” I looked around the fully renovated, two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment. “So, how much rent are you collecting from her a month?” Blake froze. “What rent?” Once he understood my meaning, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “She’s just a college grad who only started working a little while ago. How much money do you think she has?” “Do you really have to pick a fight over a few thousand dollars?” I had known Blake for so long, and yet this was the first time I had ever seen this aggressive, defensive side of him. I looked at him silently, feeling completely estranged. “She’s a young girl, living in an apartment rented in your name, and you’re actively paying her rent.” “You’re so thoughtful toward her. Why didn’t you spare a thought for her reputation?” Blake’s favoritism toward Chloe was undisguised. That’s why his colleagues found it normal, and instead felt repulsed by my sudden appearance as the official girlfriend. In their eyes, Blake and Chloe were the couple. Realizing he had lost control of his temper, Blake tried to explain further. But a sob came from behind him. Chloe wiped away tears. “Ment… Blake, I should just go. Don’t fight because of me.” Blake panicked, turning around to grab her tightly. “Do you know what time it is? Where are you going to go!” Chloe bit her lip in grievance, tears flowing down her face. “You don’t need to worry about me. I have my ways.” “If I don’t worry about you, who will!” Blake’s eyes were filled with anxiety. He turned and shouted at me: “Audrey, I’ll find a time to explain everything to you properly, but this has nothing to do with Chloe.” “Don’t take it out on her!” “It’s the middle of the night. Where do you expect a girl like her to go?” I let out a cold laugh. I turned around without a second thought and grabbed my suitcase, which I hadn’t even had time to open. Watching this trashy, melodramatic exchange between the cheating scumbag and his mistress was infuriating, and my breeding wouldn’t allow me to go crazy and scream. I wasn’t going to play Chloe’s games. I was genuinely leaving. Behind me came Blake’s anxious shout: “Audrey, where are you going!” “Wait for me!” Chapter 2 Yet until the moment I got into a taxi to a hotel, I didn’t see him chase after me. I stood on the balcony of the penthouse suite, smoking one cigarette after another. The phone on the table next to me rang non-stop. It was Blake, but I didn’t want to answer. Until the last cigarette burned out, the ringing continued. I picked up the phone and texted him the hotel address and room number. The world went silent. As I waited, I decided to be merciful just once. To be fair, Blake had been amazing to me. Four years of college, three years of grad school, and now three years of work. For ten years, outside of my parents, he was the person who had been the most accommodating to my temper. He had taken care of every detail, covered every angle, been everything to me. I loved him, and I relied on him. If he confessed, told me he had a change of heart, I would accept defeat. Soon, there was a knock on the hotel door. I opened it and saw Blake, completely out of breath. The sweat had soaked the hair on his forehead; he looked like he had just been pulled out of a lake. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” I lowered my eyes and let him in. I couldn’t not have a soft spot for him. He didn’t even bother taking care of himself before he started organizing the room for me, exactly as he always had. I was waiting. Waiting for him to open his mouth first. At 3:00 AM, Blake handed me a cup of warm milk and finally spoke. “Audrey, don’t overthink this.” “The reason I’m good to Chloe is that I feel bad for what she’s been through. She comes from a very poor background, she’s suffered so much…” I felt confused for a split second. I didn’t think that after all this waiting, after all this build-up, Blake would still be talking about Chloe Bennett. He even wanted me to empathize with Chloe’s suffering, to make me feel guilty for my behavior today. “Chloe’s life hasn’t been as smooth as yours. She’s very sensitive. You shouldn’t have gotten angry at her.” The milk went cold, and my patience finally ran out. “Is that what you came here to say?” Blake paused, remembered something, and his gaze shifted away. “There are some issues with the production line. The plant manager told me I need to stay for another week…” Hearing this, I only found it hilarious. The plant manager had just texted me during dinner to congratulations on Blake finishing his assignment, wishing us a safe trip back and telling us it was great to see our relationship finally entering its next chapter. I curved my lips. Fine. I’ll stay with you. Blake hadn’t expected me to stay, and he failed to give an immediate reaction. “What? Are you unhappy about that?” Blake shook his head frantically. “No, I’m happy.” I nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.” The next morning, I personally dropped Blake off at the factory gates and watched him walk inside. Then, I told the driver to drive to the apartment I had left last night. When the door opened, Chloe was still there. As if nothing had happened yesterday, I asked casually, “Oh, you’re here, Chloe. Don’t you have to work today?” “Blake said he had some things here, and I came to help him pack them up.” As she spoke, I pulled a large suitcase out from behind me. Chloe Bennett went completely pale, staring at it blankly. But I acted as if I hadn’t noticed and continued talking: “By the way, when Blake and I get married, you absolute must come.” Chloe Bennett ran out of the apartment, looking like she had seen a ghost. I put away my fake, sugary smile, took out my phone, and opened the spyware I had installed last night. While Blake was fast asleep, I had put something on his phone. Soon, the voices of the two came over the speaker. Blake was anxiously asking what happened. The only response was Chloe’s sobbing: “Go back and marry Audrey Sterling. We’re over.” Blake was silent. Chloe’s voice was muffled. I could even imagine him pulling her into his arms, pressing her face against his chest. Finally, Blake’s voice came again. It was gravelly, with an edge of tears. “In a few years, I’ll transfer you to corporate headquarters.” “You’ll have an enviable job, a comfortable life. I’ll watch you get married, have a beautiful child, and live a happy life…” Chloe was crying uncontrollably. “I only want you!” My face had turned completely cold. I cannot accept deceit, and I certainly cannot accept being played. I vividly remembered the afternoon my father agreed to accept Blake. The crushing boulder that had been on my chest for years finally fell. I had thrown myself into Blake’s arms, crying. Three years. Just three years. That was my father’s condition for Blake, and my test. I knew three years would be hard, so I worked tirelessly to prove myself, to meet my father’s expectations, and to keep pace with Blake. To see Blake for just one extra hour, I could go three days without sleep, pushing myself to create a proposal that would satisfy my father. And listening to the recording… Blake Vance was mapping out an entire future for Chloe Bennett. Her job, her life, her relationship… they were pouring their hearts out to each other with profound devotion. If I hadn’t shown up that night, if I hadn’t known any of this… Then every future day of my life, I would have been living in this fake, disgusting “happiness.” I pulled out my phone and dialed my older brother in New York. The call was quickly answered by a cheerful voice. “Hey, little sis! Did you pick up your boyfriend?” “Mom and Dad have already arranged the welcome dinner…” The second I opened my mouth, I was horrified to find I was sobbing. “Caleb, Blake’s cheating on me.” I raised my hand and touched my face; it was covered in icy tears. My voice finally calmed down. “Make it happen. I want to ruin them both.” I have never been a patient, forgiving saint. Blake thought he could use me as a ladder. Ruin my life, gain status, and keep his mistress. Keep dreaming. After hanging up, I took a tissue and wiped away my tears. A gaping hole had been ripped in my chest, and a freezing cold wind was howling through it. Like a knife twisting, it was both cold and painful. To say I wasn’t heartbroken would be a lie. They always said Blake was devoted to me, but wasn’t I devoted to him as well? I scanned the apartment. It was vastly different from the place I had seen three years ago. During Blake’s first month here, he casually remarked that he couldn’t sleep well in the factory dorms. I had immediately bought this apartment. Worried that he would refuse it out of pride, and afraid of giving him financial pressure, I had found a reliable real estate agent to rent the apartment to him at well below market value. Over the past three years, I had only come here a handful of times during the first year. After that, I was busy, and Blake said he was busy. Every time I came to see him, we only had a quick meeting outside the factory. So I had no way of noticing his change of heart. But at this point, I didn’t want to obsess over when the rot had started. While Blake and Chloe were out in the afternoon, I had surveillance cameras installed in every room. After confirming the connection was perfect, I went back to the hotel.

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The day the money from selling the house hit the account, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. Almost simultaneously, my phone rang. It was my dad. His voice was hushed, almost a whisper. “Did you get it?” “Yeah, I got it,” I said, staring at the long string of zeros on my screen. My chest felt strangely hollow. “A hundred thousand. Hold onto it for now.” “Dad, this is way too much.” “It’s not. That house was marital property between me and your real mom. Half of that money rightfully belongs to you.” Through the receiver, I could faintly hear my stepmother’s voice yelling from another room: “Arthur! Who are you talking to? Why are you being so secretive?” My dad immediately hissed into the phone, “I have to go. Remember, do not tell a single soul. Especially not Linda.” “Why not?” “You know exactly how she is. Just trust me.” The line went dead. Before I could even process the shock of receiving a hundred grand, a new message popped up in our family group chat. It was from my dad. “I just transferred Emily her five thousand dollars.” My stepmother, Linda, replied instantly: “Finally. Glad that’s settled and out of the way.” Right after that, she sent another text: “If you ask me, she’s going to get married and join another family anyway. Giving her even five grand is too much. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s living on her own in the city, she shouldn’t have gotten a single cent.” The group chat fell completely silent. I gripped my phone, staring at her words. I didn’t type a single reply. That evening at dinner, Linda brought it up again. “Arthur, what did Emily say when she got the five grand?” My dad kept his head down, shoveling rice into his mouth, mumbling, “She was happy.” “Hmph, of course she’s happy. Free money falling into her lap.” Linda picked up a piece of chicken and dropped it onto her biological son’s plate. “That money was supposed to go toward Jason’s future wedding fund. Just giving it away to an outsider makes my stomach churn.” “What outsider? She’s my biological daughter,” my dad snapped, his tone laced with irritation. “So what if she’s your biological daughter? Even blood brothers keep their finances strictly separate! She’s going to marry out of this family eventually. Why are you treating her so well?” “Enough. Let’s just eat.” My dad clearly didn’t want to fight with her. But Linda wasn’t finished. She glared at him, her words loaded with implications. “I’m just worried that some people might be favoring outsiders and funneling our family’s money to them. Arthur, I’m warning you. Our entire future depends on the cash from selling that house. Don’t you dare do anything stupid.” My dad violently slammed his fork down. It clattered sharply against his plate. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Linda shrank back slightly, but her mouth kept running. “I just think people should have a conscience. We took the lion’s share, giving her five grand is already incredibly generous. If she had any respect, she would return the money to us.” “In your dreams!” my dad roared. Jason, my stepbrother, jumped in his seat, dropping his fork onto the table. Linda froze, then immediately started crying. “Oh, so now you’re yelling at me?! You’re yelling at me and my son for the sake of your ex-wife’s brat?! I’m only thinking about what’s best for this family! That five grand could have been a down payment on a car for Jason!” The atmosphere in the room plummeted below freezing. My dad stared at her, his eyes heavy with absolute exhaustion. I knew this was only the beginning. 2 For the next month, Linda complained about that five thousand dollars almost every single day. “The Johnsons next door? Their daughter got married and didn’t ask her parents for a dime. She even brings them expensive gifts every Thanksgiving and Christmas.” “Look at Susan from the HOA. Her daughter gave her younger brother eight grand to help him buy a house. Now that is a daughter who knows her place.” “Ugh, comparing kids just makes you angry. How did I end up stuck with such an ungrateful parasite?” She posted these passive-aggressive rants on her Facebook, specifically adjusting the privacy settings to block me from seeing them. But I always heard about them through other gossiping relatives. I never responded. Not once. I simply took the hundred thousand dollars, put it into a high-yield CD, and let it sit there. My dad would occasionally text me privately. “Don’t take what Linda says to heart.” “I know, Dad.” “Keep the money safe. It’s your safety net. If your mom were still here, she would have made me do the exact same thing.” Seeing the words “your mom” made my eyes sting. My mom passed away when I was twelve. Before she died, she held my hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Emily, study hard. Become someone successful, so no one can ever bully you.” Back then, I didn’t really understand what “bully” meant. Now, I understood it perfectly. I texted him back three words: “You too, Dad.” I didn’t know if he would understand what I meant. I hoped he did. With the money from the house sale in hand, my dad was incredibly energized. He had been a long-haul truck driver for years, always dreaming of opening his own small business so he wouldn’t have to answer to a boss anymore. Now, using that cash, he leased a small storefront on the south side of town and opened a breakfast diner. At first, Linda was fully supportive. She posted photos of the diner on Facebook every day, bragging about how her husband was still in his prime and about to strike it rich. I went to the grand opening. The second Linda saw me, she grabbed my hand, smiling so hard her wrinkles showed. “Emily, look at how successful your dad is! Once the family gets rich, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” She seemed to have completely forgotten how she had spent the last month agonizing over that five thousand dollars. I just offered a mild smile. “It’s great that Dad’s doing well.” “Absolutely.” She puffed out her chest, then pulled me aside, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Emily, look, the diner just opened, and we need cash for everything. That five grand is just sitting in your account doing nothing. Why don’t you… let your dad use it for a bit to help with cash flow?” I stared at her, feeling a cold chill settle in my chest. “Linda, that’s my emergency fund.” “Oh, please. You’re single, how much could you possibly need? Besides, that money originally belonged to our family anyway. Lending it to your dad now is just the right thing to do, isn’t it?” She spoke with such absolute entitlement, as if the money inherently belonged to her. I pulled my hand out of hers and didn’t say a word. Her face instantly darkened. She pulled a long face and muttered under her breath, “Ungrateful parasite.” It wasn’t loud, but I heard it perfectly. For the first few months, business was actually booming. My dad had to wake up at 3:00 AM to prep the dough and start the soups, but he looked incredibly vibrant, like he had reverse-aged ten years. Linda was even more insufferable. She posted on Facebook eight times a day—showing off new designer knock-off bags, fresh manicures, and various “Life of a Boss’s Wife” updates. She started organizing family dinners constantly, always aggressively insisting on paying the bill. At the dinner table, she would always inevitably single me out. “Emily, how much are you making a month now? Is it enough to live on?” “It’s fine,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate. “Sigh, it’s so hard for a young woman to be out there working a corporate job. Look at your dad. Now that the business has taken off, he can support this entire family with room to spare.” She paused, pivoting sharply. “Speaking of which, that five grand you have is barely making any interest in the bank. Why don’t you listen to me and invest it in your dad’s diner? We’ll give you a dividend at the end of the year. Isn’t that better than letting it rot in a savings account?” Under the table, my dad kicked my shin, giving me a warning look. I pretended not to notice and simply said, “I don’t know anything about running a business. I’ll pass.” Linda’s face fell immediately. “Why are you so stubborn? I’m only offering you this investment opportunity because we’re family! Other people would be begging for this chance.” The atmosphere at the table turned painfully awkward. A distant aunt finally chimed in to break the tension. “The kids have their own financial plans, Linda. Don’t worry so much about it.” Linda finally dropped it, but she glared at me for the rest of the meal. On the drive home, my dad called me. “Don’t listen to Linda. She’s just obsessed with money.” “I know.” “If she ever brings up money with you again, just tell me immediately.” “Okay.” I hung up the phone, watching the city lights blur past the window. The truth was, I could already tell that my dad’s business was in trouble. 3 The diner was located on the south side, in an area with a lot of newly built apartment complexes, but the actual occupancy rate was incredibly low. He had trusted a slick commercial real estate agent and signed a brutal three-year lease at an exorbitant rate. He was waking up at 3:00 AM every day and not getting home until 8:00 PM. He had lost a significant amount of weight, and the bloodshot veins in his eyes were getting worse. But he never complained, and I didn’t want to press him. He was my father. He was the pillar of the family, and he had his pride. Sure enough, the honeymoon phase didn’t last. The occupancy rate in the surrounding neighborhoods never went up, and foot traffic at the diner dwindled day by day. First, they couldn’t afford to pay the prep cooks, so Linda was forced to wake up at 3:00 AM to help. Then, they started buying cheaper, lower-quality ingredients, which drove away their remaining regular customers. Finally, they started falling behind on rent. The vibe on Linda’s Facebook page took a drastic turn. The bragging vanished, replaced by endless shares of inspirational quotes and articles about “Never Giving Up.” She stopped hosting family dinners, and she barely ever sent messages in the family group chat anymore. The atmosphere at their house became incredibly oppressive. One day, I bought some fruit and stopped by to visit them. The moment the door opened, a thick cloud of stale cigarette smoke hit my face. My dad was sitting on the sofa, the ashtray by his feet overflowing with cigarette butts. He looked emaciated, his face covered in stubble, his eyes completely hollow. Linda was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, her eyes red and swollen. She looked at me with pure, concentrated resentment. “What are you doing here?” she asked icily. “I came to see Dad.” “See him? You came to laugh at him, didn’t you?!” Linda suddenly shot to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at my dad. “Look at him! Look at what he’s become! It’s all your fault! You are a walking curse!” I froze. “If he had just listened to me and left the money safely in the bank, none of this would have happened! But no, he had to open a restaurant! And now it’s all gone! Every last cent!” She whipped her finger toward me. “And you! If you had an ounce of conscience and had coughed up that five grand to help us out when we needed cash flow, we wouldn’t be in this mess! You are a cold-blooded, ungrateful parasite!” She was screaming hysterically. My dad suddenly bolted upright and slapped her hard across the face. “Shut your mouth!” The entire living room fell dead silent, save for Linda’s shocked gasp. She clutched her cheek, massive tears rolling down her face. “Arthur, you hit me? You actually hit me for her?” “I hit you because you can’t keep your toxic mouth shut!” my dad was shaking with rage. “The business failing is my fault! It has absolutely nothing to do with Emily! If you say one more word about her, I swear to God!” Linda collapsed onto the floor and started wailing at the top of her lungs. The sound was piercing, full of despair and absolute grievance. I stood in the doorway, watching the absolute wreckage of their lives, feeling a heavy, sickening knot in my chest. I set the fruit down on the shoe rack and said quietly, “Dad, I’m going to head out.” As I walked down the stairs, the sounds of her screaming and their arguing faded away. But I knew the real storm was just beginning. 4 After that day, my dad didn’t contact me again. I knew he was trying to tough it out alone. He didn’t want me to see him looking even more pathetic. Until one afternoon, an unknown number popped up on my phone. It was Linda. Her voice was hoarse and exhausted, entirely stripped of its usual arrogance. “Emily, where are you?” “At the office.” “Can you… can you come out for a minute? I’m at the coffee shop across the street from your building.” My heart sank. I knew exactly what this was about. I went downstairs and spotted her sitting in a window booth. She looked incredibly haggard. She was wearing a faded, old jacket, her hair was a mess, and she looked nothing like the polished woman from a few months ago. When she saw me, she forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Emily, you’re here.” I sat across from her and didn’t say a word. She stirred her black coffee for a long time before finally forcing the words out. “Your dad… he’s in the hospital.” Her eyes instantly turned red. “A severe heart attack. He needs bypass surgery, and we’re short twenty thousand dollars. I’ve borrowed from everyone we know, I’ve sold everything we own…” She looked up at me, her eyes filled with desperate pleading. “Emily, I know I treated you badly in the past, and I am so, so sorry. But right now, you’re the only one who can help us.” She pulled a crumpled deposit slip from her purse and pushed it across the table. “You still have that money. Your dad told me… he told me he gave you… he gave you a substantial amount.” I looked at her, and everything clicked into place. My dad had finally cracked under the pressure and confessed to her. I just didn’t know how much he had confessed. “Emily, I am begging you. Please, take the money out and save your father’s life! The doctor said if he doesn’t get the surgery soon, it’s going to be too late!” She was practically ready to drop to her knees in the coffee shop. I reached out, steadied her, looked her dead in the eye, and asked slowly: “How much did Dad say he gave me?” Linda froze, her eyes darting away nervously. She stammered, “He… he said… he gave you an extra few thousand… just to round it up…” I let out a cold laugh in my head. Even at rock bottom, he was still trying to protect my secret. He was still guarding against her. He hadn’t told her the truth. Seeing my silence, Linda grew even more frantic. “Emily, your dad is literally dying in a hospital bed, please…” I cut her off, pulling out my phone and opening my banking app. “Linda, give me the account routing number.” Her eyes lit up instantly, like she had just caught a lifeline, and she quickly rattled off the account numbers. I typed them in and initiated a transfer. “I just wired ten thousand dollars.” The expression on Linda’s face completely solidified. The hopeful light in her eyes extinguished in a fraction of a second. “How much?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard me correctly. “Ten thousand.” I turned the phone screen toward her so she could see the confirmation. “That is every single cent of liquid cash I have.” “Ten thousand?!” Her voice skyrocketed in volume. “What is ten thousand dollars going to do?! The surgery costs eighty thousand! We’re still twenty thousand short!” People in the coffee shop started turning their heads to stare at us. She reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instantly exploding. “Your father is lying in a hospital bed waiting for a life-saving surgery! And you think you can just toss us ten grand and wash your hands of it?! Do you have no soul?! After everything your father has done for you?!” I looked at her calmly and put my phone away. “Linda, originally, Dad gave me five thousand dollars. That’s what the entire family was told. I haven’t touched a single penny of that money. Now, I’ve been working for a few years, and I managed to save up an additional fifteen thousand. That’s twenty thousand total. I’m giving you ten thousand, and I’m keeping ten thousand for my own living expenses and emergencies. Is there a problem with that logic?” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word was razor-sharp. Linda choked on her own rage, completely unable to form a rebuttal. Because in her mind, and in the minds of every relative in our family, I only had that original five thousand dollars. How much savings could a single young woman realistically have just a few years out of college? Handing over ten thousand dollars was already going above and beyond. She opened her mouth, her face flushed dark red, and finally squeezed out a sentence: “You… you can’t give more?! Just give us your entire savings, and we’ll pay you back later!” “Linda, I have to survive too.” I stared at her, my gaze unyielding. “I live alone in the city. If I don’t have an emergency fund and I get sick or need surgery, who is going to pay for me?” I was throwing her own words right back in her face. When she used to complain about me, she always talked about how hard and expensive it was for a young woman living alone in the city. Now, I was serving her own logic back to her on a silver platter. Her face cycled through shades of green and white. Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t say a single word. She had completely backed herself into a corner. She had spent months brainwashing everyone into believing I was a useless, broke parasite. How could she possibly demand that a “broke parasite” suddenly produce tens of thousands of dollars? She couldn’t. “Emily, you… you are completely heartless!” She finally found a new angle of attack. “That is your biological father! He’s dying in a hospital, and you’re sitting here doing math over a few thousand dollars!” “I’m not doing math,” I said softly. “I’m just living my life. Like you said, I’ll be part of another family eventually. I have to plan for my own future.” “You!” Linda pointed at me, shaking violently with rage. She probably never expected that the quiet, submissive stepdaughter she had verbally abused for years would suddenly become so articulate and ruthless. And she definitely never expected that the toxic words she used to tear me down would become the very rope I used to hang her. “Fine. Fine. FINE!” She spat out the words, grabbed her purse from the table, and shot up from her chair. “Arthur is the unluckiest man on earth to have a daughter like you! Keep your ten grand and buy yourself a coffin with it!” She turned and stormed out of the coffee shop without looking back. I sat there, slowly finishing my cold coffee. I knew this wasn’t over.

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After the divorce, my mother immediately stuck her nose back into my love life. She found a guy. An engineer. Handsome, loaded, and he spent nine months of the year working on remote job sites. His only drawback? A five-year-old son who was allegedly “mentally unstable.” My mother asked if I minded being a stepmom. I laughed. Why go through labor when you can just push a button and get a kid instantly? Isn’t the government worried about the birth rate anyway? I’ll take that deal. Chapter 1 David Vance was a busy man. We scheduled our first date at a coffee shop right downstairs from his downtown office. He showed up wearing light gray technical workwear. He had sharp, striking features, but a gentle smile. I was shocked. I didn’t think my mother had connections to resources this high-quality. Between sips of coffee, he gave me a brief breakdown of his life. Thirty-five years old. High six-figure salary. Field engineer for international infrastructure projects. He was almost always traveling overseas. After the conversation, he made it clear he was interested, but he hesitated before adding a caveat. “I’m not sure if Mrs. Miller told you, but I have a five-year-old son. He’s in kindergarten.” I nodded. I understood teenage rebellion, but I couldn’t comprehend how a five-year-old could be “mentally unstable.” Did David have anger issues? Some hidden, dark vices? I looked him up and down again. His hands were clasped tightly into fists, resting nervously on the table. He offered me a smile that was the definition of painfully earnest and maybe a little slow. He looked like a decent guy. “Can I ask why you and your ex got divorced?” David was silent for a moment. “It wasn’t a divorce. I’m a widower. She passed away from an amniotic fluid embolism during childbirth.” I froze. My mother had conveniently left that part out. “Because of my job, I was traveling all over the world when he was born. He grew up with his grandparents. When I finally brought him to live with me at age four, he just…” Since we were laying it all on the table, he rubbed his hands together awkwardly, testing the waters. I thought about it for a long time. Finally, I said, “I have a three-year-old daughter. We are a package deal. She has to live with me. I need to know if you can accept that.” My daughter, Goldie, is a little Golden Retriever I rescued from a puppy mill bust. I spent eight grand on her surgeries, which started a cold war with my ex-husband. We divorced six months later. David blinked for three seconds. The moment I pulled out a picture of Goldie, he let out a massive sigh of relief. Aside from Goldie, David knew my situation. Thirty years old. A freelance ghostwriter bringing in pennies a month. Practically a hermit. Because of my low income, I’d been living off my mom since the divorce, and she never let me forget it. “Should we swap numbers? Maybe keep talking?” I was satisfied with David. He needed a wife to take care of his son, and I needed his high salary to support my hermit lifestyle. More importantly, I am a total sucker for a pretty face. After we swapped numbers, I immediately Venmoed him my half of the coffee bill. David stared at the notification on his phone for a few seconds, then frowned, hesitating. “If… if you think I’m okay, maybe I could bring you to meet my son sometime soon.” “Honestly, he’s only ‘unstable’ occasionally. Most of the time, when he’s quiet, he’s actually pretty cute.” I didn’t say anything. He gritted his teeth and made a final offer. “I’m really impressed with you. If you’re willing, I’ll take care of all your existing debt as a gesture of goodwill, and I’ll transfer my paycheck to you every month for the household.” “Let’s do tomorrow. I have to take Goldie to the vet for a check-up tomorrow afternoon anyway. We can let them meet then.” After setting the time, I picked up Goldie from the groomer and went home, giving my mom a brief summary. I truly didn’t understand why David got so tense whenever the child was mentioned. A five-year-old. Even if he had a bad temper or was a brat, how “unstable” could he possibly be? “Mom, have you actually seen his son?” My mom scratched her head. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. The kid looks fine. Just as polite as his dad, but quiet. Introverted. Won’t talk to anyone.” “What are you afraid of with a five-year-old? It’s not like he can tear the roof off.” The next day, after Goldie’s vet appointment, I made a special trip to the mall. I bought some trendy little toys and some gourmet donuts. David picked me up. It was only then I realized he owned a massive, luxury condo right in the city center. Because he was so busy, his son was usually living there all alone. “For the past few years, his mother’s parents haven’t been in good health, so they couldn’t care for him anymore. I have a live-in nanny who comes to cook his meals and manage the house.” “What’s his name?” “Leo. His mother picked it.” I stopped talking. David parked the car in the underground garage, took the shopping bags from me, and led me inside. “Leo is still young. He might… need a lot of patience. A lot of care.” “I came back yesterday and gave the place a deep clean…” Before he could finish, he opened the door and found the living room in absolute chaos. cushions were thrown everywhere, and books were scattered across the floor. Leo was sitting alone on the sofa, stuffing a piece of mashed-up cake into his mouth with his bare hands. “Leo Vance!” David was furious. Leo stared blankly at Goldie for a second, then turned around and sprinted back into his room without a backward glance. David had a massive headache. He apologized to me profusely. Leo had locked his door tight. No matter what David said, he wouldn’t open it. It was going to take some time for the nanny to get back and clean up the mess, so I sat on the sofa with David, making small talk. Suddenly, David sighed. “He tells people he can hear cats and dogs talking. He claims a dog ‘found a mommy’ for him.” “But don’t worry, I’ve taken him to specialists. The doctors said it shouldn’t affect his normal development.” Since I talk to Goldie all the time, I didn’t instantly think Leo was unstable because of that. He was only five, after all. His dad had brought home a strange woman. Declaring ownership through destruction is standard toddler protocol. Just as I was thinking about how to bridge the gap with Leo, he quietly cracked his bedroom door open an inch. We made eye contact for a second. He looked away, spotted the nanny rushing in to clean, and slammed the door shut again. He was afraid of the nanny. I told the nanny to leave the trash for now and go home early. Then I walked over and knocked on Leo’s bedroom door. “The nanny is gone. If you’re hungry, come out and eat.” After a long silence, he pulled the door open, peeking out to confirm the woman was actually gone before he would step out. Goldie wagged her tail excitedly, panting, and began circling him. He looked uncomfortable, tugging at his clothes, which seemed a bit ill-fitting. Like a little thief, he reached out and touched Goldie on the head. Then, he swiped a donut from the shopping bag and stuffed it into his pocket. The nanny hadn’t prepared lunch, so we ordered in from a nice restaurant. “Are you my mommy?” Leo was sitting across from me, and the question came out of nowhere. Goldie was lying next to him and barked twice the moment he spoke. Leo looked up, staring intently at David and me. He had incredibly long eyelashes. His face was flushed, still carrying some chubby baby fat. He looked like a sweet little strawberry shortcake. David was right; Leo was actually pretty cute. “Yes,” David answered. “Would you like to live with her?” “Dad is a liar!” Leo’s eyes filled with tears, stubborn defiance in his voice. “My mommy died a long time ago!” The atmosphere at the table instantly became tense. I smiled, peeled a shrimp, and placed it on his plate. “I’m not your mommy. You can call me Aunt Maya. Or, if you want, you can call me Mom.” “Just like my nanny?” He offered a naive smile, but it looked a little mean. “No. I will live with you. I will discipline you when your dad isn’t around. The nanny might not spank you, but I will.” His eyes filled with a fresh layer of tears. The very next afternoon, David and I went to City Hall and got our marriage license. Then, he hurriedly helped me move my things into the condo. David had received an overseas assignment from his company two weeks ago, but because this trip was going to be for a long time, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave Leo alone. That was the only reason he had delayed. “I’m going to be gone for over six months this time. I’m trusting you to take care of Leo. If anything happens, text me. I’ll reply as soon as I can.” “Leo might be a handful at kindergarten. I apologize in advance; you’ll probably have to listen to the teachers scold you for him.” “If he does something wrong and makes you angry, you have my permission to discipline him harshly. Just… don’t bruise him.” “Video call me if you miss me.” At the airport gate, David was micromanaging every detail, giving me endless instructions. I had wanted Leo to take a day off to see him off, but the boy stubbornly refused to come. David’s silhouette grew smaller as he walked down the jet bridge, finally disappearing into the crowd. On the way back, I made a detour to a grocery store. Ever since I noticed Leo was afraid of that nanny, I had David fire her. With no live-in help, I had to cook. Day one of being a mom. To make a good impression on Leo, I drove to pick him up from school. But I saw him lingering at the school gate with his friends, refusing to come out. The other kids were actually circling him, jumping up and down and singing a song. What is this? Why are they playing at the gate? Why are they singing? It’s not Leo’s birthday. I couldn’t take waiting any longer. I got out of the car, walked over, and lifted Leo right out of the crowd. “Sorry, boys, but Leo’s mom said he has to come home early for dinner today. He can’t play right now.” I buckled Leo into the back seat. The loose, floppy seat belt was a joke on him. I forgot to buy a booster seat. Goldie was sniffing all over him, licking his hands, nudging his chin with her head. “What do you want for dinner?” He said nothing. I almost forgot. He didn’t seem to like his new stepmom very much. I changed the subject. “I fired the nanny.” I secretly watched his reaction in the rearview mirror. He looked up, looking incredibly surprised and happy. But his answer to my previous question was completely nonsensical. “I want lasagna. BBQ ribs. Sweet and sour chicken…” Cold sweat broke out on my back. I had vastly overestimated myself. In the end, I took him out to a diner to solve the dinner problem. Chapter 2 After dinner, we went home. I fed Goldie, and Leo meekly washed his hands and went to his room to look at picture books. Where is this kid ‘unstable’? This kid is perfectly normal. I was happy for the peace and quiet. I opened my laptop and started writing. By 9:00 PM, Leo was still playing Sudoku. He had no intention of going to sleep. I took his puzzle away and told him to go take a shower. He gripped his bedroom doorframe tightly, screaming, “I can wash myself! I can wash myself!” I pried his stubborn fingers loose. “Can you actually get yourself clean? You smell like a locker room.” He let go in shock, his cheeks puffing out in anger. He looked like a cute little pufferfish. “Liar! I take a shower every single day!” In the end, I forced him into the bathroom. Leo’s bathroom had a huge soaking tub. The faucet was set very low, making it easy for him to fill the tub himself. I stripped his clothes off, put him in the tub, and started scrubbing him like I was washing a muddy potato. When I got to his arm, he suddenly started crying out in pain. I thought he was just being dramatic, but when I looked closer, his eyes were filled with tears. That’s when I noticed a massive purple bruise on his right upper arm. I became serious. “How did this happen?” He wouldn’t say. I lightly swatted his rear end, feigning fury. “Leo Vance. Speak!” He wailed like a teakettle. “If I wasn’t good, the nanny would pinch me. She said I was a charity case that nobody wanted.” I was stunned. It was only then that I realized his question, “Just like my nanny?”, hadn’t been a challenge. It was a test. He was truly afraid that I would abuse him. Regaining my composure, I softened my voice, wrapped him in a giant beach towel, and lifted him out of the tub. “How long was she doing this to you? Why didn’t you tell your dad?” I pulled his pajamas onto him, feeling frustrated on his behalf. “You seem plenty talkative with me. Why do you go mute around your father?” “I only see Dad for a little bit. By the time I see him, my owies don’t hurt anymore.” I pulled the pajama hood over his head. “Don’t hurt? Then who was just screaming bloody murder in the bathroom?” “Listen to me. If anyone ever bullies you again, you punch them right back. You understand? I’ve got your back. We don’t need to tell your dad.” I tucked him into bed, then turned around to fix his closet. What is this kid even wearing? Everything is high-water. “No new clothes.” Leo was peeking out from under the covers, his voice muffled. “The nanny took all the new clothes Dad bought me.” Motherfucker. Suppressing anger only gives you ulcers. At midnight, I was tossing and turning, unable to sleep, plotting a way to teach her a lesson. But I didn’t expect that before I could go looking for her, she would come right to me. The teacher called. Leo had gotten into a fight at kindergarten. I peeled into the parking lot. When I got there, that old witch was sitting on the floor, screaming and crying, putting on a full performance. I pulled Leo behind me, knelt down, and checked him over multiple times. I only found a tiny scratch on his face from another kid’s fingernail, and I let out a sigh of relief. “You’re this little brat’s parent! Look at what he did to my precious grandson!” I bent down and pointed to the child, who was covered in bruises and had a black eye. I asked Leo, “Did you do this?” He wouldn’t answer. “Leo Vance! Look up at me when I’m talking to you!” He meekly looked up, his hands twisting nervously in front of his chest, muttering softly, “I did it.” “He started it. He said I was an orphan with no mommy. I got mad.” I patted his head and praised him. “Good. Good job.” The teacher looked like she had just swallowed a fly. “Leo’s mom, it’s one thing for the children to not know better, but you are an adult.” The nanny screamed, “Just an apology? My grandson is beaten like this and all you want is an apology? She has to pay!” “Leo didn’t do anything wrong. I’m standing right here. Since when does Leo not have a mom?” I turned around and smiled at the nanny, who was still wailing on the floor. “Funny you should mention money. I just realized some cash is missing from my desk drawer. I was just about to come find you.” She shivered, tightening her jaw in defiance. “What are you talking about?” “It doesn’t matter if you admit it. The security cameras in the house saw everything.” She scrambled to her feet, glaring at me viciously. “I don’t care! Your son beat my grandson, and you’re going to pay. If you don’t, I’ll make you sorry!” Her face twisted into a smug smile of certainty. “I know your man isn’t in the country right now.” I tightened my fists, ready to throw hands. But the teacher grabbed my wrist. “Do not get emotional. An apology will solve this. His father is… he’s powerful. Not someone you want to make an enemy of.” Just as she finished speaking, a voice came from the doorway. “Who? Who is bullying my son?” Rex’s father was only five-foot-seven, but he was built like a brick shithouse. Standing there, he looked like a retaining wall. His eyes darted to Leo behind me. “This is the little brat who bullied my son?” I shoved Leo behind the teacher. In a low voice, I said, “Call the cops.” At that moment, I was incredibly grateful that after being sexually harassed by a former boss, I had taken Sanda and Muay Thai classes. That training was the only reason I was able to hold my own until the police arrived. I turned over all the video footage of the nanny stealing from the condo to the officers. The nanny was held in custody for seven days for theft. I also paid the medical bills to settle the fight between Leo and Rex. On the drive home, Leo didn’t say a word. But that night, while he was eating noodles, he suddenly burst out crying and started apologizing. I pulled out a tissue, looking disgusted, and wiped his eyes. “Why are you crying like this? If your dad saw this, he’d think I was abusing you.” He climbed onto a kitchen chair, cupped my face in his hands, his face a mess of tears and snot. “Does it hurt? I’ll make it better.” I pulled him down and hugged him, patting his back. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” “Leo, I want to praise you. You did a good job today.” “If someone bullies you, you can hit back, or you can report them. If your father were here today, he would have made the same choice I did.” “I just want you to know, no matter what happens, your dad and I are always your strongest supporters. Do you understand?” He cried again. How can a child have this many tears? At least Goldie was good; her broad shoulders were always available for me to wipe my tears on. I sighed, helplessly patting his back. “Baby, let’s eat first, okay?” After dinner, Leo played with blocks for a bit before getting sleepy. I handled the clothes stripping, tub tossing, the whole routine. By now, bathing Leo was an art form. I was washing that potato with silky-smooth efficiency. He let me pull his clean, new pajamas onto him. Goldie wagged her tail and circled his bed. Ever since we moved in, Goldie didn’t sleep with me anymore. She was obsessed with Leo. I was annoyed, but I was also glad he had Goldie to keep him company. He wasn’t unstable. He was just too lonely. He desperately wanted his dad to spend more time with him. I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. That’s when I realized the little brat had somehow ended up in my bed. He was sleeping on top of the covers in his new dinosaur pajamas. Goldie was lying at his feet, using her stomach to keep them warm. My eye twitched. I lifted the covers and tucked him in. He mumbled something and snuggled into my arms, whispering a single word. Of course, the little brat woke up with a fever the next morning. And not just him. Goldie, who had spent the night warming his feet, was sick too. I called the school to excuse him and immediately rushed both the kid and the dog to the vet. Goldie had to stay at the animal hospital for two days for observation. I drove Leo home first. On the way back, he suddenly yelled for me to stop the car. He scrambled out of his booster seat with immense effort. He crouched next to a dumpster and looked up at me. “She looks pregnant. Can we take her home?” I touched his red, frozen nose and his cold cheeks. I smiled. “Of course.” I took off my jacket, and together, we rushed the pregnant tabby cat to the pet hospital. Leo asked me, “Why can’t we bring her home? She won’t fight with Goldie.” “The doctor needs to check if she and the babies are healthy. I’ll bring you back on Saturday to pick her and Goldie up, okay?” He nodded solemnly. Because of this, he was distracted and anxious for two solid days. Early Saturday morning, he was burrowing around under my covers, refusing to let me sleep until I woke up. Left with no other choice, I braved the morning cold to take him to pick up the zoo. Goldie hadn’t seen me in days and was furiously enthusiastic, jumping all over me. Leo, on the other hand, was entirely focused on the pregnant cat. One minute he was feeding her a cat treat, the next he was petting her belly. Goldie got so jealous she was whining and circling around the apartment.

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My husband parked in my assigned parking spot again. The front of his car was angled sharply over the line, obnoxiously taking up two spaces. This was the third time. I didn’t call him right away to come downstairs and move it. Instead, I took a quick video and posted it on my Instagram Story. A second later, the Gen Z intern I was mentoring—a guy who constantly bragged about having eighteen ex-girlfriends—sent me a DM: [Hey boss, based on my experience, this is sketchy as hell. If you still want to make it work with him, call him to come down and move it. If you’re done with him, march straight upstairs, open the bedroom door, and make sure your phone is recording.] My hands and feet went ice cold. I went upstairs with my heart in my throat, only to find my husband calmly sitting on the living room sofa, typing away on his laptop for work. I peeked into the bedroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking I was overreacting. But then I looked at him again, and my stomach dropped. The tie he was wearing when he left the house this morning wasn’t this red polka-dot one. Plus, he only ever worked in his home office… I placed my purse on the entryway console, swapped my heels for slippers, and tried to keep my voice steady: “You parked in my spot again.” “I got an urgent email from a client on my way back and had to revise a pitch deck. I parked in a rush. I was going to move it when you were close to home. Give me a minute to finish this, and I’ll head down.” Declan’s tone was relaxed. He answered slowly, completely unbothered. “Don’t worry about it. I parked in visitor parking.” I suppressed my racing heartbeat and sat down on the armchair opposite him. “Why are you working in the living room?” “The desk lamp in the office is broken. The bulb kept flickering.” Sensing my gaze, Declan stopped typing and looked up. “What’s wrong?” “Where’s your other tie?” He looked down, a sheepish, helpless smile crossing his face: “I had a lunch meeting with a client and spilled some coffee on it. You bought me that tie for our anniversary, so the second I got home, I rushed to hand-wash it.” He gave me a sweet, pleading look. “I was clumsy. Don’t be mad, okay?” I glanced toward the laundry room. Sure enough, a blue striped tie was hanging on the drying rack, dripping water onto the tiles. It all made sense. Every single piece of it made perfect sense. But my mind was a chaotic mess. I subconsciously started biting my thumbnail. “Have you been too tired lately?” I didn’t even notice Declan getting up. He knelt in front of me, gently pulling my hand away from my mouth. He let out a soft sigh, pulled me into a hug, and rested his chin on the top of my head, gently patting my back. He knew. My anxiety was acting up again. “Come on.” “Where?” Declan took my hand and led me into his home office. He flicked the switch on the desk lamp. It flashed twice and died. The desk was spotless. The trash can was empty. There were no suspicious traces anywhere. “Feel better now?” He held my shoulders, his voice incredibly soft and gentle. I nodded, then shook my head. I didn’t know. He didn’t get angry. He led me back to the sofa, went to the kitchen to pour a glass of warm water, and pulled a bottle of pills from the cabinet. Anti-anxiety medication. Prescribed by my psychiatrist three years ago. I had stopped taking them a long time ago, but he always kept a refill handy. He held two pills up to my lips. A violent surge of agitation boiled up inside me. I slapped his hand away. The water glass tipped over, splashing warm water all over his shirt. Declan froze. A flash of utter exhaustion crossed his eyes. My breath hitched. But, true to form, he calmly picked up the glass, grabbed some paper towels to wipe the coffee table, and smiled as he ruffled my hair. “I’ll go make you some pasta.” I pulled my knees to my chest, curled up on the sofa, and watched his back as he moved around the kitchen. My eyes burned. I felt terribly guilty, but I couldn’t stop my brain from spiraling: Is Declan cheating on me or not? Three years ago, I asked that exact question a thousand times. The answer was: No. But the process of proving it almost cost me half my life. And now? Was I going to torture him and myself all over again? I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I tossed and turned, analyzing his explanations about the parking spot and the tie until my head felt like it was splitting open. The next morning, Declan left early. He left breakfast on the counter with a sticky note drawn with a smiley face. I didn’t touch a single bite. I stood in the laundry room, staring at the half-dry tie. I took it down and examined it. It was mostly clean, but on the back of the narrow end, right near the brand tag, there was a tiny, crusty white spot. Coffee stains are brown. Even if it didn’t wash out completely, it would be faint yellow. It wouldn’t be white. The tie was dripping wet yesterday, which meant he washed it in a frantic rush. But if it was just coffee, he could have tossed it in the hamper for the dry cleaners. Why was he so desperate to scrub it out by hand the second he walked through the door? Driven by some dark intuition, I lifted the tie to my nose. Beneath the heavy scent of laundry detergent, there was a faint, distinct smell… The sour-sweet scent of baby formula. Clutching that tie, the last thread of sanity in my brain snapped. I stumbled into the storage closet, digging through dusty cardboard boxes until I found it—the hidden nanny cam. When I finally found the perfect spot to mount it on Declan’s bookshelf, I froze. There was already a sticky residue of double-sided tape right there. Left by me. Three years ago. My fingers were numb. My lips were numb. Three years later, and I had never actually been “cured”… But I wasn’t always this “sick.” Three years ago, Declan was promoted to VP of Sales. He hired a new executive assistant. I didn’t think much of it until a friend who worked at his company sent me a photo from their corporate weekend retreat. It was taken secretly. Declan was manning the barbecue grill, and standing right beside him was a woman with a low ponytail, gently using a tissue to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The body language was intimately blurred. [Chloe, do you know this new assistant?] my friend texted. I zoomed in on the photo and recognized the face. Rachel Dawson. Declan’s college girlfriend. When we started dating, he didn’t hide his past. He was upfront about her, claiming she was his only serious ex. I was actually very calm at the time. That night, when Declan came home, I placed the photo on the kitchen island. He didn’t hide it. He said Rachel had been working as a hotel waitress. He ran into her by chance, saw she was struggling, and since his department needed an assistant, he gave her the job. “Wiping the sweat was a lapse in boundaries on my part. I am so sorry.” His attitude was incredibly sincere. The very next day, he even brought Rachel to me so she could apologize in person. I accepted it. But a thorn remained in my heart. And that thorn finally drew blood the day I found a pair of black pantyhose shoved into the gap between his passenger seat and the center console. “Rachel’s pantyhose snagged and tore on our way to a major client pitch. It was a bad look for the company, so we stopped at a pharmacy and she changed in the car.” Declan’s expression was perfectly normal. He explained it with infinite patience. He said Linda, the Finance Director, was also in the car with them. He said Rachel shoved the torn pair into the seat gap in a rush and forgot to throw them away. Linda actually vouched for him. She even sent me a voice memo confirming the story. But I didn’t believe it. I wanted to rip that thorn out completely. I stormed into his corporate office. When I pushed his door open, Rachel was pouring him a glass of water. I snatched the glass from her hand, threw the water directly in her face, and pointed at her nose, screaming that she was a homewrecking slut. Rachel didn’t say a word back. She just stood there and cried. The entire office floor watched me. That was the first time Declan ever lost his temper with me. He slammed his schedule logs, GPS data, and sign-in sheets from the client pitch onto his desk. “The evidence is all right here! What more do you want from me?!” But I couldn’t hear reason. From that day on, I demanded he report his every move. What time did he leave? What time did he get to work? Who was he eating lunch with? What meeting was he in? If he didn’t answer my call within an hour, I would lose my mind and call him twenty times in a row. I installed cameras in our house. I hid a nanny cam in the study. I needed to watch his every single second at home. Everyone around us pitied him. “Declan has it so rough.” “Rachel is a completely innocent victim in all this.” “Do you think his wife… has mental issues?” I knew what they were whispering. But I couldn’t stop. Until the day I forced him to personally process Rachel’s termination papers. Usually so mild-mannered, he finally snapped. He shattered a coffee mug against the wall and screamed something at me—I can’t even remember the words now. I only remember stepping backward, tripping over the leg of the coffee table, and falling hard onto the floor. Blood… so much blood pooled beneath me. It wasn’t until I woke up in the hospital bed that I found out I had been pregnant. Twelve weeks. The baby was gone. Strangely, the loss brought a terrifying wave of clarity. It was like a blistering fever had finally broken. The doctor said my massive emotional swings were likely exacerbated by pregnancy hormones, especially during the volatile first trimester. Declan fell to his knees by my hospital bed. For the first time, he cried in front of me, gripping my hand like a lifeline. “Chloe, I surrender. It’s all my fault. I just don’t want you to get hurt anymore.” Rachel was fired. Declan swore to God we would never have another crisis of trust. But my heart was a tangled mess of guilt and confusion. When I looked back at the cold, hard facts… had I been the one making a psychotic scene over nothing? I felt a deep, gnawing unwillingness to accept it, but I was too terrified to question it. Declan didn’t cheat. Wasn’t that a good thing? I spent an entire year recovering. Therapy, anti-anxiety medications, rebuilding my life piece by piece to return to normal. Everyone comforted me, saying young couples go through dark phases, and once you get past them, it’s smooth sailing. But today, three years later, I was crouching in the study, staring blankly at the hidden camera in my hand. The green light was on. It was ready to record. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. Three years ago, this was the exact step that started my descent into madness. And now, I was standing at the exact same crossroads. Was the faint smell of baby formula on a necktie enough for me to drive myself insane a second time? I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the edge of the bookshelf. The hard wood dug painfully into my skin. Two voices were going to war in my head. Chloe, how much longer is this nightmare going to last? I left work early and waited in the lobby of Declan’s office building. When I saw him step out of the elevator, laughing and chatting with a few colleagues, I walked up to him. “Declan.” He saw me, and his smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” “We haven’t had dinner together in a while. I came to pick you up.” I linked my arm through his and smiled at his coworkers. “Sorry to interrupt your post-work drinks. I’m stealing my husband for the night.” The coworkers exchanged subtle, awkward glances and politely laughed it off. One person looked down, avoiding my eyes entirely, while a younger guy instinctively took a half-step back, almost as if he were afraid of me. The memory of my hysterical meltdown in this exact building three years ago had probably become legendary office lore. Declan said goodbye to his team, naturally wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and guided me toward the parking garage. At dinner, I asked casually, “Have you been busy lately? Did that project from last week wrap up?” “Yeah, we closed it. This week is mostly following up with new clients. A lot more networking dinners.” “Was Wednesday night a networking dinner too?” “Yeah. Took a client out to play golf.” I nodded, pretending to suddenly remember something. “Oh, right! I heard you had your assistant run to the grocery store for you? What did you have her buy?” Declan’s chopsticks froze in mid-air. He set them down, looking at me, his tone dropping a few degrees. “When were you talking to my assistant?” “When I was waiting for you in the lobby today. The receptionist had her come out to keep me company.” “She’s a fresh grad. She doesn’t know anything,” he said, staring at me as if trying to confirm my mental state. I smiled. “Relax. I’m not a monster. I didn’t give her a hard time.” I looked down, poking at the food in my bowl but not eating it. “I just feel like… the distance between us is getting wider.” Silence stretched over the table for a few seconds. Declan reached across the table, covering my hand with his. His thumb gently stroked my knuckles. “I’ve just been swamped with work lately. I’m sorry.” I shook my head and didn’t push further. When we got home that night, I told him I needed some space and insisted on sleeping in the guest room. Declan stared at me for a long time but didn’t force the issue. I locked the guest room door, leaned against the headboard, and opened my phone. I stared at the screenshots of the store receipts over and over. That afternoon in the lobby, the young assistant had been terrified. She clearly knew my reputation, and her hands were literally shaking when she poured me a glass of water. I didn’t interrogate her. I just made small talk, casually slipping in: “I heard you’re always running errands for Declan. Sounds exhausting.” The poor girl smiled in absolute relief, assuring me it was no trouble, and eagerly showed me screenshots of the grocery lists on her phone to prove it. I asked her to text me one of the screenshots and left it at that. Now, I zoomed in on the image, reading line by line. Bottled water, printer paper, manila folders, espresso pods… all perfectly normal office supplies. Teething biscuits, one box. Organic fruit puree pouches, two packs. I opened an app, searched the brand of the fruit puree, and scrolled through the reviews. Hundreds of moms posting photos, raving about how much their toddlers loved them, saying they bought them constantly. I stared at those reviews until my eyes burned dry. At noon the next day, I showed up at the reception desk of Declan’s company holding an insulated lunch bag. When he walked out of a conference room and saw me, he visibly froze. Colleagues walking by recognized me. They sped up their pace, only whispering to each other once they were a safe distance away. “Why is that woman here again? Mr. Pierce has it so rough being married to her…” “It’s terrifying. Her need for control is psychotic.” Declan frowned at the whispers. He grabbed my shoulders and quickly ushered me into his private office, shutting the door. “Why are you bringing me lunch in the middle of the workday? Aren’t you exhausted?” “I took the day off.” I placed the insulated bag on his desk and unzipped it. “Try the bento I made you.” He looked at me, the crease between his brows deepening. “Chloe…” “Just open it and look.” He stared at me for a few seconds. Unable to talk me out of it, he popped the lid off the bento box. The moment the lid came off, he went rigid. “What is this?” Half a bowl of teething biscuits. Half a bowl of fruit puree. I smiled warmly. “Baby food.”

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While hiking deep in the mountains, we decided to spend the night in an abandoned chapel. In the middle of the night, I was violently awakened by the unmistakable, sickening sounds of my best friend and my boyfriend sleeping together. I quietly sat up in my sleeping bag to eavesdrop. “You’re a genius for using this hiking trip as an excuse.” “I locked the heavy wooden doors. She can’t escape. There’s an old stone well out back. After she falls asleep, we’ll smash her skull in with the hatchet and dump her at the bottom.” My blood ran completely cold. Trembling, I silently crawled behind the crumbling altar at the front of the chapel to hide. They had absolutely no idea that my hometown was just a few miles from this mountain ridge. And they had absolutely no idea that the deity worshipped in this specific chapel wasn’t a saint. It was a demon. Listening to my boyfriend and my best friend whisper about my murder, a freezing, unnatural gust of wind swept through the room, sending a shiver down my spine. The deep wilderness. A ruined chapel at midnight. Three people. There’s an old superstition in the mountains: Never enter a haunted shrine alone. Looking at my situation now, three people shouldn’t enter one, either. Murdering me. That was the real reason they dragged me out into the wilderness for this hiking trip. I didn’t have the time to feel heartbroken over my boyfriend’s betrayal, and I didn’t have the luxury of wondering why they wanted me dead. Right now, my only thought was how to make it out of here alive. My boyfriend, Carter, had bragged before we went to sleep about securing the heavy iron deadbolt on the main doors. My best friend, Riley, had tightly latched the only two windows. The only remaining exit was a jagged, gaping hole in the chapel’s rotten roof. Right now, this abandoned building was a perfect locked-room trap. If I tried to make a run for it, I would instantly alert them. One against two. I had zero chance of winning a physical fight. Was I really destined to die here tonight? As my heart hammered against my ribs, my eyes darted around and caught sight of the wooden idol resting on the altar. By the pale moonlight filtering through the roof, I could clearly see the idol’s features. It was a carving of a short, hunched old man squatting on a pedestal. He had a round face, a creepy smile, a crescent moon carved into his forehead, and a massive beard that touched the floor. He wore a complex, blood-red crown. It was the Caretaker of the Earth. I instinctively looked at the idol’s eyes. Normal statues of the Caretaker always have intricately carved eyes. But the eye sockets of this specific idol were completely hollow, resembling two pitch-black, bottomless pits. This was the exact entity from my hometown’s darkest urban legends! It was only then that I remembered I had never told Carter the exact location of the rural town where I grew up. Because I hadn’t been back in years, and Carter had driven a completely unfamiliar backroad to get here, I hadn’t even realized we were on the outskirts of my hometown. This meant that if I could just escape this chapel and run into the woods, I would eventually hit familiar territory and find the neighboring villages. But the only way out of this chapel… was him. But local lore always warned: Once you invite the Caretaker, it is almost impossible to send him away. I gritted my teeth. Walking on my tiptoes, I carefully bypassed the corner where those sickening, intimate noises were coming from. I crept up to the idol, reaching into the shadows behind the pedestal to pull out a single, unlit wax candle. Placing candles or offerings behind the idol was a tradition in these parts, meant to make it easier for passing travelers to pay their respects. Lighting three candles was a standard prayer of respect. But lighting exactly one candle… was a desperate summon. This was something my grandmother had taught me. But at the same time, she had given me a terrifying warning. “If you ever find yourself facing certain death, light a single candle to the Caretaker and sincerely whisper your plea. The Caretaker is immensely powerful and can solve any problem. But successfully summoning him is a massive gamble. It all depends on your fate!” “However, unless you are completely out of options, absolutely never light a single candle to him. Inviting a demon is easy, but banishing it is hell. Catastrophic things will happen.” My grandmother had repeated that final warning to me countless times. But right now, I was truly facing a brutal execution. I had no choice but to follow her instructions. I quietly pulled a lighter from my pocket and lit the wick. The tiny, flickering orange flame was glaringly obvious in the pitch-black room. Cold sweat poured down my face. I closed my eyes, pressed my trembling palms together, and silently pleaded in my head. Caretaker of the Earth, Carter and Riley are going to murder me. I don’t want to die. I want to live. I don’t want to die, please let me live… I placed the candle onto the iron tray at his feet. My grandmother had said that if the candle burned down completely within one minute, it meant the Caretaker had accepted your request. If it went out, you were doomed. My entire body shook as I stared at the candle, anxiously waiting, praying for it to melt faster. “Where are you? Sylvia—” Carter’s cold, menacing voice suddenly pierced the darkness. A freezing chill shot straight up my spine. I scrambled up onto the altar and huddled directly behind the wooden idol. “Sylvia! Where are you? Where did she go?!” It was Riley’s voice. I could hear the sheer, frantic panic in her tone. I crouched down, making myself as small as possible, using the idol to block my body. “Where is she?!” “I don’t know! I turned around and her sleeping bag was empty!” “Find her, now! I have a really bad feeling about this. Do you think she heard us talking?!” “Check the corners! She has to be in here somewhere. I double-checked the locks on the doors and windows myself.” My heart violently leaped into my throat. Because I could hear the crunching sound of heavy hiking boots slowly creeping toward my side of the room. I clamped both hands over my mouth, desperately trying to muffle my own rapid, terrified breathing. After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps in the chapel faded away. Riley’s voice echoed again: “Carter, did she manage to run away? I literally can’t find her anywhere. Did we just not hear the door open because we were too… focused?” “Maybe…” Just as I thought I had narrowly escaped death, Carter’s next sentence made my blood run completely cold. “Why is there a lit candle sitting here?” After a moment of dead, suffocating silence, the brutal sound of a heavy hatchet violently chopping into wood echoed through the room. CRACK—! The top half of the Caretaker’s wooden head was cleaved clean off. It tumbled heavily off the altar and crashed onto the stone floor, leaving the idol with only half a nose and a carved mouth. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. I was so paralyzed by terror that I couldn’t even cry out loud. “Damn it, I missed,” Carter’s voice was dripping with annoyance. He stared directly at the spot where I was hiding, enunciating every single word. “Sylvia. I originally planned to chop your head clean off with one swing. That way, you wouldn’t feel any pain.” My legs felt like jelly, but I took advantage of his distraction, leaped off the back of the altar, and limped frantically toward the heavy wooden doors at the front of the chapel. “Sylvia, you really shouldn’t have woken up. After all, our plan was to let you die peacefully in your sleep.” Riley laughed maliciously, then ordered Carter, “Hurry up and get her. Stop wasting time.” I pounded on the doors with everything I had, but the rotting, antique wood was unbelievably sturdy. It wouldn’t budge an inch. “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! THEY’RE TRYING TO KILL ME! PLEASE!” My screams for help were entirely useless. In this isolated, abandoned mountain shrine, it was physically impossible for anyone to be walking by. “AHHHHH!” The heavy steel hatchet slammed into the wood right next to my ear. If it had been one inch closer, it would have sliced my ear clean off. Riley giggled flirtatiously. “You’re so annoying, your aim is terrible tonight. Let me do it this time.” I turned around and dropped to my knees, frantically bowing and begging them. “Please don’t kill me! Whatever you guys want, I’ll give it to you! I’ll step aside, I promise I won’t tell anyone you cheated on me! Just let me go!” Riley smiled sweetly. “But, Sylvia. Only dead girls don’t tell lies.” Suddenly, I felt incredibly cold. It wasn’t a psychological chill. It was a visceral, physical, freezing drop in temperature. A violent gust of freezing wind swept through the closed room, and all three of us heard a strange, rustling noise. Carter violently whipped his head around. “Who’s there?!” But there was no one behind them. Just shattered pieces of rotting wood and swirling dust. Riley suddenly looked terrified. She grabbed Carter’s arm, her voice tight with anxiety. “Baby, I suddenly feel really, really cold. Is it because you hit the idol with the hatchet? Is the spirit angry?” Carter patted her hand, trying to comfort her. “Don’t be scared, I’m right here. Let’s just kill her first…” Saying that, Carter looked at me, picked up a secondary hatchet from the floor, and took a step closer. But out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something. The single candle I had lit… had completely burned down to a puddle of wax. Which meant… my summon had worked! WHOOSH— The previously dead-silent night suddenly exploded into a howling gale. I knelt on the floor, my face deathly pale. Because I could see the Caretaker. He had materialized, completely silently, directly behind them. He was staring at me with a sickeningly sweet smile, not saying a single word. His face was frozen in a perfectly symmetrical, terrifyingly cheerful grin. My trembling finger pointed over Carter’s shoulder. “The Caretaker… he’s right behind you…” Carter violently spun around. “WHAT THE FUCK!” He grabbed Riley and leaped backward, staring at the entity with pure, defensive hostility. “Where the hell did you come from?! We locked the doors from the inside!” The Caretaker maintained his creepy smile. “Someone invited me. So, I arrived.” “Carter, Riley. You are committing murder for money.” He was incredibly short, barely reaching Carter’s chest. Because he looked so physically unimposing, Carter’s hostility shifted into arrogant annoyance. Carter scoffed at him. “None of your damn business!” Riley tugged hard on Carter’s jacket, lowering her voice. “Baby, he’s terrifying. Let’s just get out of here…” “Tomorrow at noon, buy a Powerball ticket. At 6:00 PM, buy the exact crypto coin you lost eleven grand on last month. At 7:00 PM, stand outside the Neon Tavern downtown.” Carter remained deeply suspicious. “Why the hell should I believe you?” The Caretaker kept smiling. He slowly turned his head to look at Riley, his voice rattling like a mechanical automaton. “Tomorrow at 5:00 AM, go for a morning jog. At noon, take a walk across the downtown suspension bridge. At 9:00 PM, call 911 for the very first elderly woman you encounter.” Riley clung to Carter, her voice trembling violently. “What… what exactly are you?!” “I am the Caretaker of the Earth.” The entity’s empty eyes seemed to glint in the dark. He looked incredibly sincere. “You are only killing her for the fifty thousand dollars in her savings account. Do exactly as I say, and you will walk away with tens of millions.” Having their darkest secrets exposed so casually, the two of them exchanged a shocked look. For some reason, they began to actually trust this bizarre, spectral entity. Because everything he had just said was 100% accurate. “You cannot kill her, or I will be very angry,” the Caretaker said, pointing a short, wooden finger at me. Walking away with tens of millions without having to murder anyone, and without having to live in paranoia about hiding a corpse. If they backed off now, they didn’t even have to worry about me calling the cops. After all, they hadn’t committed any actual crime yet. The worst they were guilty of was cheating. It was a guaranteed, zero-risk jackpot. After a few minutes of whispered debate, Carter and Riley chose to trust him. “Fine. But what happens if we do it and we don’t get the money?” The Caretaker let out a raspy chuckle. “If you don’t get the money, you can chop me to pieces. I will die in her place.” The way he phrased it was incredibly disturbing, sending a chill down everyone’s spine. Just like that, a brutal, backwoods murder was completely defused by a few sentences from a ghost. My execution was permanently canceled. But… I felt a deep, gnawing sense that something was horribly, terribly wrong. I just couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. Since all the cards were on the table and our relationship was officially over, Riley wordlessly packed up their gear, and the two of them hiked down the mountain in the dark. Leaving me alone with the Caretaker. “What about you.” His voice made me jump out of my skin. “What?” The Caretaker stared dead at me. His face still carried that perfectly symmetrical, horrifyingly cheerful grin. “What do you want?” “I already got what I wanted. I survived. Thank you, Caretaker.” “Not enough.” I finally realized what was so horribly wrong about him. From the very beginning, every single time he spoke, his carved, wooden mouth had never once opened. My grandmother had warned me. Only a corpse-stealing demon speaks without opening its mouth. “Sylvia, the Caretaker isn’t a saint. He’s a demon.” I finally remembered that exact sentence. That night, I fled the abandoned shrine in absolute terror. Not long after, Carter actually struck it rich. The Powerball ticket he bought won him a ten-million-dollar jackpot.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400795”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The agonizing cramps in my abdomen were so unbearable that I dragged myself to the ER, where I was diagnosed with acute appendicitis. The doctor was typing on his keyboard to prescribe my pre-op meds when his hands suddenly stopped. He looked up at me. “Why do you have an IUD in place if you haven’t had children yet?” An IUD? I gripped my medical chart so tightly my knuckles turned white. Impossible. I had severe infertility issues. Over the past seven years, I had poured tens of thousands of dollars into treatments and endured endless physical and emotional torture just to try and get pregnant. “Doctor, are you sure you didn’t misread the scan?” The doctor turned his monitor toward me and tapped his pen against a distinct shadow on the imaging. “Look right here. See this? How do you forget that you had an IUD inserted?” I stared dead at the screen, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Forgot? I never had one put in! For seven long years, my mother-in-law had pointed her finger in my face, calling me a “barren bitch,” and I had swallowed every ounce of that humiliation. Looking at that contraceptive device—something that had absolutely no business being inside my body… I finally realized the truth. It wasn’t that I couldn’t conceive. It was that someone had deliberately ensured that I wouldn’t! … Staring at the shadow on the screen, my hand instinctively drifted to my lower abdomen. Seven years ago, right after we got married, we went in for pre-pregnancy checkups. That was when I was diagnosed with a “hostile reproductive environment” and a small ovarian cyst. I remember looking at David in an absolute panic. He had held me gently, whispering words of comfort. “Baby, don’t be scared. We’ll get the surgery to remove the cyst first. I’ll be by your side the whole time.” For the next seven years, David accompanied me in and out of that hospital countless times. I snapped back to reality and looked at the ER doctor, asking him to remove the IUD during the appendectomy. After the surgery, as I lay in the recovery room, I got a phone call from David. “Emily, where are you? Why was your phone going straight to voicemail?” “I’m at the hospital. I just had surgery.” I kept my voice low. On the other end of the line, I heard genuine panic in his voice. “Hospital? Which hospital?!” Seemingly realizing he had overreacted, he quickly changed his tone. “Baby, what surgery? Are you feeling sick?” I couldn’t even begin to describe the storm of emotions inside me. I gave him a brief, vague answer and hung up the phone. Moments later, the door to my recovery room burst open, and David hurried in. “An appendectomy? Why didn’t you go to St. Jude’s? My Uncle Frank is the Chief of Surgery there, he could have made sure you were taken care of.” As he spoke, his eyes darted over my face, carefully observing my expression. I clenched the small copper IUD hidden in my palm. Without letting my mask slip, I offered him a weak smile. “It hurt too much. This hospital was closer.” My mother-in-law, Martha, pushed the door open just in time to hear my answer. She immediately started loudly complaining. “It’s just appendicitis, how much could it possibly hurt? If you can’t even handle this, you’d never survive childbirth.” “Oh, right. Assuming you can even have kids, which is highly doubtful.” “Mom, say less. Emily just got out of surgery, she’s not feeling well.” David poured me a glass of water. Once he was satisfied that I hadn’t discovered the truth about the IUD, he was already in a rush to leave. “Baby, the company has been struggling lately, I have to get back to the office. I’ll leave Mom here to take care of you.” I nodded, watching his back disappear into the hallway. “I don’t have the time or energy to wait on a barren hen,” Martha sneered. She turned on her heel and left as well. The hospital room fell quiet again. I let out a long, heavy sigh. Three days later, I was discharged. During those three days, the number of times David and Martha visited could be counted on one hand. It was the nurses who took pity on me and helped me out. I didn’t go home. Instead, I drove straight to St. Jude’s Hospital, where Uncle Frank worked, and where I had supposedly gotten my cyst removed. After confirming that Uncle Frank had the day off, I walked over to the Medical Records department. The nurse quickly pulled up my file. I flipped through the pages, one by one. Over seven years, we had spent nearly a hundred thousand dollars on exams, experimental medications, and IVF rounds. Yet, this file only contained a few sparse pages of standard, normal physical reports. I flipped back to the very first page. The surgical record from seven years ago clearly stated it was not a cyst removal—it was a surgical sterilization via IUD insertion! My hands shook uncontrollably. The irony was suffocating. Seven years of absolute torment. Seven years of crushing guilt. And it turned out that I had been artificially, maliciously stripped of my right to be a mother. I pulled my lips into a bitter smile, but the tears spilled over my eyelashes. After a long time, I wiped my eyes and pulled out my phone, ready to take photos of the evidence. That was when I noticed that the page requiring the “Family Consent Signature” was entirely missing from the file. I didn’t alert the hospital staff. I closed the folder, politely thanked the nurse, and walked out. The second I left the building, I called my old college friend, Ethan, who now worked at the State Department of Health. I explained the situation. He agreed to help immediately and told me to give him a few minutes. Shortly after, my phone rang. “Emily, I found the missing signature page. I just emailed it to you.” “Okay. Thank you.” Ethan hesitated for a second before speaking again. “Your husband scrubbed his digital medical footprint incredibly thoroughly. I got curious, so I ran his Social Security Number through our dependent registry.” “I found something. I attached it to the email as well. You…” “You need to brace yourself, Emily. If you need anything, call me anytime.” “I will…” I walked over to a bench by the street, sat down, and opened my email. The first image was the missing consent form. The signature on the bottom line was David’s. Even though I fully expected it, the confirmation still felt like a knife to the chest. David’s patient, comforting voice from seven years ago echoed in my ears. What was going through his head at that exact moment? Did he feel even a shred of pity for me? Or was he laughing at how gullible I was? I clicked on the second attachment. It was a birth certificate. My heart seized with sharp, stabbing pains. I looked at the box labeled “Father.” It was David. I compared the signatures on the two documents. They were completely, perfectly identical. One signature was the blade that severed my right to be a mother. The other was the signature that crowned him a father. Tears poured down my face unconditionally. A volcanic hatred shattered through my heart. I sat on that bench for a very long time before finally driving home. Martha was on the sofa watching TV. The moment she saw me walk in, she ordered me to go to the kitchen and cook dinner. Because I believed I couldn’t give them a child, I had always carried a deep sense of guilt. In the past, I would have dragged myself to the stove even with a 104-degree fever. But this time, I flatly refused. Seeing that I wouldn’t obey her, Martha immediately threw herself in front of my late father-in-law’s memorial picture and started wailing. She sobbed about how I was ending the family bloodline, and how her son refused to listen to her and divorce me. For seven years, I had listened to this exact performance on repeat. Every single time, I had felt incredibly guilty, while simultaneously feeling deeply grateful that my husband hadn’t abandoned me. Now, watching her theatrical display, I suddenly wondered: Did she know she had a big, healthy grandson living out there somewhere? I must have been staring at her too intensely, because she suddenly couldn’t keep up the fake crying. She picked up her phone and called my husband instead. I ignored her, turned around, and walked into our bedroom. I searched the room meticulously, but I couldn’t find a single medical record from any of my past checkups. I had gone through IVF three times, and failed every time. Whenever I asked to look at the medical files, David always refused, claiming he was keeping them from me so I wouldn’t get depressed. Back then, I believed him and was actually moved by his protectiveness. Looking back now, it was nothing but a sick joke. I lay in bed with my eyes closed, completely drained of all energy. A little while later, David pushed the door open. He walked over to me naturally, leaning down to kiss my cheek. I turned my head to dodge it. He didn’t seem to mind. “Baby, are you feeling better? Come on, let’s go eat.” He reached out his hand to pull me up. Looking at the hand extended toward me, I had a sudden, violent urge to scream the truth in his face. But I couldn’t. I still hadn’t investigated everything completely. I couldn’t afford to tip my hand. I submissively placed my hand in his, letting him pull me out of the room. After dinner, David crouched down in front of me, his eyes brimming with absolute devotion. “Baby, you just had surgery. I really didn’t want to lay this on you, but the company just can’t hold on anymore.” “What happened?” I played along, asking the right questions. “Our competitors teamed up to cut off our supply chains. The banks are recalling our loans. The company is on the verge of bankruptcy.” Before I could even respond, Martha started screaming from the living room. “Why are the banks recalling the loans?! Because you can’t give him a child, that’s why!” “Mom, this has nothing to do with Emily.” He turned his gaze back to me. “The banks ran a risk assessment. Because I don’t have a legal heir, they view the company as high-risk. The second there was a hiccup, they recalled the loans. Baby, this company is our life’s work. I don’t want us to go bankrupt.” Right. This company was entirely bankrolled by my father to give David a startup. When he incorporated the company, he immediately transferred 80% of the shares to my name, which was why I had never, ever doubted him all these years. “If you don’t have an heir, then just adopt one! A living person isn’t going to let themselves suffocate just because they can’t find a bathroom!” Martha’s booming voice echoed through the house again. “She’s right, baby. Can we adopt a child from the foster system for now? If we have a kid on paper, the banks will resume our credit lines.” His eyes were filled with pleading and choreographed pain, but I didn’t believe a single word anymore. “I’m tired,” I said, lowering my eyes. “Okay. You rest first, baby. We can talk about this later. I’ll try to think of another way.” 2 For the next few days, David stayed home, drinking whiskey and acting like a man drowning his sorrows, while I secretly investigated the company’s financial status. One day, David didn’t drink. He left the house early in the morning. I received a message from the private investigator I had hired. It contained irrefutable evidence that David was actively tunneling assets out of the company. I held onto the evidence, waiting for him to come home so I could put the divorce papers on the table. That afternoon, David returned. “Baby! I figured out a way to solve the company crisis!” His excited voice interrupted the divorce demand I was about to drop. “I have a distant cousin who recently died in a car crash. He left behind a widow and a young son. The widow can’t afford to raise him, and she’s willing to let us legally adopt him.” “Oh, thank the Lord! Little Noah is related to our family by blood anyway, so this perfectly continues the family name!” Martha was practically cheering from the sidelines. Noah? That name triggered my memory. “What’s the widow’s name?” “Jessica.” I pulled the corners of my mouth into a cold smile. Jessica. That was the mother’s name listed on the secret birth certificate. “What do you think, baby? We adopt the boy, host a massive Welcome Home banquet, and solve the company’s financial crisis first.” “If we manage to have our own biological child later, the company will still go to our flesh and blood.” “Sure.” I nodded. A Welcome Home banquet was a fantastic idea. The more people, the better. I gripped the evidence folder in my hands tightly. The day before the banquet, David brought the “widow” and her child to the house. The moment Jessica walked through the door, she yanked the little boy to his knees. “Hurry up, get on your knees and thank your Auntie! Thanks to her taking you in, she is going to be your new mommy.” “I won’t kneel! I don’t want a new mommy!” Noah screamed and thrashed, lunging forward to hit me. He clawed at my arms, leaving deep red scratches. David was busy helping Jessica up from the floor. “Emily, Jessica is graciously giving you her son. Even if you aren’t grateful, you shouldn’t make her kneel.” Jessica leaned weakly against David’s chest. “It’s fine, David. As long as you both treat Noah well, that’s all that matters.” Unable to dodge in time, I was shoved hard to the floor by Noah. With a sharp crack, the jade bracelet on my wrist shattered against the tile. It was the heirloom my late mother had left me. With bloodshot eyes, I reached out and slapped the brat across the face. David instantly pulled Noah behind his back. “Emily! Are you insane?! Why are you fighting with a child?!” “He broke the bracelet my mother left me!” A brief flash of guilt crossed his eyes, but it vanished instantly. “If it’s broken, it’s broken! I’ll buy you the exact same one in a few days!” David brushed me off, fussing over Noah’s red cheek. But he had conveniently forgotten that when he proposed to me, he had held that exact jade bracelet and sworn to my mother’s memory that he would protect me for the rest of my life! At dinner, Noah hoarded all the best food onto his own plate and openly spit into my food. David and Martha turned a blind eye to it. The four of them sat there laughing and joking like a perfect, happy family, making me look like the hired help. After dinner, David brought a legal document to me. “Baby, to get Noah enrolled in the local school district, I need to use your downtown condo as proof of residency.” “Just sign here, so we can get his paperwork finalized.” I took the document and tried to flip to the previous pages to read the fine print. David clamped his hand down over mine. “Baby, do you still not trust me? Just sign the signature line.” The old me would have never questioned anything he did, but now… “Are you absolutely certain this document is only to prove residency for his school?” Standing directly in the field of view of the hidden nanny cam I had installed, I asked the question loudly and clearly. “Relax, baby. When have I ever lied to you?” Watching his greedy, triumphant expression, I lowered my head and signed, immediately saving that specific clip of footage to the secure cloud. That afternoon, when I logged back into the camera feed, that entire segment of footage had been permanently deleted. That night, Noah threw a tantrum, demanding to sleep in the master bedroom with David. David looked at me, pretending to be conflicted. “Baby, Noah is still little. Can you sleep on the couch tonight? Just for one night.” I didn’t even wait for him to finish before turning and walking away. That bed disgusted me anyway. In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom. As I passed the guest bedroom, I heard David and Jessica moaning inside. “Husband, when can we finally be together openly?” “Soon. I’ve tunneled almost all the company’s assets out. Once the adoption is finalized and I get the deed to the condo, I can divorce her.” David laughed darkly. “My mom can’t wait either. She’s been dying to hold her real grandson in public.” I clenched my fists in the dark. Since this was how they wanted to play it, they couldn’t blame me for being ruthless. 3 We arrived at the banquet hall, getting out of the car and walking toward the entrance. Noah violently shoved me aside and grabbed David’s hand. “I want to walk in with my mommy and daddy!” He flashed me a provocative, mocking grin. David just patted his head indulgently. “Baby, he’s just a kid who doesn’t know any better. Don’t take it personally. We’re going to head inside first.” I stood under the blistering sun, watching the backs of their “happy family of three.” It was the ultimate, sickening irony. I walked into the grand hall. Distant acquaintances who didn’t know the truth came up to offer their congratulations. “Mr. Miller, this must be your wife and son! What a beautiful family, and the boy looks so sharp.” Jessica smiled gracefully and thanked them, while David just smiled and said nothing. Martha was standing to the side, grinning from ear to ear, displaying a grandmotherly warmth I had never seen her direct at me. But the moment she caught sight of me, her smile vanished. “Why are you just standing there like a statue? You’re in the way. If you aren’t doing anything, go grab some trays and help the servers.” I didn’t move. “Go! You can’t even give us a child, all you do is cause trouble. If you won’t help, get out.” I gripped the evidence in my hand tightly, repeating a mantra in my head: Just endure it a little longer. Not everyone is here yet. A show needs a full audience to be entertaining. I silently picked up a tray of appetizers. As I walked past Jessica, she subtly stuck her foot out and tripped me. The scalding hot food spilled directly onto me. But Jessica was the one who let out a blood-curdling shriek, clutching her wrist where a few drops of broth had landed. “David, it hurts so much!” David rushed over instantly, blowing on Jessica’s arm with exaggerated heartbreak. “Emily, why are you always so careless?!” “Come on, let’s go run this under cold water.” He shot me a look of pure disgust, frowning deeply. “Go change your clothes immediately. The banquet is about to start. Try not to be so clumsy next time.” I ignored the dozens of judgmental stares from the crowd. I endured the burning pain on my skin and walked toward the restroom. Just wait. Just wait a little longer. You two are going straight to hell. By the time I changed into my backup dress and returned to the hall, the banquet was officially underway. David was standing on the stage, delivering his speech. “I want to thank you all so much for coming to this Welcome Home banquet. As many of you know, due to my wife’s… medical complications… we have been unable to have children since we got married.” The crowd cast sympathetic looks in my direction. I kept my head down and said nothing. “The arrival of little Noah is a gift from God. He will be our future, and my successor.” “Everything I own will one day belong to him.” Thunderous applause erupted from the audience. Someone handed David a massive bouquet of red roses. David took them, dropped to one knee, and presented them to Jessica. “Thank you so much for bringing this child into the world. You are welcome to visit him anytime, and he will always know who you are.” Jessica blushed deeply, accepting the roses with a demure smile. The applause grew even louder. Watching their interaction on stage, I felt a bizarre wave of disorientation. It didn’t feel like an adoption banquet; it felt like I was attending their wedding reception. Jessica shot a subtle look to the MC, who immediately turned his attention to me. “Ms. Emily, how does it feel to suddenly be gifted a wonderful, grown son?” David followed the MC’s gaze, looking at me with feigned impatience. “The lucky hour is almost here. Come on up to the stage.” I took slow, deliberate steps toward the stage. David leaned in and muttered instructions under his breath. “Jessica is gifting you a child. You need to show some profound gratitude.” “Now that we have a son, you need to put him first. You can’t act as selfishly as you used to.” “You don’t have any experience raising kids. Make sure you ask Jessica for advice…” Hearing that, I let out a cold laugh. I stepped up, violently snatched the microphone right out of his hand, and looked out at the sea of faces. “Ask for advice?” I enunciated every single word. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I will be having my own children.” “But I’m sure everyone in this room would be incredibly interested to know the real reason why I haven’t been able to get pregnant for the past seven years!!”

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Today was supposed to be our sixth wedding anniversary. It was also my oldest son Parker’s fifth birthday. We had planned a getaway to a secluded cabin in the Catskills, a day meant to be etched in our memories for all the right reasons. I never imagined Madeline would abandon us on that mountain without a word, taking with her the only medical bag that contained Parker’s emergency asthma equipment. I had been frantic, trying to reach her through her assistant, but the private transport and the security detail wouldn’t budge without her direct order. I watched, helpless, as the light left my son’s eyes. It was only after he took his last breath that I finally got through to her. She sounded tipsy, her voice slurred and distant. I couldn’t even get a word in before a man’s voice, sharp and full of life, cut through the line, vibrating with the joy of a long-awaited reunion. “Come on, Miles, don’t be so petty. I just landed back in the States today. You don’t actually mind if I take Madeline out for a ‘welcome home’ drink, do you?” I let out a soft, jagged laugh, my arms tightening around the cold, still weight of Parker in my lap. “I don’t mind at all,” I whispered. “Because as of this moment, my marriage to Madeline is over. Congratulations to you both.” … After we finally got off that mountain, I disappeared. I handled everything—the funeral arrangements, the cremation, the agonizing paperwork—entirely on my own. Meanwhile, Madeline’s social media, and that of Sebastian Rossi, were never silent. It was a non-stop parade of high-end bars and exclusive dinner parties. They were basking in the glow of their rediscovered spark. During those seven days, my mother tried calling Madeline a thousand times. Every call went straight to voicemail. My mother eventually dropped her phone onto the kitchen table, her voice trembling with rage. “That woman… her heart is made of ice.” It wasn’t until a week later, when I returned to our estate in the city carrying Parker’s urn, that I finally crossed paths with her. She wasn’t alone. Sebastian was right there with her, lounging in my living room. When they saw me—haggard, covered in the dust of the road, looking like a ghost of the man I used to be—Sebastian couldn’t even hide the smirk playing on his lips. “Miles, where the hell have you been? I’ve called you a dozen times today and you didn’t pick up once!” Madeline started, her tone a mix of a playful pout and genuine annoyance. The irony tasted like copper in my mouth. I didn’t even give them a glance. I walked straight past them toward the stairs. I was here for one thing: to pack my life into a suitcase and leave. This gilded cage of a house never belonged to a regular guy like me. I had reached too high, and I had paid the price in blood. But she wouldn’t let it go. She chased after me, grabbing my arm so hard I nearly dropped the urn. “Miles! What kind of temper tantrum is this?” Even now, she couldn’t see the wreckage. To her, I was just being difficult. I laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. “My mother called you for a week straight. Why didn’t you answer?” Madeline frowned, reaching into her designer handbag and pulling out a shattered phone. “My phone broke, okay? The night I picked up Sebastian, we were out, and I ended up losing it in a bet during a game. It was a whole thing.” She lived for the game. And because she wanted to play, my son was gone. “Is this really worth getting this angry about, Miles?” Madeline noticed my face turning a sickly shade of grey and tried to soften her tone, shaking my arm slightly. “So I missed a few calls. I’ll go over to your mom’s place and apologize personally tomorrow, alright?” Then, my eyes caught something. The handcrafted sandalwood bracelet on her wrist—the one I’d spent months on—was cracked in several places. It looked like it had been slammed against something. Rage, hot and blinding, surged up my throat. I grabbed her wrist. “What happened to the bracelet?” I had hiked to a remote monastery three times to get that specific wood blessed for her protection. Parker and I had sat at the kitchen table for weeks, using tiny chisels to engrave the intricate patterns she loved. Madeline was born with a silver spoon. Clothes, cars, jewelry—nothing I bought her ever meant much because she could buy the store. I had to give her things that took time. Things that had a soul. My hands still had faint scars from the slips of the blade, scars that throbbed whenever they got cold. When I gave it to her, she’d cried. She said she’d wear it forever. Now, she just flipped her hand dismissively. “Oh, that? We were out drinking last night, and I was shooting dice with Sebastian. I must have hit it against the edge of the table. It’s just a bit of wood, Miles. Don’t make a federal case out of it.” “Parker and I made that with our own hands,” I said, my voice dangerously low. Sebastian chimed in from the couch, his voice dripping with condescension. “It’s the thought that counts, right? It’s a cheap wooden trinket. How much could it possibly be worth?” Madeline patted my shoulder. “Exactly. If it means that much to you, I’ll have some premium sandalwood shipped in from overseas. You and Parker can carve a new one. It’ll be a fun little project for you guys.” She knew exactly what that bracelet represented. But to her, our love and our effort were just “projects” to keep us busy while she lived her real life. I realized then that in her heart, I was probably just a hobby, too. Six years of marriage. This was the first anniversary we were actually supposed to spend together as a family. It was the first birthday Parker was supposed to have her full attention. And she threw it all away because a ghost from her past called her cell. Yes, Sebastian wasn’t just a friend. He was the one who got away, the college heartbreak she never quite healed from. But she was a mother. How could she not realize Parker’s condition? She brought him to a mountain peak covered in pine pollen and wildflowers—his worst triggers—and then left without making sure he had his rescue inhaler. She had left me to watch our son die. My mother had warned me. She told me not to bring Parker to the city, told me that Madeline would never prioritize a child over her own whims. I had laughed at her. I told her Madeline was his mother—how could she be that cruel? God, I was so wrong. “Thanks for the offer,” I said, wrenching my arm away. I turned to go upstairs, my face a mask of stone. Her temper flared at my coldness. “What is with the attitude today? What did I do that was so terrible?” she yelled at my back. “And where’s Parker?” I stopped dead on the stairs. The irony was a physical weight. This was the first time she had asked about him, and he was already gone. I remembered that afternoon on the mountain. I had stroked Parker’s hair as he struggled to breathe, whispering, “Mommy wouldn’t miss your birthday, buddy. She loves you so much. She’s probably just out getting you a huge surprise.” Well, it was a surprise, alright. “You remember you have a son?” I turned, a bitter smile curling my lips. “I thought you’d decided you didn’t want him anymore.” Madeline winced, then snapped back. “He’s my son! How can you say that?” “I get it. You’re still sulking because I left, right? Because I had to go help Sebastian?” She stepped toward the stairs, looking up at me. “But you know the situation, Miles. He just got back from years abroad. We hadn’t seen each other in forever, and he was dealing with a massive shipping crisis at the docks. He was stressed, he was hurt… I couldn’t just leave him to handle that alone.” She tilted her head, giving me that soft, manipulative look that used to work every time. “You can understand that, can’t you?” In the past, that look would have made me fold. It would have made me move my boundaries back another inch until I had no ground left to stand on. But my son was in a jar in my hand. I was done gambling. “Madeline,” I said quietly. “I want a divorce.” The words hit her like a physical blow. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating as she stared at me. “Miles… are you serious? You’d actually leave me over this?” “Yes. We’re done.” Madeline took a deep breath, her shock turning back into arrogance. “And what about Parker? You think you can raise him better than I can? You think you can give him this life? Your mother won’t even agree to this. Don’t turn our lives into a mess just because your feelings are hurt.” When I didn’t answer, she scoffed. “Fine. Go get Parker. Let him decide who he wants to live with.” “Parker isn’t coming,” I said. My voice broke on his name, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from sobbing. Madeline’s face twisted with sudden agitation. “What do you mean ‘he isn’t coming’? Where did you take him? Miles, if you’re using our son to get back at me, that is low, even for you.” She let out a sharp, indignant breath. “Don’t think you can threaten me with my child. I have my own life, Miles. I have my own friends. You wouldn’t understand that!” I looked at her beautiful, heartless face and realized I never knew her at all. I had raised that boy for five years. I was more of a parent than she ever dreamed of being. And yet, her first instinct was to assume I was using him as a bargaining chip. “Miles, stop torturing her!” Sebastian stood up, walking toward the stairs. “Just hand over the kid and stop acting like a psycho.” He sounded so protective, as if he were the one whose life was being upended. Madeline looked at him, touched by his “bravery,” and a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. “Miles, please. Just give me Parker back.” It was a performance. A sick, synchronized act. “And if I say no?” I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbing my collar. “Say it again! I dare you!” “Sebastian, don’t!” Madeline cried out, but she didn’t move to stop him. She stayed behind him, effectively choosing her side. I was shoved backward, stumbling against the banister. The urn wobbled in my hand, the lid nearly slipping off. I clutched it to my chest, a roar of protective instinct erupting in my lungs. If Parker hadn’t insisted on one last “memory” with his mother, I never would have brought him back to this house. “I’ve wanted to say this for a long time,” Sebastian said, pointing a finger in my face. “Look at you, Miles. You’re a loser. You’re a nobody. You don’t fit in Madeline’s world. Your son doesn’t even have her last name—why? You don’t have a penny to your name that she didn’t give you.” He sneered. “You’re just a small-town guy who got lucky and played the husband card. If you want to walk, walk. Stop holding her back.” I looked at Madeline. She was actually considering his words, looking at me with a cold, analytical gaze. It was pathetic. When I graduated, I had been recruited by a top-tier federal research lab. If it wasn’t for Madeline’s begging, I never would have thrown away my career to take a mid-level position at her firm just to be near her. And now, she was letting this man call me a parasite. I wasn’t going to starve without her. Sebastian was still shouting. “What’s the matter, Miles? Cat got your tongue? If you’re gonna leave, leave! And don’t you ever come near Madeline again, or I’ll make sure you regret it!”

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I used to think I had the most fiercely loyal, devoted girlfriend in the world. For seven years of long-distance, Caroline demanded a level of transparency that bordered on obsession. She needed my location shared at all times; she required a text if I so much as stepped out of my London office to grab a coffee. I thought it was love. I thought she just missed me. But today, Caroline vanished. I called her over a hundred times. It went straight to voicemail. I tried her executive assistant, her driver, the housekeeper at her New York estate—nothing. A cold, suffocating panic set into my chest. I bought the most expensive, earliest flight out of Heathrow, crossing the Atlantic, terrified something horrific had happened to her. When my cab finally pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of her Hamptons estate, a black Maybach was already idling in the driveway. The rear door opened, and Caroline stepped out. A wave of dizzying relief washed over me. I took a step forward, the words Why weren’t you answering? already forming on my lips. Then, she smiled. It was a radiant, intoxicating smile I hadn’t seen in person for months. She walked around to the passenger side, opened the door herself, and murmured in a voice dripping with honey, “Your carriage awaits, my prince.” A man stepped out of the car. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. I froze. The breath was punched out of my lungs. Caroline was cheating on me. And the man burying his face in her neck was Tristan Cole. My estranged mother’s illegitimate son. … My hands shook so violently I had to grip my phone with both hands as I stumbled backward behind the manicured hedges. I hit her contact and pressed call. Out in the driveway, a ringtone pierced the quiet air. Caroline pulled back, glancing down at her screen. A flicker of profound annoyance crossed her perfect features. Her thumb hovered over the red ‘decline’ button. Tristan caught her wrist, his lips curling into a smirk. “You should probably answer it. Otherwise, my dear big brother is just going to keep blowing up your phone. It’s killing the mood.” Caroline let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Who was it that pinned me down yesterday and forbade me from looking at my phone? Feeling generous today, are we?” Tristan’s eyes darkened with raw, unfiltered lust. “That’s only because the sounds you were making were driving me crazy. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else hearing you.” Her gaze turned heavy, hooded with desire. “Is that so? Then we’ll just have to pick up where we left off tonight.” Only then did she swipe right to answer. Standing less than fifty feet away, I fought back the bile rising in my throat. I dug my nails into my palms, forcing my voice to stay steady. “What are you doing?” Caroline immediately let out a weak, raspy cough. “Nate, baby,” she croaked, playing the part of an invalid flawlessly. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been running a terrible fever since yesterday. I’ve been in and out of consciousness. I didn’t even hear the phone. I’m so sorry I worried you.” I squeezed my eyes shut. The darkness offered no relief. “Is that so?” I managed to choke out. “You shouldn’t be alone. Maybe I should fly back to the States to take care of you.” A microscopic pause. Then, her voice returned, gentle and entirely composed. “Your work in London is too important. I could never ask you to drop everything for me. I’m feeling much better now, really. Just focus on yourself, okay?” I stared at her through the leaves. I searched her face for a single twitch of guilt, a fleeting shadow of remorse. There was nothing. Just the calm, practiced mask of a liar. “Okay,” I whispered into the receiver. “I understand.” I hung up before the sob could break free. Seconds later, my phone buzzed. A text from Caroline. I feel awful for missing your calls, baby. I ordered a cake to be delivered to your flat. Things are crazy at the firm today, but I’ll FaceTime you the second I’m done. She attached a little pleading emoji. It looked so sincere. So deeply, convincingly loving. If I hadn’t been standing right here, watching Tristan trail his fingers down her spine, I would have believed her. I would have eaten that cake feeling like the luckiest guy in the world. A sharp, stabbing pain radiated through my chest as I watched them walk into the house, their silhouettes melting together. Why? my mind screamed. Why Tristan? Caroline knew. She knew better than anyone breathing that Tristan Cole was the physical embodiment of the worst trauma of my life. When I was fifteen, my mother had an affair. The fallout didn’t just break our family; it destroyed my father. I watched a brilliant, vibrant man wither into a hollow, depressed ghost. He drank until his liver gave out, losing fifty pounds in six months. I remember kneeling on the hardwood floor, begging my mother to come home, just to visit him. She looked at me, adjusted her designer coat, and said, Tristan’s father gets jealous easily. I can’t. I watched my dad die of a broken heart. It was slow, agonizing, and entirely their fault. Caroline grew up next door. She was my sanctuary during those dark years. When my dad passed, she held me as I thrashed and screamed, staining her shirts with my tears. She cursed my mother. She cursed Tristan and his father. She looked me in the eyes and swore, Your enemies are my enemies, Nate. One day, I’m going to ruin them for you. The ghost of her vow echoed in my ears, mocking me. Now, she was doing exactly what my mother had done. Perhaps even worse. I was shivering violently when Rosa, Caroline’s long-time housekeeper, stepped out to retrieve the mail. She jumped when she saw me standing by the gates. “Mr. Brooks! Good lord, what are you doing out here in the cold? Come inside, let me make you some tea!” She thought the cold was making me tremble. She didn’t know the ice was in my veins. I stretched my lips into a polite, agonizingly stiff smile. “I’m fine, Rosa. I’m not cold.” Rosa looked at me, her eyes darting toward the main house, then back to me. Pity pooled in her gaze. “Mr. Brooks… did you… did you see?” The confirmation felt like a physical blow. “So, they’re here often,” I stated flatly. Rosa turned pale. She wrung her hands. “Mr. Brooks, please don’t take it to heart. Miss Pierce is just… she’s just having a bit of fun. A distraction. I see the way she looks at pictures of you. You’re the one she truly loves.” My jaw felt wired shut. “Right. I understand. Please, Rosa, don’t tell her I was here.” Rosa let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “My lips are sealed. Take care of yourself, sir.” I dragged my numb legs down the winding driveway. As I passed the sprawling glass greenhouse, I stopped dead in my tracks. Years ago, Caroline had imported hundreds of rare white camellias—my late father’s favorite flower—and filled the greenhouse with them, just to make me smile. Now, the camellias were gone. The entire greenhouse was overflowing with vibrant, aggressive Birds of Paradise. Tristan’s favorite flower. If this was just a “distraction,” just a fleeting moment of physical boredom as Rosa claimed, why the flowers? Why erase my ghost from her home so entirely? A sickening dread consumed me. I stumbled to a nearby hotel, checked into a sterile room, and dialed Caroline’s number one more time. She picked up on the second ring. Her tone was light, teasing. “Miss me already, baby? I thought we were doing FaceTime later?” Hearing that bubbly, innocent voice superimposed over the image of her in Tristan’s arms made me want to rip my skin off. I dug my fingers into the hotel mattress. “I just… I was thinking about the camellias in the greenhouse. Could you send me a picture of them?” Dead silence on the line. Then, her voice pitched up in feigned surprise. “The camellias? What brought that up? Sure, hold on, I’ll take a picture when I get home.” “Okay,” I said blankly. Suddenly, the unmistakable shatter of glass echoed through the phone, followed by a man’s low curse. “Jesus, you’re so clumsy,” Caroline snapped instinctively, the sweet tone vanishing. “Just leave it, don’t touch the glass, I’ll get it—” She stopped, suddenly remembering I was on the line. “Nate, my new assistant just dropped a tray of glasses,” she lied, her breathing a little quicker now. “I have to go help him clean it up. Talk later.” Click. The dial tone hummed against my ear, a monotonous soundtrack to my absolute humiliation. Thirty minutes later, my phone dinged. An image of the greenhouse, bursting with pristine white camellias. I zoomed in. In the bottom right corner, a timestamp watermark from a photography app. October, last year. She didn’t even bother to check the photo before sending it. That was how stupid she thought I was. How easily managed. I dropped the phone. I covered my face with my hands and started to laugh. The laughter scraped against my throat, hollow and terrifying, until it broke into heavy, scalding tears that slipped through my fingers. In my mind’s eye, I was dragged back seven years. Caroline wasn’t the polished, untouchable CEO of Pierce Holdings back then. She was just a girl who followed me everywhere. Once, some older guys from a rival school harassed her. I fought three of them off, ending up with a split lip and a bruised rib. As she dabbed antiseptic on my face, she cried, calling me an idiot. But then she smiled, her eyes shining with raw adoration. You’re the best thing in this world, Nate. I’m going to cling to you for the rest of my life. When we graduated, my mother handed my father’s massive corporate empire over to her new husband and Tristan. I was left with a tiny, struggling subsidiary in London. I had to leave to salvage what was left of my father’s legacy, to become a man worthy of standing beside the heiress to the Pierce fortune. At JFK airport, Caroline sobbed into my chest. She gripped my jacket like she was trying to fuse our ribs together. Wait for me, Nate. Give me a few years to take full control of the Pierce board, and I’ll buy back everything they stole from you. We’ll bring you home. We thought it would be a year. Two, tops. It had been seven. Last year, she finally became the undisputed CEO. I asked when I could move my operations back to New York. She gave me excuses. Market volatility. Board pushback. Now the truth was painfully clear. She didn’t lack the power to bring me back. She just didn’t want me here. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father’s emaciated face. Hatred, violently mixed with the pathetic remnants of my love for Caroline, tore through me until I felt physically ill. I wondered, in the darkest hours of the morning, if this was how my father felt right before he gave up. As dawn broke, a calendar notification popped up on my screen. Anniversary. It was our seventh anniversary. I stared blankly at the screen. A few hours later, Caroline’s text arrived precisely on schedule. Happy Anniversary, my love. I had your gift flown in overnight. Make sure you sign for it. I’m so sorry I can’t fly out to see you this year. The merger is taking all my time. Be a good boy and forgive me, okay? The merger. Right. I was a glutton for punishment, so I opened my laptop. I paid a private investigator I’d used for corporate due diligence a hefty rush fee to pull all of Tristan and Caroline’s private social media accounts. For the first six years of my absence, Tristan’s feed was devoid of her. Then, last year, Tristan was appointed as a VP at Pierce Holdings. His first post about her was a photo of her corner office door. My new boss is a nightmare. She rides my ass all day. Definitely punishing me for someone else’s sins. But I don’t tap out. The posts continued, standard office grievances, until mid-May. Well. Shit. I just slept with the boss. The post had over a hundred thousand likes from his obnoxious trust-fund circle. The comments were begging for details. I scrolled down until I found his reply. Worst luck ever. She got blackout drunk at a gala. I took her back to her penthouse, and she thought I was her boyfriend. I looked at the date on the post. My blood turned to freon. May 14th. The anniversary of my father’s death. Every year on May 14th, I shut my phone off. I sit in silence. I mourn the man they broke. And on that exact day, while I was drowning in grief over my father, Caroline was in her bed, tangled in the sheets with the son of the man who killed him. It was a surgical strike to my soul. With a morbid, masochistic drive, I kept scrolling. Turns out the Ice Queen is actually a softie. She’s literally knitting me a scarf while I watch the game. Mentioned offhand that I like Birds of Paradise. Came to her place today and she’d ripped out her entire greenhouse of stupid white flowers for me. Kinda touched. And then, the most recent post. Uploaded three hours ago. Boss lady ditched her 7-year anniversary to play video games with me at the Plaza. I think we know who’s winning this war. Some of the comments called him out, telling him he was trash for being the other man. Tristan had pinned a reply to the top. Who says I’m the other man? She just said yes. Attached was a photo. Caroline, looking breathtakingly flushed and happy, holding up her left hand. On her ring finger sat a massive pink diamond. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes locked onto the dress she was wearing in the photo. It was an emerald-green silk slip. I had designed it myself. I spent three months working with a tailor in Mayfair to get the draping perfect for her body. I gave it to her for our anniversary last year. She was wearing my love letter to her while accepting another man’s ring. The hotel walls began to close in. I gripped my chest as a visceral, agonizing panic attack ripped through me. I was drowning. The post went viral within his circles. Soon, my phone began to detonate. Calls from mutual friends. Some wanting gossip, some genuinely concerned. And then, my mother’s name flashed on the screen. I swiped to answer. “Nate,” her crisp, emotionless voice came through. “I assume you’ve seen the news about your brother and Caroline.” I said nothing. I let the silence hang. “Listen to me,” she continued, her tone patronizing. “People in our tax bracket don’t operate on fairy tales. Infidelity happens. I need you to be mature about this. Don’t spiral and make a mess of things like your father did—” “Do not put his name in your mouth,” I snarled, my voice vibrating with a rage so profound it scared me. She paused, clearly irritated. “I am calling to give you reality. The Brooks and Pierce families need this alliance. Since Caroline has chosen Tristan, I expect you to bow out gracefully. Don’t throw a tantrum and embarrass me in the press.” A dark, broken laugh scraped its way out of my throat. “Oh, now you care about being embarrassed? Where was that shame when you were driving my father to put a gun in his mouth?” Knowing she couldn’t win the moral high ground, she snapped, “That was between adults. It has nothing to do with you.” I hung up. I blocked her number. My screen was a chaotic mess of notifications. That blown-up photo of her engagement ring mocked me, painting me as the ultimate, castrated fool. Then, Caroline’s name flashed on the screen. One call. Two calls. Three. Frantic, back-to-back. I stared at the screen, swiped into my settings, and blocked her across every conceivable platform. I called my executive assistant in London. My flight back wasn’t until tomorrow, but I needed out of New York now. I booked a red-eye to Texas. Everyone always said I was exactly like my father. We shared the same quiet disposition, the same fierce loyalty. But they were wrong about one thing. I wasn’t going to die over a woman who betrayed me. At 4:00 PM, a frantic pounding echoed through my hotel room door. I opened it, and before I could blink, a body slammed into my chest. Caroline wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face against my collarbone. She was trembling, her eyes red and swollen. “Why weren’t you answering?” she choked out, her voice ragged. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I thought something happened to you!” I stood entirely still. Slowly, mechanically, I peeled her arms off me and took a step back. “What is there left to answer?” I asked, my voice terrifyingly hollow. “Didn’t you just say yes to Tristan’s proposal?” She flinched as if I’d struck her. Panic flared in her eyes as she reached for my hand. “Nate, you have to understand. Tristan… his father was just a mistress. He grew up with nothing, no respect. I can’t let him live out his life without a proper title. I just—” She saw the utter revulsion in my eyes and switched tactics, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “The marriage laws are different in Europe, Nate. We can still be together. I’ll fly to London. We can have a private ceremony. We’ll still be legally married over there. You’ll still be my husband.” It was so absurd, so profoundly grotesque, I couldn’t even summon the energy to yell. I just stared at her. I was looking at a stranger. A monster wearing the skin of the girl I loved. Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Tristan skidded to a halt outside the door. He took one look at me, dropped to his knees, and put on a masterful theatrical display. “Nate, it’s my fault! Please, hate me, but don’t blame Caroline! I’m so sorry!” Looking down at his face—a younger, sharper version of the man who ruined my family—a primal, violent urge surged through me. I raised my fist. Caroline lunged forward, grabbing my arm with shocking strength. “Nate, stop! I’m the one who made the mistake, not him! Be rational!” My arm dropped. I looked at where her hands gripped my forearm, then slowly raised my eyes to hers. “You’re both at fault. But I’m the one bleeding. Tell me, Caroline. What exactly do you expect me to do?” Tears spilled over her lashes. Guilt and something akin to pity swam in her eyes. She squeezed my hand, practically begging. “Nate… for the sake of our seven years together. Please. Can you just find it in your heart to be forgiving?” I looked at her pleading face. I let the silence stretch until it was suffocating. Then, I gave a single, slow nod. Caroline gasped, a look of euphoric relief washing over her. She threw her arms around my torso. “I knew it,” she wept into my shirt. “I knew you were stronger than your father. I knew you would understand.” She used my dead father as a weapon to secure her own peace of mind. A chilling, terrifying calm settled over me. I smiled against the crown of her hair, my eyes dead. Suddenly, Tristan let out an exaggerated gasp, patting his pockets. “Oh no—Caroline, I think I left the security fob for the penthouse at the front desk.” Caroline pulled away instantly, wiping her eyes. She barely looked back at me as she took Tristan’s arm. “Let’s go get it. I’ll call you tonight, Nate,” she tossed over her shoulder. I watched them walk down the hall. As they turned the corner, the last miserable shred of love I harbored for Caroline Pierce evaporated into nothing. The next morning, I flew out. I didn’t go back to London. I had my security team intercept a police report of a horrific, fiery car crash on an isolated stretch of highway outside the city. Through a massive payout and some digital ghosting, my identification was planted at the scene. The only way to cleanly sever a tie this gangrenous was amputation. From today onward, Nathaniel Brooks no longer existed. It wasn’t until late that evening, after she had finished coddling Tristan, that Caroline remembered to call me. When it went straight to an automated dead line, she tried my London office. Then, starting to panic, she pulled strings to get an emergency contact at the American Embassy. “Nathaniel Brooks?” the official’s voice filtered through the line, solemn and apologetic. “Miss Pierce, I am so deeply sorry. Mr. Brooks was involved in a multi-vehicle collision early this morning on his way to the airport. There were no survivors.”

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Three hours before my wedding, my fiancé called to tell me he wasn’t coming. He didn’t just bail; he went straight to the courthouse and married Melanie Sandra—my supposed best friend. I stood there in my Vera Wang, heart-shattered, listening to the jagged whispers of three hundred guests. That was when Nigel, my fiancé’s uncle, pushed through the heavy oak doors of the hotel ballroom. He didn’t come to apologize for his nephew. He came with a fleet of black Escalades and enough long-stemmed roses to bury the scandal. He told me, in front of everyone, that he had loved me from a distance for years. He told me he’d been dreaming of the day I’d finally be his. Grateful for the lifeline, and perhaps wanting to burn my bridges with the man who humiliated me, I said yes. We’ve been married for three years now. In those three years, I’ve suffered through seven miscarriages. Each one took a piece of my soul. But then, I got pregnant again. Nigel was ecstatic. He’d spin me around the living room, whispering against my hair about how I needed to rest, how he’d protect me and this baby with his very life. He was the perfect, doting husband. Until I hit the twelve-week mark. I was headed toward his study to ask about dinner when I heard voices. Nigel was talking to our private physician, Dr. Aris. “Everything is on schedule, Mr. Montgomery,” the doctor’s voice was clinical, chilling. “Just like the last seven times. I’ve already added the abortifacient to her nightly milk.” A pause. Then the doctor spoke again, sounding genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. Melanie already has your child. Why can’t your wife be allowed to carry one to term?” I heard Nigel let out a self-deprecating, dry laugh. “Only a direct heir can inherit the Montgomery Group,” Nigel said, his voice devoid of the warmth I’d grown used to. “Jordan is sterile—everyone knows that. If I let Norma have a child, that child would be the competition. I can’t have Melanie’s life get complicated later. I won’t let anyone jeopardize her security.” The world tilted on its axis. Every “I love you,” every “be careful,” every late-night vigil by my hospital bed—it was all a curated performance. I wasn’t a wife. I was a placeholder, a sacrificial lamb on the altar of his obsession with Melanie. … “You realize,” the doctor said, hesitant now, “that by doing this, you aren’t just giving up the Chairmanship. You’ve sacrificed seven of your own children. You’ve had me falsify Jordan’s medical records for years; he doesn’t even know he’s infertile. When Melanie’s child is born, he’ll think it’s his. You’ll never be ‘Dad’ to that baby. Is it really worth it?” Nigel’s voice dropped, thick with a twisted kind of devotion. “What does it matter? I couldn’t have Melanie back then. The least I can do is curate her happiness now. No one is going to ruin her future. Not the board of directors, and certainly not a child I have with Norma.” “But sir,” the doctor pressed, “she’s had seven procedures in three years. Her body is failing. If she loses this one, she’ll likely never conceive again. The damage will be permanent.” There was a long silence. I gripped the door handle so hard my knuckles turned white, my breath hitching in my throat. “It’s fine,” Nigel finally said, his tone dismissive. “I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. She won’t need children.” I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I turned and fled, stumbling back to our bedroom. I collapsed onto the floor, my legs giving out. For three years, I blamed myself. I thought I was weak. I thought my body was a broken vessel. I felt guilty for “failing” Nigel, for not giving him the heir his father demanded. His father had made it clear: Nigel or his nephew Jordan—whoever produced the first grandson would take control of the family empire. And Nigel… Nigel didn’t even use protection. He let me get pregnant over and over again, knowing he was going to kill the baby every single time. He watched me bleed, watched me cry, watched me wither away, all to ensure Melanie’s child—his child with Melanie—had no rivals. “Norma? Why are you sitting on the floor, sweetheart?” Nigel was in the doorway. He rushed over, lifting me with a practiced tenderness that now made my skin crawl. “I’m okay,” I managed, my voice a hollow rasp. “Just… morning sickness.” He rubbed my back, his touch feeling like ice against my spine. “I know, baby. It’s hard work, isn’t it? Next time you feel like this, call me. Don’t suffer in silence. It breaks my heart.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “This little guy is already such a troublemaker. When he’s born, I’m going to have to give him a stern talking-to for making his mommy so miserable.” He reached for the nightstand. “Here. I brought you some warm milk. It’ll help you sleep.” I looked at the white liquid in the glass. My stomach turned. Will there even be a ‘next time’? I wondered. Every time before, he had been this way. A special late-night snack, a handmade fruit bowl, a “healthy” smoothie. I thought it was love. It was just a cold-blooded execution disguised as care. “Nigel, I really don’t like the taste of milk lately. Can I skip it tonight?” He smiled, that soft, indulgent smile that never reached his eyes. “Norma, don’t be a brat. The doctor said the things you crave the least are the things your body needs the most. If you don’t sleep, the baby doesn’t rest. You love him, don’t you? Do it for our boy. Here, let me feed you.” He pressed the glass to my lips. It wasn’t an invitation; it was a command. He held it there, firm and unyielding, until I swallowed every drop. Nigel, are you really that afraid my child would stand in Melanie’s way? Or do you just hate the idea of a child that isn’t hers? I closed my eyes as the bitterness slid down my throat. Less than thirty minutes later, the cramping started. It was a familiar, agonizing bloom of heat in my abdomen. I curled into a ball, sweat soaking my sheets. Nigel called the doctor immediately—the doctor who was likely already sitting in his car in our driveway, waiting for the signal. Even though I’d been through this seven times before, the soul-crushing weight of the loss never got easier. Through the haze of pain, I heard the doctor whisper: “Mr. Montgomery, the hemorrhaging is worse this time. I think… I think the damage is done. She won’t be able to carry again.” Nigel didn’t say anything. He just gathered me into his arms, his eyes red as if he were the one grieving. “It’s okay, Norma. I’m here. Even without children, I’ll love you forever. I’ll take care of you.” This man, a CEO who had never so much as boiled an egg, personally cleaned the blood from my skin. He held me tightly through the night, murmuring into the darkness as I drifted in and out of a feverish sleep. “Don’t worry, Melanie,” he whispered into my hair, thinking I was unconscious. “I’ll make sure you get everything you ever wanted.” The tears I’d been holding back finally broke. Years ago, at that disastrous wedding, he promised to give me a life of happiness. It was all a lie to keep me quiet, to keep me out of Melanie’s way. My entire marriage was a punchline to a joke I wasn’t in on. I waited until he fell into a deep sleep, then reached for my phone. I sent a text to my best friend, Regina, who was living in Paris. Remember when you asked me to go on that trip around the world? I’m in. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow. I put the phone down, the ache in my womb a dull, constant throb. I’d just lost another child—murdered by his own father. I locked myself in the bathroom, letting the water run to drown out my sobs. As I leaned down to pick up my phone after dropping it, I noticed something tucked far back under the vanity. It was wrapped in heavy silk, hidden away like a relic. I pulled it out. It was a thick photo album. I opened it to find hundreds of photos of Melanie. From the time she was fifteen until now. I recognized the cover. I’d seen a similar one in Nigel’s office, but he’d told me it was a portfolio for a project. Nigel loved photography—it was his one true hobby. Nigel was older than Jordan and me, but only by about six years. When we were kids, he was always the cold, distant “adult” watching us play, acting like our games were beneath him. But when Melanie moved into the neighborhood and joined our circle at fifteen, everything changed. That was when Nigel started bringing his camera everywhere. I thought he was just growing up. I didn’t realize he was falling in love. The photos captured every minute detail. Melanie laughing, Melanie pouting, Melanie simply tucking her hair behind her ear. Moments I hadn’t even noticed, but Nigel had frozen in time. Since we got married, Nigel hadn’t touched a camera. Once, I asked him to take maternity photos of me. He told me he’d lost his favorite Leica and suggested I hire a professional instead. He hadn’t lost the camera. He just didn’t want to waste his lens on someone he didn’t love. My eyes were dry. I had no more tears left for him. I put the album back exactly where I found it. Then, I pulled up my banking app, booked a one-way ticket, and began drafting a digital divorce settlement. If he wanted Melanie so badly, he could have her. The next morning, my eyes were swollen like bruised plums. Nigel was the picture of a grieving, devoted husband. He made me a nutrient-rich breakfast, poached eggs exactly how I liked them, and even used chilled spoons to help the swelling under my eyes. He was so convincing, I almost doubted my own ears from the night before. But the emptiness in my gut reminded me of the truth. When I didn’t eat, he sighed. “Norma, I know you’re hurting. I’m heartbroken too. But you have to take care of yourself. Your body has been through so much. Please, eat for me.” “Where is the baby?” I asked, my voice flat. “I want to see him.” Twelve weeks. He would have been formed by now. I wanted to see the life he had extinguished. His answer was the same as the seven times before. “I’ve already made the arrangements, honey. He’s been buried privately. You’re in no state to see that. It would only traumatize you further.” He paused, stroking my hand. “My parents heard about the… accident. They’re devastated. They want us to come over for dinner tonight. It might be good to get out of the house.” The moment we walked into the Montgomery estate, I saw Melanie. She was leaning against Nigel’s mother’s arm, preening like a prize cat. When she saw me, she shifted her stance to make her six-month-old bump even more prominent. “Norma! It’s been so long,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Come, sit. I heard about your loss. You really should be more careful at your age.” Ever since the wedding debacle, I’d cut ties with Jordan and Melanie. We only came to the estate when we knew they weren’t there. Tonight was clearly an ambush. I looked at her belly—at Nigel’s child—and felt a physical pang of nausea. He had never let my children live past three months. Nigel’s mother, a sharp-featured woman in her fifties, didn’t even look at me. “Useless,” she spat. “Can’t even hold onto a pregnancy. How many times is this now? I don’t know what my son was thinking, marrying a woman who can’t even provide an heir.” She was Nigel’s mother, but only Jordan’s step-grandmother. She was bitter that Jordan—the nephew—was currently in line for the chairmanship because he had married “the right woman” first. Usually, Nigel would defend me. But today, his eyes were locked on Melanie. He looked at her with such raw, naked longing that he didn’t even hear his mother’s insults. “Grandmother, don’t be so hard on her,” Melanie said, her voice a sugary trill. “Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers. It’s a tragic lack of luck, really.” “It’s a curse, is what it is,” the older woman grumbled. Melanie stood up, acting as if she were going to help me sit down, but she feigned a stumble. Even though she steadied herself instantly, Nigel reacted like a grenade had gone off. He shoved me aside—hard—to catch her. Ignoring his parents, he pulled her into his arms. “Melanie! Are you okay? Where the hell is Jordan? Why are you wandering around alone in your condition?” Melanie smiled, a slow, triumphant thing. “Jordan’s in New York on business. He’s so busy prepping for the CEO transition, you know how it is.” She looked at me, her eyes flashing with malice, then looked back at Nigel. “Nigel, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts…” Without a word, Nigel swept her up into a bridal carry and headed straight for the upstairs bedrooms, never once looking back at his wife. Nigel’s mother looked at me with pure disgust. “Can’t even keep your own husband’s attention. If Jordan hadn’t snatched Melanie up first, do you think Nigel would have looked at you twice? Get out of my sight. I have no appetite looking at you.” She’d always hated me. She saw me as Jordan’s “leftovers.” And because of the miscarriages, she saw me as a failure. I used to endure it because I thought Nigel was my shield. Now I realized he was the one who had sharpened her blades. I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I just walked upstairs. I found myself standing outside Melanie’s guest room. The door wasn’t fully closed. I peered inside. Melanie was lying on the bed, her clothes disheveled, and Nigel was pressed against her, his face buried in her neck. “Nigel,” she moaned, “you’re the only one who cares. Jordan is useless… he can’t even give me a child of my own. If I hadn’t used you, we’d never get the company. If Norma had a baby, everything would be ruined for us.” Nigel pulled back, his eyes dark with a desperate, hungry lust. “Does he treat you well? Does he touch you?” “He treats me like a queen because he thinks I’m carrying his legacy,” she giggled. “He even washes my feet. He’s so grateful.” Nigel’s expression was tortured. “As long as you’re happy. As long as you’re safe, I can live with the rest.” “Nigel,” she whispered, pulling his head down. “I couldn’t marry you, but I can give you this. Tonight, I’m yours.” I watched my husband—the man who was always so stoic, so controlled—lose his mind. I watched them disappear into each other. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled back to our room. Nigel didn’t return that night. The next morning, he appeared in the doorway, looking remarkably refreshed. “Norma, I’m so sorry about last night. My mother kept me up for hours talking about the estate. I couldn’t get away.” I didn’t call him out. I didn’t even look at him. I just went to the front door to wait for the car I’d called. But as I stepped onto the porch, a bucket of freezing, greasy kitchen scraps and dishwater was slammed over my head. Melanie stood there, an empty bucket in her hand, laughing. “Did you enjoy the show last night, Norma?” she sneered. She’d left the door open on purpose. “Losing a baby sucks, doesn’t it? But don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with that anymore. You’re dried up now. Did you really think you could compete with me for the title of Mrs. Montgomery? Nigel gave up his inheritance for me. He gave me a child. And all those little ‘accidents’ you had? They were just fuel for my fire.” I looked up, my voice trembling through the filth dripping off my face. “What did you say?” “Oh, didn’t he tell you? Every time you lost one, Nigel told you they were buried. But he actually brought the remains to me. A certain specialist told me that… well, certain tissues are excellent for a pregnant woman’s health. Think of it as your children finally doing something useful for the real heir.” A wave of visceral horror crashed over me. Nutrients? He gave her the remains of our children to… consume? The sheer, distorted depravity of it broke something inside me. How could a human being do this? “Don’t look at me like that,” Melanie laughed. “It’s your own fault for being so pathetic. A useless mother breeds useless fruit.” I lost it. I swung my hand, aiming for her smug, beautiful face. Smack. The blow didn’t land on her. Nigel had appeared out of nowhere, pulling Melanie behind him and taking the slap across his own cheek. He shoved me back so hard I fell onto the gravel driveway. “Norma! What the hell is wrong with you?!” he roared. Melanie dissolved into theatrical sobs. “Nigel, I was just trying to comfort her! I told her not to be sad about the baby, but she started screaming that I stole her life, that she wanted me to miscarry! She threw that bucket of water at me and I just dodged—it hit her instead! And then she tried to kill me!” Nigel looked at me, his face a mask of cold fury. “Norma, I had no idea you were this shallow. This vindictive.” “You couldn’t keep a child because you’re weak. Don’t take that out on Melanie. She was being kind. Stop dreaming about things that aren’t yours and apologize to her. Now.” I’m weak? I looked at him and realized I didn’t know this man at all. He was a monster wearing the skin of the man I loved. “Nigel,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Tell me one thing. Where are the bodies of my children?” He narrowed his eyes. “I told you. They were buried. We’ve been over this.” His acting was flawless. “You’re right,” I said, standing up and wiping the grease from my face. “I shouldn’t want things that don’t belong to me. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” I turned and walked away. Nigel stared after me, a flicker of genuine panic crossing his face for the first time. He started to follow, but Melanie grabbed his arm. “Nigel, I think I’m going to throw up. The smell… please, take me to the hospital.” He hesitated for two seconds. Then he turned his back on me to help her. I went home, packed a single suitcase, and threw every piece of jewelry and clothing he’d ever bought me into the fireplace. As I held our marriage certificate over the flames, my phone buzzed. It was a photo from Melanie. She was tucked into a hospital bed, looking radiant, eating a bowl of hand-cut fruit. Norma, I just said I felt nauseous and Nigel called in three world-renowned specialists. He even chartered a helicopter to bring in a doctor from the Mayo Clinic. Are you jealous yet? I didn’t reply. I watched the certificate turn to ash. I knew he wouldn’t be home tonight. Sure enough, he called an hour later. “Norma, Melanie had a scare. Jordan is out of town, so as the family head, I have to stay. Don’t be petty about it.” “I understand,” I said. “The baby is the priority. Stay as long as you need.” He paused, his voice softening. “Norma, I didn’t mean to be harsh earlier. I know you’re emotional. But Melanie is carrying the Montgomery bloodline. Since you and I… well, since we can’t provide that anymore, we have to protect her. For the family.” “Right. For the family.” “Be a good girl and stay home. Tomorrow is your birthday. I’ve booked the best suite at the Pierre, and I have a surprise for you. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

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