Category: English

1 My daughter clung to my leg. She was sobbing, begging for a ten-dollar plastic toy. Nolan didn’t even look up from his phone. His voice was ice. “Stop spoiling her. It’s a waste of money.” I swallowed the ache in my chest and finally managed to coax Sophie into calming down. Just as she wiped her eyes, a notification popped up on my screen. It was an Instagram update from his college sweetheart. In the photo, she was beaming. Cradled in her arms was the latest designer handbag. A sick curiosity took over. I opened a boutique website and found the exact bag. The three-thousand-dollar price tag felt like a slap to the face. Her caption read: “Thank you! Absolutely in love with my birthday gift this year!” Underneath the post, there was only one like. It belonged to my husband. I looked down at the chipped, faded doll Sophie was clutching. Slowly, I took a screenshot of the post and sent it to him with a single text. “The bag you bought her could buy our daughter three hundred toys. Is that right?” “Did you buy Jennifer’s bag?” “Three grand? Where would I get that kind of money?” Nolan didn’t stop scrolling. He didn’t even blink. “It’s a cheap knockoff. I got it from a street vendor downtown for fifty bucks.” “Jennifer just lost her job. She’s been depressed. I figured a fake bag would cheer her up. We go way back, you know.” He said it so casually, as if he were talking about the weather. It felt like a physical hand was squeezing my heart. “Cheer up an old friend?” I asked. “Nolan, last week Sophie wanted a ten-dollar doll. You said it was a rip-off. You said it was too expensive.” “And now you’re spending money to cheer up another woman?” Nolan threw his phone onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh. He glared at me. “Are you done? Sophie has a mountain of toys in her room. That’s just throwing money away. Jennifer is different. She’s a single mom struggling to get by. What’s wrong with a guy helping out a friend?” “Can you stop being so petty and paranoid all the time?” Petty. Paranoid. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I turned and walked into our bedroom. Nolan probably thought I bought his excuse. He picked his phone back up, muttering “crazy woman” under his breath. I sat on the edge of the bed. My hands and feet were freezing. That bag wasn’t a fake. The authenticity tag, the texture of the leather, the stitching. I knew it all too well. It was the exact bag I had stared at for months leading up to our anniversary, the one I ultimately couldn’t bring myself to buy because we needed the money for the house. I took a deep, shaky breath and opened the nightstand drawer. I pulled out Nolan’s old tablet. He mostly used it for gaming now, but he had forgotten something crucial. His app accounts were all synced. I tapped on his ride-share and travel apps. My heart hammered against my ribs. The most recent booking was a short domestic flight to Seattle. The date was last Saturday. That was the exact day Nolan told me he had to pull an all-nighter at the office to finish a massive project. I kept scrolling. My breathing turned shallow. On that same day, there was a transaction on his credit card. An upscale family restaurant in Seattle. The bill was over three hundred dollars. That money could have bought Sophie thirty toys. It could have covered our groceries for weeks. Tears pricked my eyes. I tilted my head back, forcing them down. I wouldn’t cry. Not yet. I found the restaurant’s number and dialed. A cheerful hostess answered almost immediately. “Hello, how can I help you today?” I forced my voice to sound light and polite. “Hi there. My husband dined at your restaurant last Saturday. He thinks he lost his lucky silver lighter. Could you check your lost and found?” “I don’t remember the exact table, but his name is Nolan. Last four digits of his phone number are xxxx.” I heard the clacking of a keyboard. A few seconds later, the hostess replied. “Hi ma’am. Yes, I see Mr. Nolan’s reservation. Unfortunately, our cleaning staff didn’t turn in a lighter from that table.” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. My nails dug into my palm. “I see. I must be mistaken then. Oh, by the way, was he alone? I was worried he might have drank too much with his clients.” The hostess must have sensed the ‘wifely concern’ in my voice. She sounded even warmer. “Oh, don’t worry! Your husband didn’t order any alcohol.” “He was with a lovely lady and a little boy. The little guy kept calling him Daddy. They looked absolutely adorable together. Just a picture-perfect family.” A picture-perfect family. Those words twisted like a serrated knife in my gut. I don’t even remember hanging up. My brain was echoing with the phrase. Nolan didn’t just give her money. He gave her the most valuable thing he had. His time. He poured all his patience, gentleness, and cash into that woman and her kid. And for me and Sophie? All he had left were cold shoulders, excuses, and lies. This was the man I fought my own family to marry. This was the husband I gave up my dreams for, scraping by so he could build his career. It made me want to throw up. I walked into the bathroom and turned the faucet on cold. I splashed the freezing water over my face. The shock snapped me back to reality. What good were tears? Would crying bring my money back? Would it make Nolan a decent father? No. Well then, Nolan. If you love playing Daddy to someone else’s kid so much, I’ll make sure you get your wish. 2 Sunday morning arrived. Nolan woke up early, whistling as he shaved. He even sprayed on a little cologne. “That account still has some loose ends. I need to head into the office for a few hours.” “You stay home with Sophie. Don’t wait up for dinner.” He lied with such flawless ease. He didn’t even bother coming up with a new excuse. I was braiding Sophie’s hair. I didn’t look up. “Okay.” “Actually, I was thinking of taking Sophie out today too. I heard there’s a great new indoor theme park a few towns over.” Nolan’s hand froze on his tie. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Why go all the way out there? That’s a ridiculous drive. Just take her to the park down the street. Don’t waste gas money.” I smiled, clipping a pink bow into Sophie’s hair. “She’s been begging to go for weeks. Besides, I found a Groupon. It’s dirt cheap.” Nolan grabbed his briefcase and practically sprinted out the door. The moment it clicked shut, my smile vanished. I had made a reservation at that exact restaurant. Directly across from their favorite table. At eleven a.m., I walked into the upscale bistro holding Sophie’s hand. It was beautiful. Soft lighting, pastel decor, and the sound of children laughing. I spotted Nolan immediately. He was sitting by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He leaned forward, utterly engrossed. Sitting across from him was Jennifer. Next to him was a little boy, maybe five or six years old. The kid was clumsily trying to snap a complex Lego set together. Nolan had his hands over the boy’s, guiding him patiently. “Look, buddy. This piece goes here. See? Nice and sturdy.” “You are so smart. Way better at this than my clumsy little girl.” His voice was dripping with a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years. His eyes were full of pure adoration. Sophie tugged at my sleeve. Her voice was a tiny whisper. “Mommy, is that Daddy?” “Didn’t Daddy go to work? Who is that boy?” Looking down at my daughter’s confused, innocent face broke something inside me. I crouched down and smoothed her hair. “Be a good girl, sweetie. Go play in the ball pit over there for a minute. Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.” She didn’t want to leave my side, but she was always a good kid. She nodded obediently and trotted off toward the play area. I took a deep breath and marched straight toward their table. Before I even reached them, Nolan seemed to sense something. He looked up. The moment his eyes locked onto mine, the Lego piece slipped from his fingers and hit the table with a sharp clack. All the color drained from his face. “What… what are you doing here?” Jennifer jumped. She scrambled to her feet, looking like a deer in headlights. “Stella…” I ignored her completely. My eyes were fixed on my husband. “Is this the office?” “Are these the loose ends on your account?” “So your idea of overtime is building Legos with another woman’s son?” People at the neighboring tables were starting to stare. Nolan’s face went from pale to a deep, embarrassed red. He shot out of his chair, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me toward a quiet corner near the restrooms. “Are you insane? We’re in public! Stop causing a scene!” “Can you just give me an ounce of respect?” Once we were out of earshot, he dropped my wrist like it burned him. He hissed through his teeth. “Are you tracking me?” I gave him a dead-eyed smile. “If you don’t want people to know, don’t do it.” “You’re worried about respect now?” “You barely speak two words to your own daughter at home, but here you are overflowing with fatherly love?” Nolan shifted his weight. His eyes darted around as he spun his web. “Jennifer just moved back. Toby transferred to a new school and doesn’t have any friends. He’s been really withdrawn.” “I’m just helping a friend out. Being a positive male role model for the kid.” “Sophie is a social butterfly. She doesn’t need me hovering over her.” “Are you seriously jealous of a little kid? You’re being totally irrational!” His logic was a masterclass in gaslighting. Right on cue, Jennifer rushed over. Her eyes were red. She looked like a fragile, heartbroken victim. She reached out, trying to touch my arm. “Stella, please don’t be mad at Nolan. This is all my fault.” “I’m just so useless. I’ve been struggling to raise Toby alone, and I leaned on Nolan too much.” “Yell at me if you want, but please don’t let this ruin your marriage.” “I’ll leave right now. I promise I’ll never bother him again.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks perfectly on cue. The performance was Oscar-worthy. Seeing her cry triggered Nolan’s hero complex. He immediately pulled Jennifer behind him, shielding her from me. He glared at me. “Look at what you’re doing! You’re terrifying her.” “Jennifer is so understanding. But you? You’re acting like a crazy bitch!” “Why can’t you learn to be a little more gentle? A little more forgiving?” I stared at the two of them. It was a perfectly choreographed routine. Understanding? Forgiving? A pathetic homewrecker and a cheating narcissist. What a match. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just stood there in silence. My gaze slowly drifted down to Jennifer’s neck. Resting against her collarbone was a silver necklace. The pendant was uniquely shaped, like a butterfly caught mid-flight, its wings dusted with crushed sapphires. My pupils dilated. That was my necklace. It was the most precious thing I owned. 3 My eyes were glued to the silver chain. The blood roared in my ears. It was “First Light.” The piece that won me the National Young Designer’s Award back in college. It was the peak of my design career. And the end of it. That year, I was supposed to use that award to secure a full-ride scholarship to Parsons. I was going to study in New York. But Nolan’s startup crashed. He owed a massive amount of money to the wrong people. They were banging on our door every night. To save him, I gave up the scholarship. I took my entire thirty-thousand-dollar prize money and paid off his debts. I spent the next three years working double shifts at diners and selling crafts at flea markets just to keep us afloat. That necklace was a one-of-a-kind original. It was the only monument I had left for a dream that had died. For years, I kept it locked in the deepest corner of my safe. I didn’t even dare to wear it. And now, it was resting on Jennifer’s skin. It was the ultimate insult. I took a slow step toward her. “Stop making a fool of yourself,” Nolan snapped. “Take Sophie and go home!” I ignored him. I raised my hand and pointed straight at Jennifer’s throat. “Where did you get that?” Nolan flinched. He avoided my eyes and instinctively blocked Jennifer again. “What do you mean? I bought it!” “It’s from a flea market. Cost me twenty bucks. What’s the big deal?” Another flea market. Another cheap excuse. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I lunged forward and grabbed the necklace. Jennifer shrieked. She slapped her hands over her neck and stumbled backward. “What are you doing! You’re hurting me!” “Stella, I know you hate me, but this was a gift from Nolan…” “A gift?” I turned to Nolan. My voice shook with pure rage. “You said this was a twenty-dollar piece of junk?” “Do you even know what is engraved on the back of it?” Nolan went pale. A thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead. Of course he knew. Years ago, when I showed it to him as a symbol of our future, I held his hand, traced the tiny etching on the back, and said: “It’s an S. For Stella.” “If your memory is failing you, Nolan, let me help you remember.” I yanked hard. The silver chain snapped. I flipped the pendant over and shoved it inches from Nolan’s face. The tiny, elegant “S” was unmistakable. “Do you see it?” “This is First Light! It’s the only trophy I have left from my past!” “How dare you?” “How dare you take my blood, sweat, and tears and use it to play sugar daddy to another woman?” A crowd was forming. People were whispering and pointing. Nolan’s pride couldn’t handle the public humiliation. His eyes turned wild. He yelled back at me. “Yeah! I took it! So what?” “What’s yours is mine! It belongs to the house!” “Jennifer said it looked pretty. She said she needed a lucky charm.” “She’s been having a hard time, so I let her borrow it! Is that a crime?” “It’s just a piece of metal! Why are you being so hysterical?” “It was just gathering dust in a drawer anyway. At least now it’s actually getting some use!” I stopped breathing. In his eyes, my dreams, my youth, the ultimate sacrifice I made for him… It was all just “metal gathering dust.” Jennifer had recovered from her shock. She rubbed her neck, letting the tears fall freely. “Stella, I had no idea it was so important to you…” “Nolan told me it was just a cheap trinket.” “If you’re that desperate for it, you could have just asked. You didn’t have to attack me like an animal.” “It’s not like I can’t afford my own jewelry…” As she sobbed, her eyes flicked to the crowd, gauging their sympathy. And it worked. Some onlookers muttered under their breath. “That wife is psycho. Just ripping it off her neck?” “It’s just a necklace. Total overreaction.” My hand trembled around the silver pendant. My chest felt hollowed out. In that moment, everything became crystal clear. Nolan didn’t just disrespect a piece of jewelry. He had completely shattered my dignity. He wiped away every piece of myself I had sacrificed to build our family. To him, I was utterly worthless. I gripped the necklace tight in my fist and turned around. “We are done, Nolan.” Panic finally pierced through his anger. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm, and actually dropped to his knees right there on the restaurant floor. “Stella! Wait! I’m sorry!” “I messed up!” “I shouldn’t have taken your stuff. I wasn’t thinking!” “You have the necklace back now! Can we just go home and act like a normal family?” He clung to my jeans, sobbing, putting on a show for the crowd. I kicked him off. I just felt sick. 4 When I got home, I locked the necklace back inside the safe. Then I locked myself in the bathroom and cried until my throat was raw. That night, Sophie woke up crying. She was burning up. The thermometer read 103 degrees. She was lethargic, her tiny body trembling, murmuring that her head hurt. I panicked. I threw a coat over her pajamas and rushed her to the emergency room. Registration. Blood tests. Waiting rooms. I ran up and down the hospital corridors alone, carrying my forty-pound daughter in my arms. In those agonizing hours, my hatred for Nolan crystallized into something cold and permanent. The doctor finally wrote up a prescription and told me to pay at the billing counter. I pulled out the blue debit card. It was our emergency fund. It was also meant to be Sophie’s college fund. I had deposited every spare dollar into it for five years. There was exactly forty thousand dollars in that account. I never expected Nolan to save a dime, so I managed it. But Nolan knew the PIN. Beep. The billing clerk frowned and slid the card back across the glass. “Insufficient funds, ma’am.” I froze. “That’s impossible. There’s forty thousand dollars in that account. Try it again.” “Is your machine down?” The clerk looked sympathetic but exhausted. “The machine is fine. The card is empty. You’ve got about forty-five bucks left. Do you have another card? There’s a line.” Forty-five bucks? The world spun. Forty. Thousand. Dollars. That was money I scraped together by denying myself everything. Skipping lunches, buying second-hand clothes, working freelance gigs late into the night. My hands shook violently as I pulled out my phone and opened the banking app. There it was. A transaction from three days ago. Transfer amount: $39,950. Recipient: Jennifer. I paid for Sophie’s meds with a high-interest credit card. Once she was hooked up to her IV and sleeping in the pediatric ward, I marched out to the hallway and called Nolan. It rang a dozen times before he picked up. His voice was hushed and guilty. “Hey babe, you’re up late. I’m still at the office…” “Where is the money?” My jaw was clenched so hard my teeth ached. “Sophie’s emergency fund. Forty thousand dollars. Where is it?” Dead silence on the line. Then, the stammering began. “Look… babe, let me explain.” “Jennifer’s mom… she got really sick. She needed emergency surgery.” “You know how American hospitals are. No insurance, no cash, no surgery.” “It was a matter of life and death. I couldn’t just let the woman die, could I?” “I just loaned it to her. She’s putting her mom’s house on the market. Once it sells, she’ll pay me back every cent…” “Loaned?” My entire body was shaking. The tears I promised not to shed streamed down my face. “Nolan, that is Sophie’s money!” “Your daughter is lying in a hospital bed right now with a 103-degree fever, and I couldn’t even pay her medical bill!” “You took your daughter’s safety net to play savior to your ex’s mother?” “Are you even human?” “Do you have a soul at all?” My voice cracked, echoing down the empty hospital hallway. A passing nurse gave me a sharp look, motioning for me to quiet down. I slapped a hand over my mouth, choking on my own sobs. The pain in my chest was unbearable. Nolan was still defending himself. “How was I supposed to know Sophie was going to get sick?” “Besides, we’re talking about a life-saving surgery versus a fever. Can you not tell the difference?” “Do you have zero empathy?” Empathy? I looked through the glass window of the ward. I looked at my daughter’s flushed face, a needle taped to her tiny hand. She was so small. So vulnerable. And her father had abandoned her for another woman. I wiped my face. I stared blankly at the wall and lowered my voice into a dead, flat calm. “You wanted to be a savior, Nolan?” “Good. That’s great.” “Since you’re so generous, I hope you’re ready to pay the price.” “I am going to make you spit out that forty grand. Every single cent.” I hung up the phone and blocked his number. If you want to play dirty, Nolan, welcome to the mud.

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1 To marry Connor, I severed all ties with my family. My father struck my name off the family records right in front of my eyes. My mother slapped me across the face, declaring that from that day on, she no longer had a daughter. I didn’t regret it. Our engagement dinner was set for the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel. Two hundred invitations had been sent out. Dressed in a rented gown that pinched my waist, I waited for three hours. He never showed up. My calls went straight to voicemail, and my messages were left unread. I forced a smile and told the remaining guests that he had been called away for an urgent business trip. When the venue emptied, I was left to clean up the wreckage alone. My phone buzzed with a social media notification, a trending local post. Connor, heir to the Holden family empire, marries his childhood sweetheart. The attached photo showed him in a tailored suit, holding Fiona’s hand outside the courthouse, a red marriage certificate proudly in hand. The registration date was three days ago. I carefully folded the rented gown, packed it back into its garment bag, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in three years. “Mom, can I come home?” … “You still have the nerve to call this home?” My mother’s voice cracked through the receiver, so raspy and hollow that I barely recognized it. I opened my mouth, but the words withered in my throat. “Your father had heart bypass surgery last month. He spent twenty days in the ICU.” A loud ringing filled my ears. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” “Tell you? You were the one who said you were marrying that Connor fellow, no matter what. You told us you were done with this family.” “Mom, I—” “Don’t call me Mom. You haven’t used that word in three years, don’t start now.” The line went dead. I redialed immediately, but the phone was already switched off. Huddled on the curb outside the ballroom, I stared at the trending post. The comments section was already in the tens of thousands. Someone had screenshotted the status I had posted three hours ago, captioned: “Finally, the wait is over.” The top comment below it read: “Too bad he wasn’t the one waiting for you.” The banquet manager walked out, a clipboard in his hand. “Miss Shen, the remaining balance is thirty-six hundred dollars. If we don’t settle this tonight, there will be a late fee.” “Can I do a wire transfer?” “Yes, that works.” I opened my mobile banking app. My balance was exactly thirty-six hundred and two dollars. It was the sum of three years of quiet, painstaking savings. Once the transfer cleared, my balance was exactly two dollars. The manager gave me a fleeting look, perhaps searching for some words of comfort, but ultimately nodded and walked away. At the bridal boutique, the assistant quietly took the garment bag from my hands. “Did it get stained, Jane?” “No, it’s clean.” “Here is your deposit refund.” “Thank you.” I took a cab back to our apartment. When I pressed my thumb against the smart lock, the screen flashed with two words: “Access Denied.” I tried three times, but the result was the same. I messaged Connor: “I can’t get in.” It marked as read. Eight minutes later, he replied with a six-digit passcode. No greeting, no explanation. I punched in the numbers and pushed the door open. The first thing I saw in the foyer was a pair of plush pink slippers. They were not my size. On the entryway table sat a massive bouquet of baby’s breath with a card: “Fiona, welcome to your new home. Love, Connor.” I had lived here for three years, and he had never once bought a single flower for me, not even on the day we moved in. On the coffee table was a pink mug painted with the words “Mrs. Holden.” A lavender cardigan was draped over the sofa. It wasn’t mine. The bedsheets in the master bedroom had been replaced with purple silk. The cotton sheets I had bought were stuffed into the absolute bottom of the linen closet. My clothes had been shoved into a tight corner of the wardrobe to make room for a row of new dresses. The price tags were still attached, the cheapest one costing four hundred dollars. In three years, I had never spent more than thirty dollars on a single piece of clothing. On the back of the bedroom door, there was a sticky note in Connor’s handwriting. Jane, sleep in the guest room for a few days. Fiona just moved in and is still adjusting. Just a temporary arrangement. I stared at those words, then slowly peeled the note off the wood. My phone rang. I called Connor back, and this time, he answered. The background was loud, filled with clinking glasses and chatter, like a busy restaurant. “Jane, this isn’t a good time.” “Did you marry Fiona?” A heavy silence lasted for two seconds. “I’ll explain later.” “Then why was my fingerprint deleted from the door?” “Fiona wanted to reset the security settings. I’ll add yours back tomorrow.” His voice was flat, as if he were discussing the weather. “Two hundred people watched me wait for three hours today, and you couldn’t even manage a single phone call?” “Don’t get hysterical, Jane. It’s not what you think—” Suddenly, a soft, whiny voice drifted through the line. “Connor, the soup is getting cold. Come back to the table.” He lowered his voice. “I have to go. We’ll talk later.” Later. For three years, every promise he made was pushed to some vague “later.” I clutched my phone, sitting on the edge of the guest bed. Five minutes later, an unknown number popped up. “Jane? It’s Fiona.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet. “Connor wanted me to let you know he won’t be coming home tonight. He said you shouldn’t wait up and should get some rest.” I said nothing. She paused for a beat, then added: “Jane, Connor always says you’re the most understanding person he knows. He knew you wouldn’t get upset over something so minor. He said you never mind.” “Jane? Could you open the door? I’m here to grab some things.” Fiona was standing outside the door at noon the next day. She wore a cream-colored knit dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, holding two cups of iced boba tea. I unlocked the door, and she slipped on those pink slippers, walking in as if she owned the place. Her movements were entirely natural; she didn’t even have to look for the light switch. The switch was hidden behind a decorative wooden panel in the corner, a detail that had taken me a week to find when we first moved in. She curled onto the sofa, placing the cups on the table. “I got you one. Low sugar. Connor said you don’t like sweet things.” I didn’t touch it. “What are you here for?” “Just a few changes of clothes. It’s a bit inconvenient for Connor and me to keep staying at the hotel.” She smiled, walking into the master bedroom to open the closet. As she passed the nightstand, she casually picked up the photo frame. It was the only picture I had with Connor. I had begged him for hours before he finally agreed to take it, his face entirely expressionless the entire time. Fiona stared at it for a moment, then flipped it face-down on the table. “We probably don’t need this anymore, right?” I walked over and flipped the frame back up. She tilted her head, her tone carrying a mock gentleness. “Jane, do you really not know?” “Know what?” “Connor said your engagement was just for show. His grandmother’s health is failing, and she was pressuring him to settle down, so he just went along with it to keep her happy.” Just to keep her happy. Three years ago, when I cut ties with my family to be with him, he had held me and said: “Jane, you have me now.” He had convinced me to turn down a prestigious corporate management track position in Seattle so I could move to New York and help him launch his startup. An offer with a six-figure salary, crumpled and thrown into the trash. He told me we were building our future together, that everything we made would be ours. And I had said yes. He told me things were tight and asked me to cover the company’s operating costs with my savings. And I had said yes. All those sacrifices, reduced to “just for show.” Fiona pulled a stack of clothes from the wardrobe, spotting my faded floral dress tucked at the very bottom. “This dress looks so old, Jane. You still keep it?” “I bought it in college.” “Ah, that explains it.” She packed her things and headed for the door, stopping near the guest room. “By the way, Jane, you might want to start packing your things. Connor said we’re officially moving back in next week.” I looked at her. She quickly waved her hands. “Oh, I don’t mean to kick you out! I just don’t want our things getting mixed up. Connor said you’re incredibly reasonable, so I knew you wouldn’t take it the wrong way.” As she bent down to change her shoes, I noticed a silver bracelet on her wrist. It was the bracelet that belonged in my jewelry box, the one my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday. “Where did you get that bracelet?” She looked down, her tone dripping with innocence. “Connor gave it to me. He said he found it at a local vintage market. Pretty, isn’t it?” He had taken my mother’s gift and handed it to another woman, calling it a market find. I stood frozen. Fiona opened the door and smiled back. “Oh, one last thing. Connor is going to cancel the supplementary credit card you have. An account can only have one secondary card, and he needs to set up a new one for me.” I was the one paying off the monthly balance on that card. “Really? Well, thank you so much, Jane.” She took a few steps, then turned around again. “Connor told me to tell you that he appreciates everything you’ve done during this transition, and he’ll make it up to you later. But you’ll have to wait a little bit. We haven’t paid the deposit for our honeymoon hotel yet.” “Jane, don’t go online today.” Sarah’s message had been sent at two in the morning. I didn’t see it until seven. “What happened?” “Someone leaked photos of you from yesterday.” I opened social media. The top trending local post read: The Engagement Dinner Farce: Bride-to-Be Left Waiting in an Empty Ballroom for Three Hours. The attached photos had been taken covertly by one of the guests. The rented dress, the empty head table, and me sitting there alone, forcing a smile as I raised a glass to toast the remaining crowd. The comments were merciless. Renting a gown for an engagement? How pathetic. Why try so hard to climb into a family like that? This is hilarious. Stood up in front of two hundred people, and she still tried to cover for him by saying he was on a business trip. Winner of the most pathetic partner of the year. I turned off my phone. Two minutes later, it rang again. It wasn’t Connor; it was his mother. “Jane, dear, I wanted to discuss something with you.” Her tone was far more polite than usual, the kind of forced politeness that makes your skin crawl. “Don’t worry about those online posts. I’m trying to get them taken down.” “They won’t go away, Mrs. Holden.” “Well, then we’ll handle this another way.” She paused. “To be honest, Jane, when Fiona returned from abroad last year, she was hesitating about committing to Connor. So Connor had to find a way to nudge her.” “What way?” “By setting up an engagement with someone else, just to give her that final push.” My ears rang. “So the engagement was a lie?” “Not a lie, exactly… just a gesture. A temporary arrangement.” I looked down at the simple silver band on my finger. It had cost thirty dollars at a small artisan alley. I had picked it out, buying a matching pair. He had worn his for two days before taking it off. I had worn mine for three years. “Mrs. Holden, I was the one who printed those two hundred invitations. I was the one who paid the deposit for the ballroom.” “Connor will pay you back.” “When?” “Once things settle down for him financially. By the way, Jane, about the twenty thousand dollars you lent his company—” “What about it?” “Things are really tight with the business right now. Do you think you could…” I hung up before she could finish the sentence. I checked our joint savings account on my banking app. Balance: zero. The last transaction was three days ago, the day he registered his marriage with Fiona. He had withdrawn twelve thousand dollars. The transaction note read: Honeymoon Fund. That money was what I had earned from working freelance over the last six months. He had told me a joint account would make things easier once we married, that it would be our shared asset. And I had believed him. My phone buzzed. It was Sarah. “Jane, I can’t keep this from you anymore.” She sent a screenshot of a group chat named Connor’s Campaign Crew. Connor had sent a message the night before the engagement dinner: Once tomorrow’s performance is over, we’re done. Keep your mouths shut around Jane. The replies were lined up. Copy that. Brilliant, man. Can’t believe she actually fell for it. The last message was from Connor: a laughing emoji. Sarah added: I’m so sorry. I only found out yesterday that you were actually left waiting there. He told everyone you were just helping him run the event as a favor. If you have nowhere to stay, come to my place. I stared at that screenshot for a long time. The laughing emoji. At nine that night, Connor finally called. “Jane, don’t take what my mother said to heart. She doesn’t know how to phrase things properly.” “What about the group chat screenshot?” A three-second silence. “Who showed you that? It was just my friends fooling around.” “The laughing emoji was also just fooling around?” He let out a heavy sigh, his tone sharp with irritation. “Jane, can you please stop obsessing over such minor things? I told you I’d explain everything when I get back.” “You always say that.” “Then what do you want me to do?” I held the phone, silent. He waited, his tone softening slightly. “Just calm down, alright? It’s not what you think. Let’s talk in person.” Connor didn’t show up until three days later. Fiona was right behind him as he pushed the door open. She slipped into her slippers and curled up on the sofa as if she had never left. I stood by the guest room door, watching them. He glanced at the packed suitcase in the room. “Looks like you’ve made up your mind. I found a small studio apartment for you, fully furnished. I’ll cover the deposit and the first three months of rent.” “I put eight thousand dollars toward the down payment of this place.” “I’ll pay you back later.” “What about the twelve thousand from our joint account?” “Fiona needed to book the flights and hotels. Consider it a loan.” “And the twenty thousand I lent your company?” “The business is strapped right now. You’ll have to wait.” I looked at him, realizing his eyes didn’t even flinch as he said those words. He believed he was being perfectly reasonable. My gaze drifted to Fiona’s neck. She was wearing a delicate silver necklace with a tiny star pendant. I had saved up for two months to buy him that necklace for his birthday. He had told me the style was too feminine and refused to wear it. Now it was around her neck. “I bought that necklace.” Fiona touched the pendant, looking at Connor. “Connor, didn’t you say you bought this for me?” He frowned. “It’s just a necklace, Jane. Let’s focus on the important things.” I didn’t sit down. He sighed. “I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me and the company over the last three years, and I appreciate it. But we can’t force feelings. Once Fiona came back, I realized I couldn’t let her go.” “So you married her three days before our engagement dinner.” “She finally agreed to settle down, and the timing was tight. I couldn’t delay it.” “But you could let me wait for three hours without a single phone call?” He looked away, his voice quiet. “That was my mistake.” Fiona gently tugged at his sleeve. “Connor…” He patted her hand comfortingly. I knew that gesture too well. He used to pat my hand the exact same way, telling me everything would be fine. I let out a quiet laugh. “Fine. I’ll take my things. You can keep the rest.” He seemed startled. “You… aren’t going to demand an explanation?” “You just gave me one.” I turned, walked into the guest room, and shut the door. Through the wood, I could hear their muffled voices. Fiona chuckled softly. “See, Connor? I told you she wouldn’t make things difficult for us.” He replied quietly: “That’s just how she is. She won’t make a scene. Don’t worry.” That’s just how she is. She won’t make a scene. I turned off my phone, knelt down, and pulled my suitcase from under the bed. It had been with me for three years, its corners scuffed and the zipper temperamental. I packed my clothes, placing the faded floral dress on top. I didn’t have much to carry anyway. Within thirty minutes, everything was packed. I took off my house keys and set them on the entryway table. I unclasped the silver band from my finger and left it beside them. Fiona was wearing my mother’s silver bracelet. I didn’t ask for it back. Perhaps that was the last trace of my existence in this apartment. I didn’t look back as the door closed. I walked down and hailed a cab. Before turning my phone off, I sent one final message: The keys are on the table. Don’t contact me again. Then I went to the carrier store, canceled the number, and got a new SIM card. When Connor returned to the apartment that evening, he saw the keys and the ring. He pushed open the guest room door, finding nothing but an empty bed. He frowned and dialed my number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”

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Carter pursued me for two years and spoiled me rotten for five. Five years ago, he was killed in the line of duty. No body was ever found. Today, five years later, Captain Miller called me personally. He said Carter had been found. He was alive and well, but… He was getting married. On the way to that coastal town, Captain Miller and the other officers kept trying to gently talk me out of my delusions, but I refused to give up. I rubbed the plain silver band on my finger. He had proposed to me. He was my fiancé. How could he marry another woman? A flight and a bus ride later—five hours on the bus having me throwing up violently—we finally arrived at the small seaside town after a ten-hour journey. “It’s over there.” Captain Miller pointed to a place called Sunny Haven Inn. It was an obscure little bed and breakfast that had suddenly gone viral because of a set of photos a tourist posted online. In those photos, the owner had accidentally stepped into the frame. Even though it was just his side profile, it was enough to send the internet into a frenzy. Captain Miller gave me a heavy look. “He doesn’t remember anything. You have to…” I stared fixedly at that door, my senses completely shutting down. When Captain Miller pushed the door open, a wind chime made of seashells let out a crisp, clear melody. Before us lay a massive courtyard with a cobblestone path leading to the main house. There was a giant wooden swing, a golden retriever, and several stray cats lounging about. I looked at the animals in shock. Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind a curtain of strung seashells. The man was tall, with long legs and tight, lean muscles visible beneath his black t-shirt. His jawline was sharp and clean. The moment I laid eyes on him, my body froze uncontrollably. A numb tingling shot down my spine, and my head buzzed. All my bodily functions seemed to fail at once, leaving me with only enough strength to stare desperately at the man in front of me. I had seen people who looked eighty percent like Carter—some even had the exact same teardrop mole under their eye—but I always knew with one glance that they weren’t him. But the man standing before me was far removed from the boy I knew. His facial features were more mature than the teenage Carter, sharper, and noticeably colder. I couldn’t stop myself from stepping closer, and closer, until I clearly saw the teardrop mole by his eye, and the braided red cord around his neck… “Car… Carter…” I choked out, fighting back a sob, whispering his name softly as if afraid I’d scare him away. He looked up at me. His gaze was entirely, devastatingly foreign. “Excuse me?” “Carter…” I could barely articulate his name. The man looked at me with cold indifference. “Sorry, miss. You have the wrong person.” I could be wrong about anything in this life, but I could never be wrong about Carter Davis. He was half my soul. Captain Miller hurriedly pulled me back. “Sorry about that. Do you have any vacant rooms?” Carter crossed his arms, scrutinizing us carefully. “Yes. How many?” “Two.” “Come on in.” He turned and walked straight into the house without sparing me another glance. I had naively believed that as long as he saw me, he would remember. If he just looked at me, everything would go back to normal… But the way he looked at me was unfamiliar and sharp, tinged with a hint of annoyance at my abruptness. I didn’t cry when I heard he was alive. I didn’t cry when I heard he was getting married. But remembering the look in his eyes just now, my heart felt like it was being crushed in someone’s fist. It hurt so much it felt like it would explode, and my tears fell uncontrollably. 2 “IDs.” Captain Miller handed over our driver’s licenses. When the man reached out to take them, I saw it clearly: the top half of his left pinky finger was missing. As he walked behind the counter, he moved with a slight, almost imperceptible limp in his right leg. I clamped a hand over my mouth. Captain Miller grabbed the room keys and quickly had someone escort me outside. I sat in my room for a long time before I found my voice. “How did he end up like this?” On the way here, I swore to myself that the moment I saw him, I would slap him as hard as I could. That heartless bastard, how could he forget me and marry someone else! But the moment I saw him, I suddenly couldn’t bear to do it. All I wanted to do was hold him. I stayed in my room for hours, so long that Sarah, a colleague, got worried and dragged me out. Everyone was in the backyard having a barbecue. I instantly spotted Carter manning the grill. Captain Miller stood next to him, and the two seemed to be getting along great. “Chloe, feeling better?” I nodded. “Carter, let me introduce you. This is Chloe.” I slowly extended my hand, fighting with everything I had to keep it from trembling. “Chloe Adams. Nice to meet you.” A broad, warm palm briefly grasped mine. “Carter. Nice to meet you.” A greeting between strangers. In that split second, my nose stung. I remembered right after he proposed, he had held me, incredibly gentle, and whispered affectionately, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Davis.” We had missed our chance. Looking at the man in front of me, I had a million questions, but all that came out was, “It’s beautiful here. Have you been living well?” He expertly flipped the skewers on the grill and answered casually, “Pretty well.” That’s good. As we spoke, a piece of chicken wing fell from the grill. He looked toward the door. “Potato, come here.” Potato was the name of an orange tabby we had adopted together. Carter named him. He had said, “He’s fat and round, what else would we call him but Potato?” Watching the big golden retriever trot over, wagging its tail, my throat tightened. “His name is Potato?” “Yeah. He’s fat and round. What else would I call him?” I turned around to secretly wipe my tears. Only Carter would come up with such a cheesy name twice. When the food was ready, we all sat around the table. Seeing the beer, I grabbed a can and downed it. The bitter taste spread across my tongue. I looked at the man across from me. The teardrop mole I used to tease him about was still there. The braided red cord still hung around his neck, though I didn’t know if it was the one I gave him. None of this felt real. Sarah handed out the skewers, placing a mushroom one on his plate. Before he could react, I snatched it away. “No, he can’t eat mushrooms.” Everyone at the table suddenly stared at me. Just as I froze, not knowing what to do, a figure ran over and jumped right onto Carter’s back, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling him affectionately. “Carter, I missed you so much!” Carter hurriedly leaned forward, supporting the person on his back with one hand. “Get down.” It was a reprimand, but all I could hear in his tone was pure indulgence. He pulled the girl off his back and into his arms, smiling as he introduced her. “This is my wife, Lily.” 3 Still holding the mushroom skewer, I stared blankly at the girl whose smile was as bright as the sun. My chest convulsed. It felt like I had been smashed with a sledgehammer. It hurt so much I couldn’t breathe. “Hi everyone! I’m Lily, Carter’s wife. Welcome to Oceanside!” Captain Miller and the others greeted her one by one. Lily was very outgoing. She complimented everyone. When she got to me, she said, “Chloe, you’re so pretty! And so slim, I’m so jealous! Your hair is so nice too, unlike mine. I’m practically going bald.” Remembering something, she turned to the man behind her. “It’s definitely because you don’t know how to blow-dry hair properly. Be careful, or next week you’ll have a bald bride at the altar!” Carter ruffled her hair, letting out a helpless laugh. “Okay.” Looking into her clear eyes—eyes that had never seen a speck of dust, eyes filled entirely with excitement for her wedding—I saw exactly what I used to look like. “Wedding?” Sarah asked. “Yes! Next Wednesday is our wedding. We’d love it if you all came!” I opened another can of beer. Lily reached for one too, but before she could grab it, the man snatched it away. “No drinking.” Lily pouted. “Just a sip.” Ignoring the fact that we were there, she sneaked a kiss on his cheek. “Please, Carter? Just one sip!” “Drink this.” Inside a white mug were floating rose petals. As the lid was lifted, the scent of roses wafted out. Lily frowned. “Roses? Carter! I’ve told you eight hundred times, I don’t like floral tea. How do you always forget!” “I don’t know… I just make it out of habit.” Hearing his words, I turned my head and downed the last drop of my beer. I used to hate drinking water. In high school, my throat would get so dry from reciting textbooks that sometimes I lost my voice. To make me drink water, Carter would make me all kinds of floral teas, fruit teas, and oolong teas, rotating them constantly. In the winter, he’d boil apple cider and pear soup for me. Every time I took an extra sip, the arrogant, untouchable Carter Davis acted like he wanted to build a shrine for my pink thermos. Seeing me drink the beer, Lily tried to negotiate. “Look, Chloe just drank a whole can. Maybe her hair is so nice because she drinks beer.” “Quiet, you.” I stared at the empty can by my hand, smiling bitterly. “My ex-boyfriend didn’t let me drink either, because I’m a lightweight. He was super strict with me.” Lily looked at me. “Then won’t he be mad if you drink like this now?” I glanced behind her and shook my head. “He stopped caring about me a long time ago.” Realizing she had touched a nerve, Lily looked apologetic and stopped arguing, obediently drinking the tea from Carter’s mug until it was empty. I only ate that single mushroom skewer, but I drank quite a lot. My head spun, so I excused myself early. As I walked down the steps, I heard Lily’s hearty laugh. I looked back. Lily was clinging to Carter’s back like a sloth, waving her arms, talking non-stop. Carter stumbled occasionally from her weight, but he just kept his head down, patiently cleaning the table with a good temper, as if he were entirely used to it. Carter was not a good-tempered man. I thought he only reserved his patience for me. I thought he would only ever love me in this life… Looking at Lily, whose face was overflowing with happiness, I clutched my violently aching heart. It hurt so much I wanted to die. That should be me! The one being spoiled rotten by Carter Davis should be me! Suppressing the urge to tear them apart, I forced myself back to my room. I dumped everything out of my bag onto the floor until I found my pills. I swallowed them, and only then did the tidal wave of my emotions slowly begin to recede. When Sarah came in, I had returned to normal. “I thought you were going to cause a scene.” I looked out the window. “I planned to. But suddenly, I couldn’t bear to do it.” “I saw how much you brought with you. Were you planning to help him get his memory back?” That suitcase held our ten years. It had the first note he ever passed me, his first confession letter, the gifts he gave me from age 18 to 28, our first photo together, and our first wedding portrait. I shook my head. “I never thought about it.” Sarah looked at me in shock. “W-Why?” Remembering the brutal murder of Carter’s parents, I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. “The pain of losing your family… I don’t want him to endure that twice.” 4 I woke up very late the next day. By the time I got dressed and walked out with my sketchbook, it was already past lunch. Captain Miller waved at me. “Chloe, we saved some food for you.” Everyone was chatting at the wooden table in the courtyard. When Lily saw me, she practically sprinted inside and came back out holding an orange envelope, handing it to me like a precious treasure. “Chloe, we don’t have a lot of family, so this is a formal invitation to our wedding.” A formal invitation. I took the envelope, lacking the courage to pull out the card inside. Lily kept urging me, “Chloe, you’re an art major! Tell us what you think of the design!” It was a thin piece of paper, but it felt like it weighed a ton. “Here, let me see. Wow, the colors are gorgeous,” Sarah quickly chimed in. “Right?! Carter picked the orange, and I picked purple, but the orange looked way better. Chloe, what’s your favorite color?” I set down my sketchbook and pointed to my orange sweater. Before high school, I didn’t have a favorite color. But one day I wore an orange jacket, and Carter told me I looked really pretty in it. From then on, orange became my favorite color. “Chloe, your taste is so similar to my Carter’s!” My Carter. Hearing those words felt like glass shards in my ears. There was a time when Carter loved nothing more than introducing me to people as, “My Chloe.” Seeing my expression falter, Sarah immediately took the invitation from me. “The cartoon inside looks just like you, Lily. Very cute. But wait… is this a sunset? The wedding is at sunset?” Lily rubbed her cheeks. “Carter insisted on it! Because he said…” “Because someone can’t wake up.” Lily stared at me, dumbfounded. “Chloe! How did you know?! That’s exactly what Carter said! But more importantly, Carter really loves sunsets.” Carter once told me that his favorite time of day was dusk, because at dusk, Sleeping Beauty finally woke up and became his girlfriend. I was a notoriously heavy sleeper. Waking up at 5:30 AM for high school was pure torture. For those three years, every single morning, I would sit on the back of Carter’s bicycle, wrapping my arms around his waist and going back to sleep with my eyes closed. I could cram three full dreams into a ten-minute recess, and every time I woke up, his varsity jacket would be draped over me. I remember one time, half-asleep, hearing someone sigh beside my ear. “Man, you sleep so much. What am I going to do with you on our wedding day?” Fast forward to my twenty-fourth birthday. I was woken up in the morning by the scratch of his stubble. I pushed him away to keep sleeping. He pulled me into his arms, gently patting my back, his voice thick with sleep. “Chloe, let’s have our wedding at sunset.” I mumbled in agreement. He kissed my forehead, letting out a satisfied sigh. “I have to make sure my little sleepyhead gets enough rest. If you get cranky and refuse to marry me, who am I going to complain to?” But now, it wasn’t that I refused to marry him. It was that he wasn’t marrying me. I truly had no one to complain to. I stood up and grabbed my sketchbook. At that exact moment, Lily noticed the ring on my left ring finger. Seeing her gaze, I wiggled my fingers. “Because he used to say the same thing.” “Are you married, Chloe?” “Yeah. I’ve been married for five years.” Lily looked surprised. “Where’s your husband? Did he not come with you?” I looked at the man walking toward us from a distance, and slowly shook my head.

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I spent ten years building Vincent’s career. From his debut to his sudden rise to fame, all the way to his award-winning moments, I was the one standing behind him, blocking every hit. Then, his first love drove drunk and killed someone. Vincent told me to take the fall. He said, “Sienna’s career is just taking off. You’ve already retired from the industry.” I went to prison for seven years. The day I was released, they publicly announced their marriage. When a reporter asked him about me, he simply replied, “There’s no need to bring up people from the past.” The day I jumped off a building, they were live-streaming their wedding. When I opened my eyes again, it was the night of the accident. Vincent was shoving his car keys into my hand. “Just tell them you were the one driving.” I tapped the screen on my phone and went live. “Did everyone hear that?” 01 The fluorescent lights in the underground parking garage flickered unsteadily. A white Bentley was smashed against a concrete pillar, its front end crumpled entirely inward. There was blood on the ground. A lot of it. It was pooling out from underneath the car, crawling across the gray concrete until it reached the tip of my shoe. Sienna was hiding behind Vincent. Her hair was a mess. The hem of her white dress was stained with dirt, and a glaring red friction burn covered her right wrist. It was a burn from the airbag deploying. In my previous life, I only found that out much later. By then, it was too late. The police file read: Driver Diana, driving under the influence, struck and killed designated driver Frank Chen. I pled guilty. Vincent hired the absolute best defense attorney for me. The best attorney told me that a cooperative attitude and a massive payout would reduce my sentence. Sitting in the detention center, I had asked him, “What about the victim’s family?” The attorney didn’t even look up from his files. “Mr. Cross will handle it.” Mr. Cross handled it beautifully. The victim’s mother took the money. The victim’s teenage sister was shipped off to study abroad. I sat in a cell for seven years. The day I walked out, no one came to pick me up. The massive LED screen at the airport was broadcasting Vincent and Sienna’s official couple interview. Sienna was leaning against his shoulder, smiling so sweetly. A reporter asked, “Vincent, someone online recently mentioned Diana. They said she sacrificed a lot for you back in the day.” Vincent squeezed Sienna’s hand. “There’s no need to bring up people from the past.” He said it so flatly. As if my seven years in hell were nothing more than an outdated movie poster. The garage light flickered again. Vincent shoved his car keys into my palm. The metal was freezing. His voice was lowered to a frantic whisper. “Diana, listen to me.” “The accident already happened. The most important thing right now is damage control. We have to minimize the fallout.” I stared at him. He was wearing a black tailored suit. A drop of blood stained his cuff. It wasn’t his blood. It was Sienna’s. Or maybe the dead man’s. He didn’t look at the body on the ground. He only looked at me. “Just tell them you were the one driving.” I asked, “Why?” Vincent froze. As if the question itself was completely absurd. In my previous life, I hadn’t asked. Whatever he said, I just blindly accepted. He had said, Diana, do me this one favor. So I did. He had said, You’ve been out of the spotlight for years. The public won’t even remember you. So I nodded. He had said, Sienna can’t take this hit. She’s just starting out. So I lowered my head and signed a false confession. But this time, I asked. Vincent’s brow pulled into a deep knot. “Sienna cannot be ruined.” Sienna sobbed, grabbing his sleeve tightly. “Vincent, I swear I didn’t mean to.” “I thought it was completely empty over there.” “I was just so scared.” Vincent turned to her, his voice immediately softening. “It’s going to be okay.” Then he turned back to me. “Diana, you’ve been retired for years. The internet doesn’t even remember your name.” “Take the blame. I’ll get you the best legal team.” “I’ll pay all the civil damages.” “I won’t let you suffer too much.” I looked down at the keys in my hand. My phone’s live-stream interface was already running. The phone was hidden in my palm, the camera lens just barely peeking out from the cuff of my sleeve. The viewer count was still low. Thirty-seven. Forty-two. Sixty-eight. Vincent kept talking. “Sienna’s career is just taking off.” “She just signed on for a massive new movie, and she has streaming deals and endorsements lined up.” “You’re different.” “You’re already retired.” The viewer count spiked to three hundred. Comments started rolling in. [Diana? Wait, is this THE Diana?] [Why is she going live? What is this?] [Where is she? A parking garage?] I raised the phone slightly. The lens pointed straight at Vincent. “Say that again.” Vincent’s face changed slightly. “What?” I said, “What exactly do you want me to tell them?” His eyes darted down to my phone. His pupils violently contracted. “Diana!” The live chat exploded. [Holy shit, is that Vincent Cross?] [What did he just say?! He’s asking Diana to take the fall for a crash?!] [Is Sienna there too?!] [Is that blood on the ground?!] Vincent lunged forward to grab my phone. I stepped back, the heel of my shoe dragging through the blood on the floor. “Don’t move.” I pivoted the camera toward the wrecked Bentley. The driver’s side door was wide open. The deployed airbag had distinct streaks of blood on it. The passenger seat was completely clean. I tilted the camera down, panning over the shattered glass of liquor bottles on the ground. Then I panned to Vincent’s assistant, who was clutching a black hard drive. The assistant went pale, instinctively trying to hide the drive behind his back. I asked, “What’s that in your hand?” He didn’t answer. The viewer count hit twenty thousand. Vincent lunged at me again. “Turn that off!” I dodged his hand. “Vincent, there is a man dying on the floor.” His face was terrifyingly grim. “I already called an ambulance.” “Did you call the police?” He stayed silent. I looked at Sienna. “Did you call the police?” Sienna shook her head, sobbing hysterically. “Diana, I didn’t mean to!” “I really didn’t mean to do it!” I said, “I asked if you called the cops.” She cowered behind Vincent. “I was too scared.” The chat was moving too fast to read. [They didn’t call the cops?!] [You hit someone and your first move is PR damage control?!] [Is that the security footage hard drive in the assistant’s hand?!] [Someone call 911! Call the cops right now!] I pulled out my second phone, dialed 911, and put it on speaker. “There’s been a drunk driving accident with a casualty in the underground garage of the Star Bay Villas.” Vincent’s face turned ash gray. “Diana, think very carefully about what you’re doing.” The dispatcher’s voice came through. “Are there any injuries at the scene?” I said, “Yes. A man is lying in front of the car. He’s bleeding heavily.” Sienna let out a piercing scream. “Don’t say drunk driving!” I turned the camera directly onto her face. “You drank, didn’t you?” She slapped her hands over her mouth. Vincent grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vice. “Diana, that is enough.” I stared right back at him. “It’s not.” His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “Don’t push me.” I raised the phone higher. “Did everyone hear that?” 02 The live stream cut off the exact second Vincent ripped the phone from my hand. Right before the screen went black, the final frame caught the assistant bolting toward the fire exit stairs, clutching the security hard drive to his chest. My phone slammed onto the concrete, the screen spiderwebbing with cracks. Vincent shoved me hard against the side of a parked car. His fingers dug into my wrist so hard I thought the bone would snap. “Are you insane?” I looked at him calmly. “I called the cops.” His chest was heaving. “Do you have any idea what you just broadcasted to the entire internet?” “Yes.” “You’re going to destroy Sienna!” I said, “The man on the ground is already destroyed.” He froze. Sienna’s sobs grew louder, more frantic. “Vincent, I swear I didn’t mean to!” “You said you were going to fix this!” “You promised me you wouldn’t let anything happen to me!” Vincent closed his eyes tightly. He let go of my wrist, turning to his manager. “Call the PR department. Draft a statement right now.” The manager looked sick. “It’s already the number one trending topic.” “Screen recordings of the live stream are everywhere.” “Diana’s old fan accounts and every major gossip blogger have already reposted it.” Vincent turned back to me. “Are you happy now?” I rubbed my bruised wrist. “Not yet.” The wail of sirens echoed from the distance. Sienna’s legs gave out, and she nearly collapsed. Vincent caught her by the waist. “Don’t panic.” I watched him. “Are you holding her up, or are you trying to hold up the crime scene?” He ground his teeth. “Diana.” I said, “You’d better remember every single word you said tonight.” He stared at me, his eyes dark. “What exactly do you want?” “I want to see both of you sitting in an interrogation room.” The police cruisers and the ambulance arrived almost simultaneously. Paramedics rushed toward the man on the ground. Police officers immediately set up crime scene tape. A young officer walked over. “Who made the 911 call?” I raised my hand. “I did.” He asked, “Who was driving the vehicle?” Sienna trembled violently, crying uncontrollably. Vincent spoke up smoothly. “Officer, we haven’t determined that yet.” I shot him a sideways glance. “You seemed pretty certain five minutes ago.” The officer frowned. “What do you mean?” I said, “He was trying to force me to take the blame.” Vincent’s voice was sharp. “Diana, watch your words.” I handed my cracked phone to the officer. “The screen recordings are all over the internet. The raw file is saved on this phone.” “He literally shoved his car keys into my hand a few minutes ago.” The officer took the phone. Vincent’s manager immediately stepped in, his hands raised defensively. “Officer, there seems to be a huge misunderstanding here. Our legal team is on the way.” The officer looked at him coldly. “There’s a man dying on the floor. You’re all coming to the station for questioning.” Sienna suddenly wailed. “I didn’t mean to!” Everyone turned to look at her. Vincent’s face drained of color. “Sienna.” She sobbed, her words spilling out in a panicked rush. “I only had a little bit to drink!” “I really thought I was fine to drive!” “He just came out of nowhere!” The officer immediately asked, “Are you admitting you were the driver?” Sienna’s crying choked off instantly. Vincent interjected, his voice low and firm. “She is in a state of extreme emotional shock. Nothing she says right now can be taken as a reliable statement.” I said, “The live stream caught everything.” Vincent snapped his head toward me. I pulled out my backup phone. “I switched devices.” His eyes darkened instantly. “You came very prepared tonight, Diana.” I stared at him with absolute zero emotion. “I died once. I learned my lesson.” He frowned. “What are you talking about?” I didn’t answer. The police escorted all of us out. Right before I got into the cruiser, Vincent stood next to me. The cold night air hit us. His voice was barely a whisper. “Diana, it’s not too late to turn this around.” I looked at him. “Turn what around?” “You can say the live stream was just an emotional breakdown.” “I’ll have my PR team coordinate a joint statement with you.” “We’ll just say you’ve been dealing with severe mental health issues.” I let out a soft laugh. His face turned instantly cold. “What’s so funny?” “It sounds familiar.” In my previous life, this was exactly what he did. First, he convinced me to plead guilty. Then, he released a statement claiming I had suffered a mental breakdown. He had held my hands and said, Diana, just wait for the storm to pass. I’ll get you out. Then I sat in a cell for seven years. He never came. Before stepping into the police car, I looked back at him. “Vincent.” He looked at me. I said, “There’s no need to bring up people from the past.” His face completely fell. 03 By that night, the internet was completely broken. #DianaLiveStreamsCrash# #VincentCrossForcesDianaToTakeTheFall# #SiennaDUI# #StarBayVillasGarage# #SecurityHardDrive# I sat in the precinct giving my statement. The detective asked, “Why did you turn on your live stream before walking up to them?” I said, “I managed Vincent’s PR crises for years.” “I knew exactly what their first move would be.” The detective looked up from his notepad. “Their first move?” I said, “His crisis management playbook.” “Hide the liquor bottles, wipe the security footage, call the spin doctors, and find a scapegoat.” The stenographer’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second over the keyboard. “How do you know the exact protocol in such detail?” I stared at the metal table. “Because I used to be the one executing it.” Outside the interrogation room, Frank arrived. He was wearing a black trench coat, carrying a thick laptop bag. He looked at me through the glass window. I gave him a single nod. Frank used to be my agent. The year I quit acting, we had a massive, explosive argument. Diana, you are an actress, not Vincent’s glorified babysitter! he had yelled. I had replied, His career is just taking off. He needs me right now. Frank had slammed the door and walked out of my life. In my previous life, after I went to prison, he tried to appeal my case. But I had already confessed, and the evidence had been scrubbed clean. When he finally came to visit me, sitting behind the thick plexiglass, his eyes were bloodshot. Who the hell are you taking the fall for, Diana? Back then, I just lowered my head. Don’t ask. This time, he got here fast. When the questioning ended, a police officer escorted me out into the hallway. Frank immediately tossed his jacket over my shoulders. “Where’s your phone?” “The police confiscated the primary device.” “What about the live stream backend?” “The account is still active.” “Give me your backup phone.” I handed it over. He opened his laptop, typing rapidly. “I screen-recorded the raw stream.” “The gossip accounts ripped it too.” “I cut three separate clips of the assistant running off with the hard drive.” I asked, “What about the victim?” Frank’s expression darkened. “He didn’t make it.” I closed my eyes tightly. From the other end of the hallway, Sienna’s sobbing echoed off the walls. “I swear I didn’t do it on purpose!” “I had no idea he was standing there!” “Vincent, you have to help me!” Vincent’s voice hissed, harsh and low. “Shut up.” Sienna cried even louder. “Are you yelling at me?!” “Didn’t you promise you were going to fix this?!” “You said Diana was going to help you!” Frank looked at me. “Did you hear that?” I said, “I heard it.” He pulled a digital voice recorder out of his pocket. “And so did this.” Vincent was quickly escorted out of an interrogation room by a slick-looking lawyer. When he saw me standing next to Frank, his face turned rigid. “Frank, you really do just smell blood in the water, don’t you?” Frank didn’t miss a beat. “Well, you reek of garbage.” Vincent ignored him and focused entirely on me. “Diana, we need to talk.” I said, “Talk here.” He glanced nervously at the police officers walking down the hall. “In private.” Frank stepped in front of me, completely blocking Vincent’s view. “She is not speaking privately with a criminal suspect.” Vincent scoffed, a dark sneer on his face. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” I said, “He’s my legal representative.” Frank froze for a second, then turned his head to look at me in surprise. I stared dead at Vincent. “From now on, anything you have to say goes through him.” Vincent’s eyes turned instantly glacial. “You’re not even going to answer my calls?” “No.” “Ten years together, and you’re just going to burn it all down?” I let out a bitter laugh. “What exactly did those ten years give me?” He opened his mouth. I cut him off. “Don’t mention the awards.” “I was the one who earned them for you.” Vincent’s expression twisted into something ugly. He leaned in, dropping his voice. “If you blow this up into a media circus, no one wins.” I said, “The victim’s family wins.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ll pay the civil damages.” “Are you going to do the jail time?” “Diana.” “Are you going to sit in a cell for Sienna?” He glared at me. “I wasn’t the one driving.” I nodded. “Neither was I.”

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1 After my death, Rachel, the serial killer who had terrorized the entire country, was finally captured. But she was cunning beyond belief. Every year, she would confess to a new, unsolved murder just to delay her execution. Because each confession turned out to be chillingly true, her case was constantly re-examined, driving the public’s fury to an absolute boiling point. Until the eighth year. Just when everyone believed Rachel had finally run out of secrets, she dropped another bombshell. “For years, you have all been begging me to reveal where Lucas is. Well, I can tell you now: he is dead. I killed him.” “Absurd!” My sister, the lead prosecutor on the case, immediately fired back. “Lucas was jealous of his adopted brother. He hired you to kill him, and when the hit failed and you were caught, he fled the country with millions in family assets. He is still a fugitive. How could he possibly be dead?” Rachel looked up, her single good eye glinting as she let out a mocking laugh. “Someone did hire me back then, but it wasn’t him. And the target? It was him.” “Don’t believe me? The criminal profiler who helped catch me, wasn’t she his fiancée? Bring her here. Let’s see if she can drag the truth out of me so you can finally close this file.” … A collective gasp echoed through the courtroom, every eye locking onto my sister, Abigail. I was hovering just behind the prosecution bench, barely half a foot away from her. I could feel the sudden, suffocating catch in her throat. When my breath left me eight years ago, my consciousness did not fade. Instead, a strange, invisible force anchored me to the people I had once loved most. I had watched Evelyn write countless psychological analyses of me on her whiteboard after I vanished, ultimately concluding that I had a strong motive and the capability to commit the crime. I had watched Abigail build the prosecution’s case, declaring that my jealousy of Thomas had driven me to pay an assassin to put an end to him. Our parents could not survive the devastating blow. They collapsed, hospitalized with strokes, and never woke up again. After their joint funeral, Abigail wiped my name from the family records, erasing my existence like a stain. From that day on, Thomas became the only son, the only brother left in the family. Two years later, carrying the legacy and wealth that should have been mine, he married Evelyn in a lavish wedding. Every single milestone of their lives tore through my spectral soul. In the courtroom, Abigail’s hand trembled, her pen pausing over the legal pad. She stared at Rachel for a long, quiet moment. “The evidence in this case is ironclad, and over seven appeals, the courts have consistently ruled that Lucas fled the country after orchestrating a murder-for-hire plot.” “Your fabrications are nothing but a desperate attempt to delay your execution. The prosecution requests a recess.” The judge slammed the gavel. Abigail packed her files and walked out without looking back. I followed her out of the courthouse, drifting all the way to the cemetery. Standing before our parents’ headstone were Evelyn and Thomas, their fingers tightly intertwined. Hearing footsteps, Evelyn turned around, her voice raspy. “Did she talk? Did she say where Lucas is hiding?” Abigail shook her head, her face grim. “She claims… Lucas died eight years ago. She says she killed him.” “That’s impossible! It’s ridiculous!” Thomas interrupted, his voice cracking with defensive anger. “If Lucas is dead, who hired her to kill me? Who emptied our family’s bank accounts?” “If he hadn’t committed those atrocities, Mom and Dad wouldn’t have suffered those fatal strokes. They died within a month because of him!” “They loved him so much, yet he didn’t even show up to their funerals. He took the money and hid like a coward. Eight years, and not a single word!” He grew increasingly hysterical, clutching his chest as if the grief were too much to bear. Evelyn wrapped her arms around him, soothing him with gentle whispers. “Don’t cry, Thomas. Abigail and I would never believe her lies. Lucas committed those crimes. Even if he and Rachel collaborated on this story, the truth cannot be rewritten.” I floated right in front of her, watching the utter hatred burning in the eyes of the woman who had once promised to love me forever. My soul felt drenched in ice. During our happiest years, Evelyn had held my hand, swearing she would always stand by me. Yet she was the one who drew up the criminal profile that branded me a monster. I wanted to scream that I was innocent, but no sound came. Abigail looked down at the gravestone, her expression conflicted. “I also believe Rachel is lying. She uses these confessions to buy time. But this time, she specifically asked to see the profiler who drafted Lucas’s profile. She wants you to judge if she’s telling the truth.” Evelyn’s eyes flickered, but she remained silent. Thomas reached out, gently supporting her slightly protruding pregnant belly. “Evelyn, don’t go. Your third trimester has been so difficult, and you haven’t been sleeping. Let me look after you. Don’t waste your energy on a lunatic.” Evelyn looked at him, torn, but ultimately shook her head. “No, I have to see her. For eight years, we’ve lived in this shadow. Whether Lucas is alive or dead, I need to know where he is.” That evening, in the high-security visitation room. The moment she saw Evelyn, Rachel’s lips curled into a sickening grin. “Well, if it isn’t the brilliant profiler. I’ve heard so much about you.” Evelyn sat down, her gaze icy. “Lies won’t save you. Tell me where Lucas is.” Rachel leaned back, chuckling. “What’s the rush? We have plenty of time. That profile you wrote for Lucas… it was a masterpiece. Even I believed he was the killer when I read it.” She paused, her tone turning mocking. “But it’s a pity. A top-tier profiler like you couldn’t even see through the man you claimed to love. The monster you described cried like a baby before he died. He lost all his dignity, kneeling in the dirt, begging me to spare his life.” Rachel seemed to lose herself in the memory, mimicking my terror with dramatic gestures. “Please don’t kill me! I have a family who loves me, and a fiancée I’m supposed to marry! She’s three months pregnant with our baby! Please, I’ll give you everything, just let me live!” Hearing her mimic my dying pleas in that high-pitched, mocking voice, my spectral form convulsed with agonizing pain. The memories of that dark basement and the smell of my own blood rushed back. I screamed in silence, hiding my face. Evelyn flinched, suddenly looking toward the empty space where my spirit hovered, as if she had felt a sudden chill. The next second, she slammed her hand onto the table. “Enough! Shut up!” “Why should I?” Rachel laughed harder. “Don’t you want to know how he died? I stabbed him forty-three times, carefully avoiding his vital organs. I wanted him to bleed out slowly, to feel his life draining away.” “The boy who loved you so much crawled on the floor, clutching his stomach, begging for a savior who never came. In the end, he just stared at the ceiling, weeping until his eyes ran dry of blood, and then he stopped breathing…” “I told you to shut up!” Evelyn roared, her voice cracking. “You can’t manipulate me with these sick fantasies! Lucas is alive. And as for my pregnancy back then, it was a false alarm. You can’t shake my resolve!” Rachel’s eyes turned mocking. “Are you trying to convince me, or are you just trying to quiet the guilt in your own heart?” She dragged a piece of paper and a pen toward herself, scribbling rapidly. Then, she slid the paper across the table and closed her eyes. “I’ve said my piece. Let’s see if the brilliant profiler can crack this puzzle.” Evelyn looked at the paper. It was covered in strange, twisted lines that resembled neither letters nor symbols. Before she could demand an explanation, the guards entered and led Rachel away. Evelyn sat frozen, staring at the paper until Abigail and Thomas walked into the room. “Evelyn, are you okay? What did she say?” Thomas hurried to her side, looking at the paper. “What is this? It’s just scribbles. We shouldn’t let a lunatic waste our time and ruin the department’s credibility!” Before anyone could stop him, he snatched the paper and tore it into shreds. The officers in the room gasped. “Thomas! That was potential evidence! We could have analyzed or reconstructed it!” Thomas ignored them, turning to Abigail with tears in his eyes. “Abigail, please don’t dig into this. Rachel is a psychopath. If she keeps spouting these lies, it’s only going to hurt us, the real victims!” “Eight years ago, to save me, you took three stab wounds from Rachel. You were in the hospital for three months, and the doctors said you almost didn’t make it. I don’t want you to suffer anymore. Lucas already destroyed our family once. Are we going to let him do it again through her?” Looking at his tearful, protective face, Abigail’s resolve crumbled. “Thomas is right.” “Rachel is just playing games to stall her execution. Maintain the original verdict. No further investigations will be opened. Anyone who pries into this privately will face disciplinary action.” The officers nodded and filed out. My heart sank into an abyss of cold despair. My own sister had just closed the door on the truth. But then, Evelyn spoke up. “I have some paperwork to finish at the office. Abigail, please take Thomas home first.” As she spoke, she adjusted her glasses, a tiny habit she only did when she was hiding something. Only I noticed. I followed her back to her private office. She locked the door, rushed to the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet, and pulled out the old dusty file on my case. She grabbed a fresh sheet of paper, closed her eyes, and with a few precise strokes, recreated Rachel’s sketch perfectly from memory. Her spatial memory was flawless. She compared the sketch with the old street maps of the city. Just as she was on the verge of making a breakthrough, her phone rang. It was Abigail. “Evelyn, Thomas is in terrible shape. The stress of today’s events has triggered his panic attacks, and it’s putting your pregnancy at risk. He is hyperventilating and losing consciousness. I’m driving him to the hospital right now. Get here quickly!” Evelyn rushed out, leaving the files scattered on her desk. I followed her to the hospital. In the private room, Thomas looked pale and fragile. The moment he saw Evelyn, he threw his arms around her. “Evelyn, you’re finally here!” “I dreamed of Rachel… she was chasing me with a knife! I ran, but there was nowhere to hide. I’m so scared. For eight years, I haven’t had a single peaceful night. As long as she’s alive, the nightmare will never end! I feel like I’m losing my mind!” Evelyn held him, whispering comforts, but he kept sobbing. Abigail stood by the window, her expression grim. “The doctor says your pregnancy is highly unstable due to the sheer stress Thomas’s episodes are causing you. If this keeps up, you and the baby will both be in danger.” She gritted her teeth. “Lucas, you are truly heartless. Even after eight years, you won’t let Thomas go. You’re using Rachel to destroy him!” She stormed out of the room. “Where are you going?” Evelyn called out. “To the courthouse. I will demand the immediate authorization of Rachel’s death penalty. She won’t have another day to terrorize this family!” Thomas gradually calmed down. But then, Evelyn’s phone rang. It was her colleague. “Evelyn, your office just caught fire! We put it out quickly, but many files were destroyed. You should come check.” The files of my case were ancient and unique; there were no digital backups. Before Evelyn could leave, Thomas clutched her sleeve, begging her to stay. And once again, she prioritized him. I watched her sit by his bed until he fell asleep. My ghostly heart, which I thought could no longer feel, broke all over again. By the time she left the hospital, it was dawn. Abigail called her. “Under my pressure, Rachel’s execution has been fast-tracked. It will take place at ten this morning.” Evelyn was stunned. “So soon?” “For Thomas’s sake, she cannot live another day.” Evelyn was silent, then hung up. But right before she did, Abigail added: “Evelyn, I dreamed of Lucas last night. He was just a small, timid boy, the way he was when we first brought him home from the orphanage. He would save a piece of candy in his pocket for weeks, but for my birthday, he spent all his savings to buy me those high-heeled shoes I had only mentioned once. I keep wondering… how did such a sweet boy become a monster?” She hung up. Evelyn stood frozen at the green light until the cars behind her honked. When she reached her office, the desk where my files had been was reduced to ashes. She collapsed to her knees. “Am I too late?” Then, she remembered the pattern. She dipped her finger in the soot and drew it on the floor. She pulled out her phone and opened the old geographical maps of the city from eight years ago, overlaying the twisted lines onto the old grid. The intersection matched a massive, abandoned construction site that had been derelict for a decade. She drove there immediately. The concrete structure was decaying, steel rods rusting in the open air. Evelyn searched the dark basement with a flashlight, room by room, until she found a hidden chamber. Inside was a dusty crate. She opened it to find rows of videotapes, each labeled with a date. She recognized the dates; they were the active dates of Rachel’s victims. Her hands shook as she found the tape with my disappearance date. She started the old generator, popped the tape into the dusty player, and the screen flickered to life. Before the image even cleared, a desperate, sobbing voice echoed through the concrete room. “Please, please don’t kill me. I have people I love… I haven’t even said goodbye to her… I don’t want to die here…” It was my voice. Evelyn’s face turned white as a sheet.

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On Noelle Miller’s wedding day, my husband jumped from the 18th floor. Unlocking his studio, I found it filled with portraits of Noelle. The brushstrokes were frantic and chaotic, yet practically bleeding with his fierce, unyielding love for her. His best friend told me, “Ethan loved Noelle for ten years. She was the only light in his life.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back in high school. I watched Ethan being cornered by the school bad boy in an empty classroom, and silently shut the door on them. Later, he knocked on my window in the pouring rain, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Belle, do you not want me anymore…?” 1 Astrophysics professor Ethan Wright recently discovered a new asteroid, but during his press interview, it was his stunning, aloof looks that made him trend online. The public’s focus quickly shifted from the asteroid to his devastatingly handsome face. When people found out that the asteroid was named after the love of his life, the internet practically exploded. While praising this fairy-tale romance, netizens began furiously digging to find out who “E.l.l.e.” was. Holding my phone, I was grinning from ear to ear, unable to wipe the smile off my face. At the end of the video, the reporter asked with a smile, “Professor Wright, do you have anything you’d like to say to your true love, E.l.l.e.?” Ethan froze. His pitch-black eyes trembled slightly. “Happy wedding day.” His tone was calm, but threaded with an imperceptible, soul-crushing despair. I instantly stiffened. Happy wedding day? “Oooooh!” My best friend, Harper, nudged me playfully. “Belle, your Professor Wright looks so cold, but who knew he was such a romantic? Treating your anniversary like it’s your wedding day all over again!” Is that what it was? Looking at Ethan’s deeply affectionate eyes on the screen, my cheeks flushed hot. I had been by Ethan’s side for ten years. I stayed with him, transforming him from a suicidal, gloomy teenager into the refined, elegant professor he was today. Ten years ago, he transferred to our school and became my desk mate. He was a boy with pale skin and picturesque features, but the way he looked at me was always filled with impatience. And now, he had named an asteroid after me. When he spoke of his true love, his usually stern brow softened with devotion and tenderness. Today was our first wedding anniversary. I rested a hand on my flat stomach, curled up on the sofa. I was waiting for him to come home so I could be the first to tell him the news: I was pregnant. However… What I waited for instead was the news of Ethan’s death. He had jumped from the 18th floor. In his hand, he tightly clutched a crumpled note. Death is nothing but returning to the cosmos. Billions of years from now, we will reunite in the sea of stars. 2 Accompanied by Harper, I arranged Ethan’s funeral. He had left a will, stating that all his assets were to be donated to charity upon his death. For some reason, I was remarkably calm these past few days. Seeing Harper with swollen eyes, grinding her teeth at Ethan’s memorial portrait but forcing herself to comfort me, I actually felt the urge to laugh. After the funeral, I received a call from his lawyer. “Mrs. Wright, Mr. Wright owns a suburban villa that isn’t included in the donation clause… Whenever you have time, you can go sort through it.” The villa was on the south side of the city. I pushed open the front doors and was so stunned by what I saw that I couldn’t speak. The entire living room was filled with portraits. The brushstrokes were frantic and extreme, as rough as a beginner’s casual sketches. But the person in the paintings looked incredibly lifelike because of the intense, surging love poured into every line. It was Noelle Miller, the most popular girl from our high school. In ten years, I had never once heard her name leave Ethan’s lips. I had no idea he hid his feelings for her so deeply. I stumbled forward a few steps, leaning heavily against a desk to keep myself from collapsing. On the desk, several resin blocks were neatly arranged. Inside each block, an item was perfectly preserved: a Jolly Rancher, a dried flower, an acrylic nail with a rhinestone. The resin was smooth and polished, clearly having been held and caressed countless times. The trash Noelle had casually tossed away, he treated as priceless treasures. Meanwhile, the wedding ring I had personally picked out for him was lying neglected in a dried-up paint palette nearby. My heart spasmed with pain. Tears spilled from my eyes without my permission. After sitting down, I masochistically opened the notebook resting on the desk. It documented Ethan’s ten-year-long secret obsession. On his first day as a transfer student, he received a Jolly Rancher and a friendly smile from the beautiful girl sitting in front of him. It was as if a ray of sunlight had pierced through his pitch-black soul. For a gloomy teenager who suffered from domestic abuse and severe bullying, it was the first taste of pure, unadulterated kindness he had ever received. From that moment on, he was a goner. He wanted to lock her up. He wanted to possess her. He wanted her to smile only for him. But he couldn’t bear to drag someone so radiant into his darkness. E.l.l.e. isn’t for Isabelle. It’s for Noelle. It was his wedding gift to her. Flipping from the first page to the last, I was only mentioned in a handful of brief, dismissive entries. [My new desk mate is too nosy. So annoying.] […] [We got married. I regret it a little, but I have to take responsibility for her.] The breakfasts I brought him because I was worried about his low blood sugar, the bullies I chased away for him, the time I grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the fire his psychotic father started, the years of my companionship and comfort… He didn’t write a single word about any of it. The only thing he couldn’t forget was Noelle’s bright, dazzling smile from years ago. Every word he wrote felt like a knife carving into my heart. I clenched my fists, taking deep, shuddering breaths. The air still smelled faintly of his crisp pine cologne. It made me want to throw up. Some people are just pathetic. They don’t deserve salvation, and they don’t deserve to be loved. I pressed my palm against my stomach. He didn’t deserve to have me bear his child. Just as I was about to stand up, a noise came from the entryway. Two figures pushed the door open and walked in. 3 It was Caleb, Ethan’s childhood friend, and Noelle. Caleb’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse. “Ethan left this villa for you. You were the only light he ever had. When his depression got so bad he almost couldn’t hold on, looking at your pictures was the only thing that kept him going.” Noelle stood there looking lost, a layer of mist forming over her eyes. “After he got his early acceptance to MIT, he didn’t even need to go to class anymore. He only showed up every day just to get one more look at you…” It was then that Caleb noticed me standing behind the bookshelf. He froze. Then, he frowned in pure disgust. “What the hell are you doing here?” He strode over and shoved me hard. “Get out! Don’t pollute the only sanctuary Ethan had left! If you hadn’t clung to him like a leech, he wouldn’t have ended up like this!” I stumbled from the force of his shove, a dull ache throbbing in my abdomen. I steadied myself and slapped him hard across the face. “What does this have to do with me?! I never forced him to date me, and I never forced him to marry me! He missed out on Noelle because he was too much of a pathetic coward to do anything about it!” Noelle’s tearful, nasally voice suddenly cut in. “Did he… did he really never get my love letter?” Both Caleb and I froze. “What did you say?” “Before graduation, I left a love letter on his desk, but he never responded…” She let out a bitter laugh, and when she looked up, her eyes were tainted with resentment. “It was you, wasn’t it?” She glared daggers at me. “You were jealous of me, so you threw my letter away? You’re the reason we missed out on each other for a whole decade… and now he’s dead…” I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. But Caleb believed her instantly. “You toxic bitch!” Grinding his teeth, he lunged at me. My stomach slammed violently against the sharp corner of the table. Agonizing pain ripped through me. Blood slowly seeped through my clothes. My vision went black, and I collapsed to the floor. 4 When I opened my eyes again, I was wearing my old high school uniform, clutching a textbook, standing right in front of the storage room. Inside, a teenage Ethan was leaning against the wall, his messy black hair falling over his forehead, looking at me with a hint of confusion. Asher Stone, the school rebel, sat lazily across from him, looking completely relaxed. Seeing me, Asher raised an eyebrow, a careless smirk playing on his lips. “Well, well. The valedictorian. Worried about him? I’m just having a… heart-to-heart with him.” The solid weight of the book in my hands told me this wasn’t a dream. My hands and feet turned instantly cold as a wave of intense hatred washed over me. The book hit the floor with a thud. Expressionless, I reached out, pulled the door shut on them, and turned to walk away. Behind me, the door was shoved violently open. Ethan sprinted past me like a gust of wind, leaving only a hurried silhouette. “Why’s he running? I just wanted to ask why he didn’t sign up for the track meet…” Asher muttered, picking up my dropped book and casually handing it to me. “You’re welcome, by the way.” I got a bad feeling about this and quickened my pace to follow Ethan. By the classroom door, Ethan stood frozen, staring at Noelle, who was joking around with her desk mate inside. The setting sun cast a soft, golden halo around his silhouette. His gaze was endlessly tender, yet filled with disbelief, as if he had fallen into a beautiful dream he refused to wake up from. My heart slowly sank. His demeanor and aura weren’t those of the gloomy teenager he used to be. He looked exactly like the refined professor from ten years in the future. Ethan… had been reborn too. “What’s his problem?” Asher patted his shoulder in confusion, squeezing past him into the classroom. “Class is starting, man. Stop blocking the door.”

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1 To make Julia feel secure, I developed the habit of reporting every single detail of my life to her. A random flower blooming on the sidewalk, a terrible cup of coffee, the sunset on my way home from work. Even if she just crossed my mind for a split second, I would text her. Her replies were always short and dismissive, but she always replied. So, for the past six months, I survived the grueling process of planning our wedding entirely on those cold but consistent messages. I booked the venue, picked out my tuxedo, and handled the caterers all by myself. Until five days before the wedding. I found an AI program running on her laptop. It was designed to categorize every text I sent, extract keywords, and generate the most generic, flawless, dismissive response possible. If I texted that I missed her, it replied, “Yeah.” If I vented about a bad day, it replied, “Got it.” If we argued, it replied, “Stop overreacting.” It turned out that for the past half-year, Julia was never the one responding to me. And in the chat window right next to mine, her messages with another man were densely packed. From “good morning” to “good night.” From debating what to eat for lunch, to planning a future beach trip together. I finally understood. Julia’s love was never silent. It was overwhelming and loud. It just never belonged to me. And I finally made the decision to walk away from this one-sided waiting game. … When Julia finally got home, it was past ten at night. She pushed the door open, slipping off her heels. “Why are you still up?” I sat on the living room sofa, staring at her. “I was waiting for you.” She frowned. “If you have something to say, just text me. Why do you have to wait up?” I looked at her. “Julia, do you think I talk too much?” She paused, kicking her shoes onto the rack. “Why are you asking this out of nowhere?” “Just tell me the truth.” She tossed her coat over the back of a dining chair, a flash of irritation crossing her face. “Sometimes, yes.” I nodded. “Like when?” “Like when I am at work, and you send me paragraphs of pointless garbage.” “For example?” “For example, today at noon. You texted me that a new bakery opened downstairs and asked if I wanted to go this weekend. Then in the afternoon, you said you wanted to change the wedding centerpieces to white lisianthus. And tonight, you texted me that a streetlight was broken and you were scared walking alone.” She scoffed, a mocking smile on her lips. “Nathan, have you ever noticed that you literally have to tell me every single thing that happens to you?” I stared at her. “Isn’t that what people in love do?” “But I genuinely do not have the energy for it.” She sat down across from me, her tone softening slightly, as if she were lecturing a child. “I am exhausted from work every day. When I get home, I still have to manage your emotions. Can you please just grow up?” Grow up. For the past five years, that was her favorite thing to say to me. I wanted to celebrate our anniversaries. She told me to grow up and stop caring about pointless rituals. I wanted her to come with me to try on my tuxedo. She told me to grow up because all suits look exactly the same. I wanted to vent to her about the stress at work. She told me to grow up because everyone hates their job. But today, I saw her chat history with Liam. The logs were so endlessly long that it took me all afternoon just to scroll back six months. It showed a version of Julia that was entirely foreign to me. She answered his every call. She was attentive, accommodating, and sometimes so hopelessly childish it was jarring. When Liam complained that the grapes he bought were too sour, she spent thirty minutes sending voice notes, gently coaxing him out of his bad mood. I looked at Julia, unable to hold the question back any longer. “Then why doesn’t Liam have to grow up?” Julia’s brow instantly furrowed into a harsh knot. “Nathan, did you wait up for me just to pick a fight?” Turning the blame back on me. It was her signature move. Every single time Liam’s name was brought up, the argument always ended with her interrogating me, making me feel like I was being unreasonable and immature. But this time, I did not back down. “Fine. Let’s not talk about Liam.” I locked eyes with her, enunciating every word. “If you think I talk too much, you could have just told me. Why did you use an AI program to fake your replies?” Julia’s face finally dropped. The irritation in her eyes was suddenly tainted with genuine guilt. “How do you know about that? You went through my laptop without asking?” I did not say a word. I just kept staring at her. After a long silence, she let out an exasperated sigh, as if conceding defeat. “You are always complaining that I only code custom gifts for Liam and never for you. That AI script was supposed to be your gift.” I almost laughed. Julia was a genius software engineer, widely known in the industry. For Liam’s birthday, she coded a custom website just for him. When you clicked on it, digital snow fell across the screen, fireworks exploded, and a message flashed in the center: “Liam, stay happy forever. I will always be right here with you.” When Liam had insomnia, she developed a sleep-aid app for him. It recommended white noise based on his mood and sent him a push notification to drink warm water at two in the morning. When Liam was bored at work, she designed a mini-game. The little pixel characters would follow him around cheering, “You are the best, Liam!” But when it came to me. My gift was an automated script designed to ignore my existence. 2 I could not even find the energy to argue with her anymore. I just turned around and went to the bedroom. The next morning was my day off, so I slept in a bit. Before I even opened my eyes, the loud, unfiltered sound of laughter drifting from the living room woke me up. I pushed the bedroom door open and saw Julia standing by the entryway, kicking off her sneakers. Her hair was damp with sweat, her athletic jacket was unzipped, and she was carrying two plastic takeout bags. Liam was standing right behind her. His cheeks were flushed red, and he was laughing. “I seriously thought my legs were going to give out today.” Julia looked at him, her eyes curving into a warm smile. “That is what you get for staying up late gaming again. I’ll cut a mile off your run tomorrow.” During our second year of dating, I asked if we could start taking evening walks around the neighborhood after dinner. She said she did not have time. I brought it up a few more times over the years. She always told me that work was draining enough, and she just wanted absolute silence when she got home. But for the past three years, she woke up an hour early every single morning to go jogging with Liam. Rain or shine. She never missed a day. Seeing me standing in the hallway, Julia’s smile faltered. “You are up?” I did not say anything. She held up the takeout bags. “I brought breakfast. You want some?” I did not even need to look inside to know what she bought. Shrimp dumplings and seafood congee. Liam’s absolute favorite breakfast. And the one thing that would send me into anaphylactic shock. The first time I ended up in the ER with a severe allergic reaction, Julia sat by my hospital bed and solemnly typed my seafood allergy into her phone’s notes app. But the next time she brought breakfast home, it was seafood congee and shrimp dumplings again. Because Liam loved seafood. It was a memory etched into her bones after knowing him for twenty years. A heavy, suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over me. “Julia.” She looked up. “Why can you never remember that I am allergic to seafood?” The casual smile on Julia’s face froze completely. Liam immediately stepped in, sticking his tongue out playfully as he looked at me. “Oh man, Nathan, this is totally my fault. I kept rushing Julia to buy from this specific spot, so she completely forgot to ask what you wanted.” “It won’t happen next time, right?” Julia quickly nodded, taking the out. “Yeah. I will grab you something else next time.” Always next time. But ever since they started their morning runs, there had never been a “next time” where she brought home a breakfast I could actually eat. I did not say another word. Liam was already walking toward our bathroom like he owned the place. “Julia, I am gonna go grab a shower real quick. I am sweating like a pig.” “Go ahead. I put out fresh towels. In the usual spot.” The usual spot. That meant the second shelf of the bathroom cabinet. A blue towel, citrus body wash, and a bottle of the exact lotion Liam liked. Those items sat there permanently. Julia literally never did a single chore in our apartment. If we ran out of toilet paper, three days would pass before she even noticed. But when it came to Liam’s toiletries, she restocked them with military precision. This was supposed to be my home. But standing there in the living room, I felt like an unwanted intruder intruding on their domestic life. My chest felt agonizingly tight. I went back into the bedroom, changed my clothes, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. Julia finally looked up from the table. “Where are you going?” “I have errands.” She didn’t ask any further. She just went back to carefully arranging Liam’s chopsticks. The second I stepped outside, the cold wind hit my face, and I felt like I could finally breathe again. I had a lot to do today. I needed to return the tuxedo and cancel the venue. As soon as I pushed the door open at the bridal boutique, the consultant rushed over with a bright smile. “Mr. Hayes! Did you bring your fiancée this time?” “We have the two styles you were debating last week all prepped. We are just waiting for the bride to give the final verdict!” She suddenly stopped talking when she realized I was completely alone. Her smile faltered. I gave her a polite, indifferent smile. “It is just me today.” “I am not doing a fitting. I am here to cancel the order.” The consultant looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she did not press the issue. After all, it is not exactly normal for a groom to come in for six separate fittings without the bride showing up a single time. The first few times, she tried to smooth things over with a sympathetic laugh. “Oh, your fiancée must be incredibly busy at work!” By the sixth fitting, she stopped bringing Julia up entirely. She just quietly helped me adjust my collar and smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric. After processing the cancellation, she handed me the receipt. She looked at me, her eyes full of quiet sincerity. “Mr. Hayes, you are a very kind and handsome man. I know you will find someone who truly cherishes you.” I was stunned for a second, but I smiled and thanked her. As I walked out of the boutique, my eyes burned. Even a complete stranger who had never met Julia could clearly see that she was not right for me. Yet it took me five excruciating years to finally open my eyes. By the time I finished canceling the venue, the photographer, and the florist, the sun was already setting. My phone buzzed. It was Julia’s mother. “Nathan, honey, come over for dinner tonight.” She paused, then added with a cheerful laugh, “Julia and Liam are already here. We are just waiting for you!” 3 Julia’s mother loved hosting. She threw dinner parties multiple times a month, inviting every relative and friend she could get a hold of. And every single time, Liam was sitting at the table. As for me, I was usually only invited as a superficial afterthought at the end of the month. When I walked into their house, the dining table was already set. Liam was sitting right next to Julia, happily picking up a piece of crab meat with his chopsticks. Julia, the woman who constantly claimed to be a germaphobe, had meticulously peeled an entire bowl of shrimp for him. He saw me walk in and his eyes curved into a bright, innocent smile. “Nathan! You made it.” “Waiting for me” was nothing but a polite lie. I didn’t call them out on it. I just quietly took an empty seat at the far corner of the table. More than half the dishes on the table were seafood. I couldn’t touch any of it. I quietly ate the plain vegetables placed near the edge. Halfway through the meal, Julia’s mother suddenly smiled at me. “Nathan, how is the catering menu looking for the wedding?” “Why don’t we add a lobster dish to every table? Oh, and the baked cheese crab. That is Liam’s absolute favorite.” Liam gave a shy, embarrassed laugh. “Auntie, I was just mentioning it in passing.” “If you like it, we add it! It is a wedding, the most important thing is that everyone is happy.” The food in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash. It was supposed to be my wedding. I had accepted that Julia wanted absolutely nothing to do with the planning. But now, even the menu for my own reception had to cater to Liam’s preferences. Not that it mattered anymore. The wedding didn’t exist. There was no menu to argue about. I kept my head down and gave a soft “Mm.” The rest of the dinner was agonizing. When everyone finally put their chopsticks down, Julia’s mother ushered me toward the living room to have some fruit. She turned to Liam with a warm smile. “Liam, be a good boy and help me with the dishes.” Liam started to stand up, but Julia immediately frowned. “Mom, Liam hasn’t been feeling well lately. He shouldn’t be touching cold water. Just let Nathan do it.” My fingers tightened around my glass of water so hard they trembled. So Julia was capable of remembering things. But in the five years we were together, she never managed to remember a single detail about me. Just last month, my stomach ulcer flared up so badly my face was completely drained of color. She just glanced at me and assumed I hadn’t slept well. In a completely serious, lecturing tone, she told me: “You look terrible. You really need to stop staying up late.” Julia’s mother looked surprised, then let out an awkward laugh. “What kind of host makes the guest do the dishes? Since Liam is not feeling well, your dad and I will handle it.” Julia was shoved into the kitchen to help. Liam followed her, leaning lazily against the doorframe, watching them work and cracking jokes. I sat entirely alone in the corner of the living room, feeling like a pathetic clown peering through the window of someone else’s perfect life. A while later, Liam let out a loud yawn, acting tired. Julia noticed instantly. She stood up and naturally grabbed her car keys. “It is getting late. We should head out.” Just like always, she insisted on dropping Liam off first. Not that it was a long drive. Liam’s apartment was only two streets away from ours. Julia had personally picked that apartment out for him. The neighborhood was quiet, the landscaping was beautiful, and the security was top-notch. His favorite breakfast place was right downstairs, and his gym was just around the corner. But the most important selling point was that it was only two streets away from us. “Just in case Liam has an emergency, I can get there in three minutes,” she had justified. She had a very loose definition of an “emergency.” A leaky pipe. A power outage. A mild fever. Even if he woke up from a nightmare at 3 AM or got scared watching a horror movie, she would rush over. When Julia pulled up to his building, Liam waved at us with a bright smile. “Bye Julia! Bye Nathan! Drive safe.” Julia kept her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching until he safely entered the lobby before putting the car back in drive. The car, which had been filled with their laughter just seconds ago, instantly fell into a suffocating, heavy silence. As we neared our building, I finally broke the quiet. “Julia, do you ever think that you and Liam are a little too close?” She was clearly still in a good mood. In a rare moment of affection, she reached over and lightly stroked the back of my hand. Like she was petting an obedient dog. “Are you jealous?” “Liam and I have known each other since we were in diapers. If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened a decade ago.” “Besides, I am marrying you at the end of the day. Is that not enough?” No. Of course it wasn’t enough. But I didn’t say it out loud. I just slowly pulled my hand away and let out an exhausted sigh. “Do you have time tomorrow?” “I have something I need to talk to you about.” Julia instinctively frowned. “Why do we have to talk face to face? Can’t you just text me on—” She stopped herself mid-sentence. She probably just remembered. I already knew that the person texting me for the last six months was a string of code. After a few seconds of tense silence, she changed her tune. “Fine.” “I will clear my schedule tomorrow.” 4 After five years together. Even if I was canceling the wedding, I owed it to both of us to say it face to face. To give this pathetic, miserable relationship a clean, dignified ending. But when I woke up the next morning, Julia was already gone. My phone buzzed with a rare, unsolicited text from her. “Liam wanted to check out that new hot spring resort outside the city. I am gonna hang out with him for a bit. I will be back this afternoon.” I stared at that text for a very long time. Then I typed back. “I told you last night that I needed to talk to you today.” A reply came through instantly. “Stop overreacting.” I knew immediately. That wasn’t Julia. The AI script was running again. I didn’t bother replying. I got out of bed and started packing my things. There wasn’t much to pack anyway. After living in this apartment for five years, everything that actually belonged to me fit neatly into a single suitcase. I waited all afternoon. By nightfall, she still hadn’t come home. Around 8 PM, I opened Instagram and saw a new post from Liam. It was a photo of the resort at night, lit up beautifully. He was throwing a peace sign at the camera. The caption read: “This place is incredible. I never want to leave! So glad Julia came with me.” Someone commented below: “I heard that place is a few grand a night! Look at you living the high life.” He replied with a shy emoji: “Can’t put a price tag on my happiness! Plus, Julia is footing the bill anyway ~” Staring at the screen, it finally clicked. Julia must have told him that I wanted to sit down and talk to her today. So Liam intentionally dragged her out of the city today of all days. He probably assumed I was just going to nag her about wedding planning again. Because ever since we started preparing for the wedding, this was exactly how he operated. The day we were supposed to do the cake tasting, he claimed his stomach hurt. The day we were supposed to pick out invitations, he claimed his laptop crashed and he needed her to fix it. The day we went venue shopping, he claimed his power went out and he was scared to be alone in the dark. Eventually, Julia just stopped showing up to anything wedding-related. And yes, I did want to talk about the wedding today. But this time, it was to tell her that it was permanently canceled. The next day, Julia still didn’t come home. I texted her. “Are you coming back today?” The script replied: “Yeah.” “This is incredibly important.” “Got it.” “If you don’t come home today, you are going to regret it.” “Stop overreacting.” Three texts. Three AI-generated responses. The clock struck midnight. No new messages popped up on the screen. By all logic, right now, I should be sitting in front of a mirror, letting a stylist fix my hair. There should be a fleet of luxury cars waiting downstairs. There should be friends and family laughing loudly outside the door. But instead, the apartment was dead silent. My single suitcase was sitting by the front door. My screen lit up. Julia finally sent a real message. “I will be at the venue on time tomorrow.” “I do not have time in the morning. I promised to go jogging with Liam. Let’s just skip all the traditional door-games and keep it simple. Make sure you are not late.” She was going jogging with another man on the morning of our wedding. Only Julia was capable of something so ruthlessly insensitive. This time, I was the one who didn’t reply. I clicked on her profile, hit block, and deleted her contact without a second thought. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, called a cab, and headed straight for the airport. Five days ago, the moment I canceled the wedding, I booked a one-way ticket out of the city. During those five days, if she had chosen me—even just once—I probably would have canceled the flight. But she didn’t. To be brutally honest, in five years, she had never chosen me. When the plane landed, I checked into a hotel and slept better than I had in years. Meanwhile, back in my hometown. Julia, Liam, and her entire extended family arrived at the luxury hotel around 10 AM. There were no floral arches at the entrance. No welcome signs. And definitely no massive wedding portrait with our names on it. Julia frowned, grabbing the arm of a passing waiter. “Which banquet hall is the wedding in today? We are the bride’s family.” The waiter froze, pulling out his tablet to check the schedule. He looked completely confused. “Ma’am, there are no weddings booked for today.” He paused, a look of realization hitting him, and slapped his forehead. “Oh, wait! There was one scheduled. But the groom canceled it five days ago.”

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1 Bayport called me the luckiest woman alive. They said I was a substitute who had worked my way into his bed and his home. Even after I lost our son, Nicholas kept me in luxury, holding me in the palm of his hand. For five years, I searched for my boy like a woman possessed, traveling through ninety-nine cities. I cut myself ninety-nine times when the despair grew too heavy to bear. Nicholas never blamed me. He showered me with gentle care, nursing me through every breakdown. Waking from my hundredth episode of self-harm, I saw his bloodshot, exhausted eyes and felt a wave of crushing guilt. I decided it was time to let go of my obsession and start over. I put on the long dress he had gifted me five years ago and walked to his study, ready to thank him. But through the cracked door, I heard him laughing softly into his phone. “Don’t worry, Vivienne. The boy has been with you for five years. He only knows you as his mother.” “Emma was only a substitute so I could marry you. Since your body was damaged and you couldn’t conceive, it was fair she bore a child to pay her debt.” “Once she moves past this, we can have plenty of other children.” I stood frozen in the corridor, my blood turning to ice. Two thousand nights of self-loathing and torment, his performative devotion, all a twisted lie to make his muse smile. Nicholas, being the mother of your child is too exhausting. I am done. … “Who is out there?” The study door was flung open. He was holding his phone, the tender smile on his lips freezing the moment he saw my pale face. “Emma? Why are you barefoot?” He took a step forward, reaching out to scoop me up out of habit. I recoiled, jerking backward. Nicholas’s hands hung uselessly in the air. “You heard all of that?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, since you know, there is no point in hiding it anymore.” “Nicholas, is it true? Everything you just said?” My voice shook violently, my nails biting so deep into my palms that they nearly broke the skin. “Emma, calm down.” He stepped closer, towering over me. “Vivienne destroyed her uterus saving my life years ago. She can never be a mother. You are her sister. Helping her fulfill that dream was the least you could do.” “Fulfill her dream?” I stared at him, my eyes wide with sheer disbelief. “I carried him for nine months! He is my flesh and blood!” “But you only got to marry into the family because of Vivienne.” His voice was flat, each word a cold blade plunging straight into my chest. Everyone in Bayport knew Nicholas would never tolerate anyone implying his wife was just a placeholder. Yet here he was, saying those very words himself. “All these years, I have tolerated your tantrums, stayed by your side through everything. Haven’t I been good enough to you?” I stared into his dark eyes, finding them utterly unrecognizable. Five years ago, we had a massive fight over a lipstick stain on his collar. In a fit of rage, I walked out with our one-year-old son. I bent down for just a second to tie my shoe, and when I looked up, he was gone. For thousands of nights, I knelt in chapels until my knees bled, begging God to return my boy. Every time I sliced my wrists in sheer hopelessness, he would sit by my hospital bed with red, tearful eyes, begging me to live. He told me: “Emma, even without the baby, you still have me.” It was all a lie. Even that argument had been a meticulously orchestrated trap. “What am I to you, Nicholas? A breeding machine?” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “I am going to find my son! I am bringing him home!” I spun around to run downstairs, but a hand clamped onto my wrist. He jerked me back, trapping me against his chest. “Emma, that is enough!” He hissed, his voice dripping with irritation. “Frankie has lived with Vivienne for five years. He thinks she is his mother. If you go barging in now, you will only terrify him.” “Let me go! You liar!” I thrashed wildly, sinking my teeth deep into his shoulder. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but he did not even flinch. “Guard,” he called out coldly. “My wife is having another episode. Take her back to her room.” “And make sure she does not go anywhere near Vivienne.” He released me, letting the guards haul me away. “Get some rest, Emma. We will talk when you have cleared your head.” He walked back into his study without a backward glance. They threw me into the bedroom and locked the door. I collapsed onto the floor, looking around. The vanity held a diamond necklace he had bought at an auction just to make me smile. The closet was packed with limited-edition designer dresses he had sourced from around the globe. I scrambled to the closet and pulled out a storage bin. Inside were Frankie’s baby clothes. A faded bib sat right on top. For five years, I had slept clutching it to my chest. Tears dripped onto the worn fabric. The door opened, and Maria, the housekeeper, walked in with a warm bowl of soup. “Ma’am, please eat something.” I looked up at her like she was my last lifeline. “Maria, please help me. Let me borrow your phone. I need to call the police…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Ma’am, stop making a scene.” I froze, a chill creeping into my bones. “You… you knew too?” She continued folding clothes. “Miss Vivienne is gentle and kind. The young master is living a blessed life with her. If you really love him, you will let this go.” She walked out, locking the door behind her. I sat on the floor, numb. It turned out I was living in a real-life Truman Show, where everyone was in on the joke. My agony was nothing but cheap entertainment to them. I wiped my tears, stood up, and banged on the door. “Nicholas won’t let me look for my son,” I shouted to the guard outside. “But he never said I couldn’t visit my mother.” Ten minutes later, the door opened. Nicholas looked at the bib clutched in my hand, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “Going to see your mother might do you some good, Emma,” he said softly. “I will have some men drive you to keep you safe.” Safe? He meant watched. The rain tapped against the car window. My reflection looked hollow, eyes dead. My mind drifted back ten years. Vivienne and Nicholas were the golden couple of their university. But Vivienne broke his heart to pursue her dreams abroad. Nicholas fell gravely ill. When he finally recovered, he saw me, a girl who looked seventy percent like his lost love. He offered to make me his substitute. My pride screamed at me to refuse, but my mother begged me. “Emma, you have loved Nicholas for years. Now is your chance. Your father’s business needs his backing. Do it for the family.” So, I agreed. During those first few years, Nicholas treated me beautifully. He made me believe I had actually crawled into his heart, that I wasn’t just a shadow. The night before our wedding, my mother wept. Nicholas knelt before her, promising, “I swear, I will never let Emma suffer a single day of unhappiness.” Even when Vivienne suddenly returned to the country on our wedding day, he did not leave me. He held my hand firmly and walked me down the aisle. Back then, I thought I was the happiest woman on earth. When the baby went missing, he never blamed me. His bloodshot eyes and the scratches on his hands from my panic attacks became the chains of my guilt. But it was all a trap. He had set the stage just to rob me of my child. “We are here, ma’am,” the driver’s voice shattered my thoughts. I pushed the door open, letting the rain soak my dress as I ran inside the house. My mother frowned when she saw me drenched. “Emma? What on earth happened to you?” I broke down, throwing myself into her arms. “Mom… Frankie isn’t dead. Nicholas gave him to Vivienne! Please, you have to help me get him back!” My mother’s body went rigid. Slowly, she pushed me away. “Emma, sit down first,” she said, her voice quiet. “The boy is safe and sound. Isn’t that the best possible outcome?” A loud buzzing filled my ears. “Mom? What are you saying?” She sighed, looking at me with forced pity. “Vivienne was alone abroad for so many years, and her health is fragile. Having a child keeps her company. Besides, she is your sister. It is only right the boy calls her mother. Would you rather he be lost in the streets, dead or alive?” Each word felt like a physical blow. “You knew,” I whispered, my voice trembling. She avoided my eyes, picking up a towel to dry my hair. “I had no choice, Emma. Nicholas promised that if I kept this from you, he would stop your father from divorcing me. You are still the wealthy Mrs. Huo. Vivienne is your sister. Why must you fight her over this?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Vivienne was my father’s daughter born out of wedlock. Years ago, my mother hated her and her mother with a passion. Yet now, she was calling her my sister. I stood up slowly. “Frankie is my life.” She sighed and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a mug of warm milk. “Drink this and calm down, Emma. Nicholas hid it because he cares about your feelings. If you really can’t accept it, I will help you.” Believing her, I swallowed the milk. But within minutes, my eyelids grew incredibly heavy. My mother guided me toward the guest bed. “Just sleep, sweetie. Everything will be fine when you wake up.” She had drugged me. My own mother had poisoned me just to protect Vivienne’s stolen happiness. Despair washed over me. I couldn’t sleep. If I fell asleep now, I would wake up back in Nicholas’s golden cage. I pulled off the jade bracelet Nicholas had given me for our first anniversary. I smashed it against the nightstand, picked up a jagged shard, and sliced it deep into my arm. The sharp, burning pain jolted my mind awake. Bleeding, I climbed out of the low window into the rainy night. I knew where Nicholas kept his other estate. He often claimed he was working late there. Now I realized he was just keeping his two families perfectly balanced. I took a cab, stumbling through the rain toward the gates of the suburban villa. Just as I reached the corner, a luxury SUV pulled up. Vivienne stepped out. Then, a little boy hopped out after her. My son. Even after five years, I knew him instantly. He was holding a colorful card, presenting it to Vivienne like a trophy. “Mommy! Look what I made in school for Mother’s Day! The teacher said we should give the prettiest flowers to the person we love most. I love you the most, Mommy!” His bright smile pierced my chest. “Frankie…” Tears blinded me as I rushed forward. “I’m your mommy! I’m your real mommy!” I reached out to hold him, even if just for a second. “Stop her!” Vivienne shrieked. Two bodyguards shoved me backward. I fell hard onto the wet asphalt, scraping my palms. “Let me go! Let me see my son!” I sobbed, staring at the boy hiding behind Vivienne. “Frankie, look at me… I am your mother…” Frankie peeked out. Suddenly, he broke away from Vivienne and ran toward me. A spark of hope flared in my chest. I pushed myself up, opening my arms. “Frankie, come to mommy…” But he did not hug me. Instead, he swung his heavy school backpack, slamming the metal buckle directly into my forehead. A sharp pain exploded in my skull. Blood trickled into my eyes, painting my world red. “You are the bad woman who abandoned me!” Frankie yelled, his face flushed with anger and hatred. “Mommy told me everything! You hated my crying and dumped me at the mall! Vivienne is my only mommy! Go away!” A child’s words, yet they tore my soul to shreds. I had spent five years bleeding and weeping for him, only for him to believe I was a monster who threw him away. I looked up at Vivienne. She stepped forward, taking Frankie’s hand. “Be polite, Frankie. She did give birth to you, after all.” “I don’t want her! She is crazy!” Frankie buried his face in her side. I forced myself to stand. “What did you tell my son, Vivienne?” She leaned close, whispering so only I could hear. “Just the truth, little sister. You were nothing but a surrogate. Nicholas only married you because of your face. Now that you know, why don’t you just disappear? Neither of them wants you.” The agony of five years morphing into absolute fury, I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. She screamed and tumbled to the ground. “Mommy!” Frankie cried, lunging at me like a feral animal. “You hurt my mommy! I hate you!” “Emma! What do you think you’re doing?” Nicholas’s voice roared through the rain. He rushed forward, shoving me aside with such force that I crashed against the concrete edge of the flowerbed. He did not even look at me. “Vivienne, are you alright? Are you hurt?” He draped his coat over her shoulders. “I’m fine… don’t be mad at Emma. She just misses the baby…” Vivienne whimpered, looking utterly pathetic. Nicholas turned his cold, furious gaze on me. “Emma, I have tolerated enough of your madness!” Clutching my bruised ribs, I began to laugh. “Are you still playing pretend, Nicholas? You gave my child to her and taught him to hate me. You watched me tear the world apart looking for him for five years. What are you made of?” His face remained utterly emotionless. “Your depression has worsened. You are having severe hallucinations and violent episodes. Tomorrow morning, my men will take you to a private sanitarium in the mountains.” “No! I’m not crazy!” I struggled to stand. Suddenly, Vivienne screamed. “Frankie! No!” Frankie had run toward the unfenced riverbank. He slipped on the wet grass, losing his balance and tumbling into the rushing water. “Help! Mommy, help me!” “Frankie!” Without a second thought, I dived into the freezing river. I swam frantically toward his thrashing form. Then, another splash. Vivienne had somehow fallen in too, flailing close to the shore. “Nicholas… save me…” Nicholas jumped in. But he did not swim toward his son or his wife. He swam straight toward Vivienne. I used the very last of my strength to push Frankie to the muddy bank, where a guard pulled him up. Frankie looked back at me, his eyes filled with malicious spite. He kicked his foot out, striking me squarely in the chest, pushing me back into the deep current. I had no strength left to fight. The freezing water rushed into my nose and throat. As I sank, I could hear Nicholas frantically comforting Vivienne. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness pull me down. Nicholas, if there is a next life, I hope I never lay eyes on you.

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When my online gaming boyfriend found out I scored a 1590 on the SATs, he dumped me. “With grades like that, going into a STEM major? She’s probably a literal ogre.” He snickered, mocking my looks to his frat brothers, forgetting his mic was still hot. A second later, our teammate lifted his rifle and gunned him down. “Talk trash to a junior from my department, consider yourself unlucky.” Fast forward to the start of the semester. I stared at the 6-foot-2, drop-dead gorgeous guy standing in front of me, completely speechless. Bro, with a face like that, calling someone else a scumbag… isn’t that a bit hypocritical? After the SAT scores were released, I pulled an all-nighter gaming. My parents were too busy calling every relative we knew to brag, so they left me alone. By the time morning rolled around and I got a call from Mason, my voice was completely hoarse. He cut straight to the chase: “Riley, let’s break up.” Mason and I had met randomly in an online lobby. He was a painfully average player but had a lot of money—a total pay-to-win whale. Plus, he was a smooth talker. The night after the SATs, he asked me out, and we made it official. I didn’t expect it to crash and burn in less than a month. “Okay,” I agreed, not bothering to cling to him. We hadn’t even met IRL yet. I just treated it like my Tamagotchi had died. Mason seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “We can still game together, right?” I said sure. Right after we finished a match, Mason changed his profile picture. I didn’t think much of it and was about to log off. Suddenly, an unfamiliar, teasing voice came through the headset: “Yo, Mason, what’s with the new PFP? You break up?” Mason’s mic was still open. Before I could warn him, I heard him scoff: “Obviously! Do you know she scored a 1590 on her SATs? And she’s going to Stanford for Computer Science!” “With grades like that, doing a STEM major? She’s probably a literal ogre. If I didn’t dump her before we met IRL, I’d probably die of fright.” The other guys in our squad went dead silent. Mason sounded confused: “Hey, why aren’t you guys moving—” Bang! Bang! Bang! The God-tier player on our squad suddenly fired three consecutive shots, blowing Mason’s head off in-game. Mason instantly raged: “Are you insane?! Why the hell did you team-kill me—” His voice abruptly cut off. He finally realized his mic had been hot the whole time. A lazy, nonchalant voice drifted through the headset. “Talk trash to a junior from my department, consider yourself unlucky.” Wait, what??? This teammate almost never used voice chat, but his skills were absolutely insane. In my head, he was always the cold, untouchable pro. Who would have thought the first time he ever spoke, it would be to defend me? Right then, my phone started buzzing like crazy. It was my best friend, Chloe. I exited the lobby and picked up, instantly bombarded by her frantic screaming. “Riley Evans! You! Are a literal god!” “You got a 1590! You’re valedictorian! You have to carry me through life now, ahhhhh!” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Stop yelling. Your girl just got dumped.” Chloe: “?” I gave her the rundown of what just happened. “He probably thought I was ugly.” Chloe was furious: “??? Is he clinically insane? If the Prom Queen of West High is an ogre, what the hell are the rest of us?!” “Whatever.” I didn’t want to waste energy on him. Thinking back to what that God-tier teammate had said, I sent him a private message: “Hey, senior? Thanks for today! Can I get your number? I’ll treat you to food when the semester starts!” A minute later, the aloof senior blessed me with a single word: “Sure.” Getting publicly executed by a teammate completely destroyed Mason’s ego, and he rage-quit the lobby immediately. But that night, Mason sent me a message. “Log on. Let’s run it again.” It seemed he was determined to win his pride back. Talk about a bruised ego. I glanced at his new teammate. “This gamer tag looks familiar.” A lazy voice drifted through my headset: “He’s a paid pro-carry.” I jumped slightly, rubbing my ear in surprise. This guy… we had played together for so long, and he barely ever typed a word. But ever since he stood up for me, he seemed too lazy to type and just exclusively used voice comms. I wasn’t quite used to it yet. Looking at the expensive new gear Mason had equipped, I felt a bit nervous. “Can we win?” He was dead set on making a comeback, spending real cash to buy a victory. The senior asked lazily, “Do you want to beat him?” I didn’t hesitate: “Duh!” So what if he’s a trust fund whale? I heard a low chuckle. “Alright.” Nine minutes later, Mason and his expensive pro-carry both got sniped in the head. Mason screamed an obscenity over the mic and instantly logged off. I sat in deep thought for a long time before finally texting the senior: “Senior, if I go to Stanford for CS, will I become as cracked at this game as you?” “…Not necessarily.” The senior graciously typed a few extra words for me. “Depends on your raw talent.” Ah. I understood. “Well, I’m covering your breakfast for a month!” He went back to his aloof self and didn’t reply. After the scores were finalized, my life became a blur. Doing college prep interviews, picking dorms, getting my driver’s license… I was so busy I barely touched the game for over a month. Out of nowhere, Mason messaged me. “Riley, we had an amicable breakup. You don’t have to literally quit the game just to avoid me, you know.” Me: ??? What kind of delusional nonsense was he typing? When I finally logged into my neglected account, I realized the rumors were already flying. Several of my regular squadmates instantly spammed me. “Riley! You’re finally back!” “It’s just a breakup! It’s not the end of the world!” “Guys like Mason who only care about looks are shallow anyway! Good riddance!” I was totally lost. “No, I’ve just been super busy lately.” But no matter how much I explained, nobody believed me. After a few minutes of confusion, I finally figured out why—Mason had a new girlfriend. “That low-level account he’s carrying around is his new girl. I heard her PFP is actually her, a broadcast journalism major.” I spectated them for a bit and cringed. She was painfully bad. Even with his pay-to-win items, it was agonizing to watch. Hats off to Mason for having the patience to peacefully coax and carry her. To bleach my eyes, I grouped up with the senior. Sometimes he seemed incredibly busy, and other times he seemed like he had nothing but free time. I was very blunt about my needs: “Senior, my eyes are bleeding. Mind flexing some plays to cleanse my vision?” Five minutes later, we loaded into a match and absolutely decimated the enemy team. I felt so much better. I was perfectly satisfied, but right as I was about to log off, that deep, lazy voice echoed in my ears again. “Looks like you really liked him.” I thought I was hallucinating. “What?” He elaborated, “They all said you cried so hard you lost your voice the day he dumped you.” Me: “…” “But now he’s got someone new, and they look pretty happy. You should let it go. Crying over a jerk like that isn’t worth it.” Me: “…” This was absurd. I kept my face deadpan. “Why would I be hung up on him? Stanford has a massive ratio of guys to girls in the CS department. You think I’ll have a shortage of options?” Senior: “…” Realizing that might have sounded a bit arrogant, I corrected myself: “Actually, let’s not be too greedy. I just want the most handsome one!” The line was quiet for a long moment before a low chuckle broke the silence. “You’ve got some high ambitions.” Late August rolled around, and I dragged my suitcase onto campus for freshman move-in day. The California sun was relentless. There wasn’t a single breeze. I pulled my baseball cap lower and kept walking. Stanford was great and all, but the campus was so massive I felt like I was walking halfway to my grave. Suddenly, a guy jogged over from nearby. “Hey, freshman? Are you an English major?” I looked up, and he froze for a second, his ears rapidly turning red. “Thanks, but I’m in the Computer Science department. Do you know where their check-in booths are?” His eyes widened in shock. It took me asking a second time for him to snap out of it. “Oh! Just go straight down this path and take a left at the end. That suitcase looks heavy, want me to walk you there?” I politely declined and kept walking until I finally found the spot. A few guys were slouched lazily in folding chairs under the canopy. When they saw me stop, one of them let out a low whistle. “Hey, freshman, you looking for Liam too? Tough luck, he just stepped out to the advisor’s office. Come back later.” Liam? Who? “No.” I handed over my ID. “I’m here to check in.” The guys slouched under the tent all whipped their heads around in absolute shock. “Holy shit?!” As soon as I got settled into my dorm, I got a text from Chloe. “Rileyyyy I miss you so much waaaaah! Thinking about not seeing you every day is breaking my heart!” “Chloe, just to remind you, your college is literally across the bay.” “I don’t care, I don’t care!” Chloe whined. “Do you know you made the Campus Confessions Instagram page on your literally first day?! Now I have a million more people trying to steal my gorgeous bestie!” Me: “…Campus Confessions?” I tapped the link she sent, and sure enough, someone had taken a candid photo of me and posted it. Emmm… At the time, I was dragging my suitcase, sweating like a dog under the sun. I didn’t even notice anyone taking a picture. “BRO! Are the freshmen really this gorgeous this year!?” “If I call her the Campus Queen, nobody can object, right? What major? English?” “Drop the Insta handle! I am begging!” “Give up, guys, she’s a CS major! How the hell did those nerds get so lucky! FML!” “??? No way? The CS department already has Liam Wright, how did they pull someone of this tier too? They get the absolute hottest guy AND girl on campus? Where is the justice?” Liam Wright? That must be the Liam those guys mentioned at the booth. Seems like he’s pretty popular. Oh right, I almost forgot to text my senior. “Senior, I checked into campus!” A little while later, he replied: “Was busy earlier, didn’t see this. You arrived?” “Yep! You go do your thing, my roommates just got here, we’re gonna go grab food.” A few minutes later, he sent a short list. “These spots near the West Gate are pretty good.” Man, having a ‘local’ is the best! So convenient. My roommates were all in different majors, but they were super nice. After introducing ourselves, we headed out. We had just sat down at a restaurant when Mason randomly sent me a photo. My heart jumped. —It was the exact candid photo from the Campus Confessions page!

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After receiving the seventy-eighth explicit photo from my husband’s mistress, I finally snapped. I uploaded every single picture to my social media accounts. His little lover cried her eyes out, screaming to anyone who would listen that her life was ruined. Less than a minute later, Vincent called me. His tone was absolute ice. “Delete them.” I refused. Ten minutes later, I was forcibly logged out of all my accounts. The posts were deleted, my profiles were deactivated, and the trending hashtags were wiped clean. It took Vincent Cross less than ten minutes to erase the entire scandal. Three days later, he stood in front of me with divorce papers in hand. His voice was soft, carrying a veiled threat. “It is just a PR stunt to coax the girl. Be a good wife, Diana. Play along.” I nodded and signed my name. As soon as he left, I called the clinic. I changed my upcoming prenatal checkup to a clinical abortion. He probably never believed that I could actually walk away from being Mrs. Cross. 1 Half an hour after signing the divorce papers, I was lying on an operating table. My phone rang shrilly just as the procedure finished. The anesthesia was wearing off. A cold, dense layer of sweat broke out across my forehead from the sharp cramps. I bit my lip against the pain and answered the call. Vincent’s voice came through, completely devoid of warmth. “Diana, pack up all your things and get out.” “Okay.” I agreed without a second thought. We had been married for five years. The girls he kept on the side rotated like a revolving door. To ensure I did not interfere with his latest romance, he had his assistant rent a house for me out in the Chicago suburbs. He had laid down the ground rules on day one. “If I want to see you, I will call you. My assistant will wire your living expenses. Unless I give you permission, you are not allowed to show your face in my presence.” Yet, a year ago, he was the one kneeling on the floor, begging me to come back. He looked at me with such raw sincerity, swearing he was done playing the field. He promised we would build a real life together. Like a fool, I cried tears of joy and believed every single word. So I moved back into our marital home. A week later, a young model tripped on her gown during a runway show. She fell right into his line of sight, looking exactly like a startled, helpless fawn. I saw the way he looked at her. My heart screamed in agonizing betrayal, but I had to admit the truth. He was captivated all over again. That very night, headlines of him walking that model into a luxury hotel plastered the internet. Once again, I became the laughingstock of our social circle. This time, the girl seemed to have a real hold on him. A whole year passed, and Vincent still had not grown tired of her. Throughout that year, I received seventy-eight provocative photos and videos, along with countless harassing texts. Every single message dripped with her desperate ambition to replace me. Then came today. Three hours ago. He placed the divorce papers on the table for the very first time. “It is just for show. Be good. Do not make me angry.” I fought back my tears, staring at him with red, swollen eyes. I did not want to sign. No matter how wild his previous affairs had gotten, he had never brought out legal documents. But this time, he slowly stroked my hair, treating me like a pet he was trying to pacify. I knew exactly what happened when Vincent got angry. Just like today, all it took was a snap of his fingers to fix every single problem for Sienna. So I signed the papers and left him with a single word. “Okay.” When I finally dragged myself back to the house, Vincent and Sienna were nowhere to be found. Martha, our housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. She saw me and her face lit up. “Ma’am! How was the prenatal checkup?” My face was pale as a sheet. I slowly shook my head. I had originally planned to tell Vincent about the baby tonight. But plans rarely survive reality. In the span of a few days, I lost my marriage, and I lost my child. “I ended it,” I said softly. Martha stared at me in absolute shock as I continued. “If this baby was born into this house, they would never know what happiness looks like.” Before Martha could process my words, the front door swung open. Sienna walked in, her arms loaded with luxury shopping bags. Behind her, a dozen bodyguards carried even more boxes of designer clothes and jewelry. She did not look surprised to see me. She made herself comfortable on my chaise lounge, flashing a sugary, mocking smile. “Honestly, I do not get it. Vincent treats you like garbage. Why are you still clinging to this house?” “Yesterday, I told him I was craving those artisan macarons from that boutique downtown. He did not even hesitate. He walked three miles in a blizzard just to get them for me.” She tilted her head. “Has he ever done anything like that for you?” I fell completely silent. Yesterday was the anniversary of my father’s death. When I finally managed to reach Vincent through his assistant, I could hear the howling winter wind through the receiver. But I also heard him say, very clearly, that he had no time for me. It turned out he was busy fetching pastries for Sienna. A wave of helplessness washed over me. I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly. There was a time when Vincent was the person who loved me most in this entire world, second only to my parents. He was the son of my family’s chauffeur. He had no status, no wealth, and he never quite fit in with the rich kids in our neighborhood. Back then, the other children loved to bully him. But he never cared about their taunts. He used to look at me and say, “The only person whose opinion matters to me is Diana.” When I ran a high fever as a kid, he stayed awake all night, sitting on the floor right beside my bed. When a minor earthquake hit our city, he threw himself over me. Falling debris cut his head wide open, but he swallowed the pain without making a single sound. He just kept whispering that I was going to be safe. We had a massive argument in college. He bought my favorite street food, wrote a ten-page apology letter by hand, and stood outside my dorm room in the freezing snow for an entire night just to prove his loyalty. The day we graduated was the day we got married. At the wedding, my father placed my hand in his, his voice stern. “If I ever catch wind that your heart has strayed, I will take her away without a second thought. My daughter will never have to beg for love.” Vincent had clenched his hand into a fist, swearing on his life that his heart belonged only to me. He looked into my eyes and promised, “I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world. I will never let sadness touch your life.” From high school sweethearts to a married couple, we were the envy of everyone who knew us. A year into our marriage, my father passed away. Vincent took over the entire company. He worked himself to the bone, collapsing from exhaustion and ending up in the hospital multiple times. My heart broke for him. I had grown up spoiled, never stepping foot in a kitchen, but I learned how to cook just so he could come home to a warm meal. He used to bring me a bouquet of yellow roses every single day after work. He told me they were the ultimate symbol of devotion. Every night, we would sit on the patio and look at the stars. He would hold me until we both fell asleep. I just could not figure out when everything started to rot. 2 I suppose it started when he finally shed the title of “the chauffeur’s son.” Once he became the untouchable CEO, his schedule filled up with endless networking dinners and exclusive parties. He started coming home smelling of cheap, cloying perfume. When I looked at him with questioning eyes, he would just laugh it off. “It is just the scent of some client I had to entertain. Do not overthink it, honey.” I believed him. He used flimsy excuses to slowly chip away at my unconditional trust. Once his grip on the company was absolute, he stopped pretending altogether. And I was left stranded in the illusion of love he had woven around me. I was completely trapped. The first time I caught him cheating was on his birthday. I had prepared a massive surprise party on a yacht. The guests waited until they were exhausted, but the guest of honor never showed up. Desperate, I had his location tracked. The signal showed he was working overtime at the office. All the way there, I silently scolded him for pushing himself too hard. I pushed open the heavy oak doors of his executive suite, holding a cake I had baked myself. But his desk was cluttered with the remains of a candlelit dinner. Lingerie was scattered across the expensive carpet. The most ridiculous part was the two bodyguards standing right outside his private lounge door. When I kicked the door open, Vincent did not even look panicked. He gently pulled the blanket over the naked woman beneath him to protect her modesty, then casually grabbed a towel for his own waist. He looked up at me. His eyes were as cold as a glacier. “Shut the door. You might not care about your dignity, but she cares about hers.” His icy composure made me feel like an absolute clown. I completely lost my mind. I lunged forward, desperate to drag the homewrecker out of that bed. Before I could even reach her, one of Vincent’s bodyguards stepped in and slapped me across the face so hard the room spun. In the chaotic blur, I finally got a good look at the woman hiding under the sheets. It was the young nurse who used to change his IV bags when he was hospitalized for exhaustion. She was crying fake, terrified tears. “Please do not misunderstand! I just came to drop off some liver supplements for Mr. Cross. I never wanted to ruin your marriage.” “We just had a little wine, and things got out of hand…” Vincent pressed his lips into a tight line, glaring at me with dark, threatening eyes. “Diana, I am warning you. Do not lay a finger on her.” That was when I realized he had been stepping out on me for a long, long time. Those romantic bouquets of roses were nothing more than a guilty afterthought. A cheap peace offering to the wife waiting at home while he partied with other women. After that day, the floodgates opened. The women draped over his arm changed with every corporate dinner. He stopped caring about my feelings. He stopped caring about my life. It seemed like the only things that made him feel alive were ruthless business deals and the bodies of different women. I slowly grew numb to the constant humiliation. Until one day, I completely stopped waiting for him to come home. I tuned out Sienna’s arrogant taunts. I walked upstairs, packed my passport and some essential documents, and headed back down. When I reached the living room, Sienna was digging through the purse I had left on the sofa. My breath hitched. I rushed forward and snatched the bag right out of her hands. Sienna rolled her eyes and held up her empty hands. “There is nothing valuable in there anyway. What are you so nervous about?” I subtly felt the bottom lining of the bag, making sure my medical documents were still there. I let out a quiet breath of relief. Sienna stepped closer to me, a nasty, knowing smile spreading across her face. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?” “I saw the prenatal vitamins in your bag.” “You know Vincent absolutely despises children, right? If he finds out you are carrying his kid, he will drag you to a clinic himself.” “Take my advice. Get rid of it before he finds out, or else…” Right at that moment, the front door opened. Vincent walked in. He shot me a casual glance. “Did you drop something?” I forced a polite smile and tucked my passport deeper into the bag. “Nothing important.” Vincent stared at me for a long second. As I turned to leave, he pulled out two plastic cards and held them out to me. “Here is a keycard to the presidential suite at the Grand Plaza. Stay there for now.” “The other is a bank card with ten million dollars. Spend it however you like.” He cleared his throat slightly. “Yesterday… I really was busy.” Busy? Busy buying macarons for his mistress? In that exact moment, looking at the man in front of me made my stomach churn with pure disgust. I gave him a warm, gentle smile. Then, I raised my hand and slapped him directly across the face. I shook out my stinging palm, my smile never fading. “You are absolutely disgusting, Vincent.” “You were nothing but a chauffeur’s kid. A stroke of luck turned you into a billionaire, and suddenly you forget who begged my family for help when you had nothing?” I had never spoken to him with such cruel precision before. Vincent did not strike back, but his expression instantly darkened into a storm. Before he could even react, Sienna grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it directly into the side of my head. Warm blood immediately spilled down my temple. A violent wave of dizziness hit me. The bright living room lights suddenly felt blinding, making the floor tilt beneath my feet. Martha gasped and rushed forward to catch me before I collapsed. She turned to Vincent in a total panic. “Sir! Stop this! You have no idea that she just…” 3 I cut Martha off before she could finish her sentence. “Martha, I am fine.” The man standing in front of me did not flinch. He just gave the housekeeper a cold, dismissive look. His voice was like shards of ice. “Martha, do not forget who signs your paychecks.” “Since she has already signed the divorce papers, she is no longer the lady of this house.” Martha looked at me with frantic, heartbroken eyes. I just shook my head slightly. There was no point in telling him anything now. He was no longer the boy who used to lean in close, smiling just to hear me speak. Vincent immediately reached out and gently took Sienna’s trembling hands. “Did you hurt your hand swinging that?” Sienna sniffled, shaking her head pitifully. “No… I just could not stand watching her disrespect you…” The harsh overhead lights caught the absolute tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her. “You are an idiot. It does not matter if she disrespects me, but I will not let you suffer any grievances.” Hearing his validation, Sienna’s posture instantly shifted into smug triumph. “She slapped you. I want to pay her back ten times over.” She waited for his permission. He remained silent. Seeing his hesitation, Sienna stood on her tiptoes, pressing her chest against his arm as she whispered sweetly in his ear. “You are the great Vincent Cross. Word gets out that your ex-wife slapped you and got away with it, you will be a laughingstock.” A satisfied smirk finally broke through Vincent’s cold exterior. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and kissed her lips. “Alright. Whatever you want.” I stumbled backward, staring at the two of them in absolute horror. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, shoved Martha out of the way, and pinned my arms behind my back. I thrashed against their grip. “Vincent! You cannot do this!” Sienna just sneered. She stepped up and delivered a brutal, stinging slap across my cheek. At the exact same time, a sharp, agonizing cramp ripped through my abdomen. My head throbbed violently. Cold sweat drenched my back. By the time the tenth slap landed, I was thrown to the floor like a broken doll. Tears slid down my swollen cheeks, disappearing into my tangled hair. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, using every ounce of my willpower to swallow my sobs. I refused to let them hear me cry. He did not look at me even once as he led Sienna up the stairs. Just before they disappeared, I heard his low, magnetic voice echoing in the hallway. “Wear that black lace set tonight.” Sienna giggled, leaning into his chest, shooting me one last victorious glare from the top of the stairs. The bedroom door clicked shut. Martha rushed over and helped me up from the floor. But the dull, aching pain in my stomach did not fade. It only grew sharper and more terrifying. I have no idea how long I was unconscious. When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Vincent sitting by my hospital bed. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. His voice lacked any real emotion. “Martha told me you fainted. If your body is this weak, stop causing unnecessary drama. Just behave, and I will not have to worry.” His lazy, arrogant tone was casual, yet every word felt like a knife twisting in my chest. “Diana, look at the tax bracket I am in now. What man at my level does not mess around? Expecting me to be completely monogamous for the rest of my life is just unreasonable.” “I cannot do it. Whether it is a private party or a business deal, people are constantly throwing women at me.” “I already told you, the divorce is just for show. Just be good. Give me some time. Once I get bored of playing around, I will come back to you. We will have kids, and everything will be better than before.” “But only after I have had my fill out here.” He paused, finally lifting his heavy eyelids to look at me. The moment our eyes met, my heart went entirely dead. I searched his face for a single shred of guilt. There was none. He was absolutely certain I would back down, just like I always did. “You really need to learn how to be obedient, Diana.” Obedient? The old Vincent never wanted me to be obedient. He used to love my stubborn streak. He used to say that obedient girls had no spine, no fire. I looked down at the wedding ring still sitting on my finger. My chest felt like it was being pierced by a thousand suffocating needles. After a long, suffocating silence, my voice came out hoarse and cracked. “I understand.” “The purse I left on the sofa back at the house… there is something inside that Sienna really wants. She will be thrilled when she sees it.” My apparent surrender brought a genuine, relieved smile to Vincent’s face. “Is it that pigeon-blood ruby set from the auction last month? Diana, if you had just swallowed your pride earlier, things would never have gotten this ugly.” No. It is the medical receipt for my clinical abortion and the post-op care instructions. I answered his question silently in my head. We would never have children again. Vincent took my silence as a submissive agreement. He left the hospital room looking completely satisfied. An hour later, I checked myself out of the hospital and moved into the presidential suite he had arranged for me. I spent the next two weeks meeting with brokers, liquidating every single piece of jewelry he had ever given me, and funneling the cash into an offshore trust fund. The day the final wire transfer cleared, I bought a one-way ticket out of Chicago. As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, the bodyguards stationed outside asked where I was going. I ignored the question. They asked how long I would be gone. I thought about it for a second. “A couple of days.” Those couple of days turned into weeks. I never went back. A full month passed. The first people to realize I had vanished into thin air were those two bodyguards. Trembling with fear, they dialed Vincent’s number to report that I was missing. 4 One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The call abruptly disconnected with the sound of heavy breathing. At that exact moment, Vincent had Sienna pinned against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. He had not heard a single word the bodyguards said. His kisses rained down on her like a violent storm, his hands aggressively pushing her clothes to the floor. Just as things were about to cross the line, Sienna pushed against his burning chest. “Wait.” Vincent grabbed her chin, forcing her glossy, hazy eyes to meet his. “What is it?” Sienna’s cheeks flushed crimson. Like a magic trick, she pulled a crumpled ultrasound report from her pocket. Her voice trembled with excitement. “You cannot have me tonight, Vincent. I am pregnant.” The temperature in the room plummeted instantly. The raging fire of lust vanished as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. Vincent let go of her jaw, his face entirely blank. He slowly, methodically picked up his silk robe and tied it around his waist. He looked at the stunned woman standing in front of him. A cold sneer echoed in his mind. This woman had crossed the line. Just like every other stupid girl he had entertained, she overestimated her worth. He gave a noncommittal grunt, walked over to the leather sofa, pulled a cigarette from his case, and lit it. He did not say another word. Just a grunt? Sienna stood there, completely bewildered. This was not how the script was supposed to go. In her fantasy, Vincent was supposed to scoop her into his arms, kissing her deeply, and promising to take responsibility. Then, she would smoothly transition into becoming the new Mrs. Cross. She would have maids waiting on her hand and foot, living a life of endless, disgusting luxury. But instead, the man just gave a dismissive grunt and lit a cigarette. The brutal reality check made her lose control of her emotions. “What does that mean? Do you not want this baby? When we were in bed, you swore I was the only woman you ever wanted to have kids with!” Vincent’s voice dropped to a lethal register. Every trace of desire was gone. “You actually believe the garbage men say when they are trying to get laid?” “Sienna, I thought you were different. I thought you knew your place. But it turns out you are just as delusional as the rest of them.” Sienna stumbled backward, convinced she was having a nightmare. “What…” Vincent slowly exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke. “Go to a clinic tomorrow and get rid of it. If you do that, I will overlook your little stunt tonight.” “If you insist on having this kid, fine. I do not care.” “I will pay child support every month. But the amount is entirely up to me. Maybe it will be a million. Maybe a hundred thousand. Maybe ten thousand. Hell, maybe I will just send a hundred bucks. If you want to take me to family court, be my guest. I will hire the most ruthless legal team in the country.” “Your chances of winning are less than ten percent.” His voice was quiet, but every word systematically butchered the grand future she had mapped out in her head. After rapidly calculating her options, Sienna realized she was trapped. She lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and gave a humiliated nod. Vincent finally smiled, though the warmth never reached his eyes. Women like her were so easy to manage. No leverage, no backbone. They lived entirely on the scraps of pity and cash men threw their way, ready to compromise their entire existence for a payout. Suddenly, he remembered what Diana had said to him in the hospital room. He reached into the designer purse sitting on the side table, expecting to find the velvet box containing the pigeon-blood ruby set. He figured he could use it to pacify Sienna. His fingers did not brush against velvet. They touched a stack of folded papers. Curious, he pulled them out and unfolded them under the dim light. The bold, black letters on the medical report screamed at him, burning into his retinas. Diana Cross. Patient voluntarily terminated pregnancy. He froze. His muscles locked up. His hands began to ache from gripping the paper so tightly, but his brain completely short-circuited. Voluntarily terminated pregnancy?

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