Category: English

Tomorrow is the day I’m to be anointed as the Keeper of the Valley. I sat before the vanity, silently wiping the heavy makeup from my face, my heart as cold as the mountain air outside. In our town of Blackwood Creek, there is a tradition that has survived for generations. Every decade, a set of twin girls is born to a single household. According to the old laws, the sisters’ paths are split: one is allowed to marry and leave, while the other must stay, serving as the Keeper of the Valley—a lifelong vestal protector of our heritage. She cannot marry; she cannot even step beyond the town limits. I used to have dreams. When I got into a university in the city, I made a pact with my boyfriend, Sawyer. We agreed that when I turned twenty-two, he would come to the Creek to ask for my hand. The day had finally arrived. I had spent hours dressing, my heart full of a frantic, hopeful joy. When I saw Sawyer’s black Maybach pull into the dusty driveway, looking utterly out of place against our rustic backdrop, I had to press a hand to my chest to keep my heart from leaping out. But then, I heard him. He was leaning against the car door, finishing a phone call. His words were a cold blade through the drywall of my heart. “I’m here to take Grace,” he said. There was a pause, and then he continued, “You don’t understand—her parents are playing favorites. If I don’t marry Grace, she’ll be stuck here. She won’t survive it.” Then came the kicker, the casual dismissal that stripped me bare: “Jodie is different. She’s got her degree; she can make it on her own. Her parents adore her—they’d never force her into the Keeper role if she really fought it. She’s strong enough to handle a different life.” 1 I sat on the edge of the bed. A bitter, acidic feeling rose in my throat. When we were kids, it was Grace who had promised she’d be the one to stay. She’d told me she’d take the mantle so I could go off and see the world. Because of that promise, I’d spent my life yielding to her. I gave her the best clothes, the biggest portions; I let my parents dote on her while I buried my head in books. Even my parents leaned toward her. But I’d always thought it was okay. Freedom was the ultimate prize, and I was willing to pay for it with years of self-sacrifice. I studied until my eyes burned, squeezing every second of my life into a future that belonged to both of us. And now, she was using my boyfriend’s pity to steal that future. She wasn’t a victim. She was a strategist. She never intended to stay in Blackwood Creek; she just wanted the rewards without the sacrifice. I turned back to the mirror, scrubbing the foundation off in layers. The woman in the glass slowly emerged—the real me. Nothing spectacular. Just a face, eyes, a nose. Identical to Grace’s. Yet, since we were toddlers, everyone said Grace was the “ethereal” one, the “gentle soul,” the one who looked exactly like the town’s patron saint in the old chapel paintings. They called me “wild,” “stubborn,” and “difficult.” Same face. Different labels. Outside, the car door slammed. Then came the footsteps, heavy and rhythmic, approaching the house. It was Sawyer. I didn’t move. I squeezed the cotton pad in my hand, staring at the reflection until the face in the mirror felt like a stranger’s. A knock. “Jo?” Sawyer’s voice. “I’m here.” “Come in,” I said. The door creaked open. He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard by the sight of me in an old flannel shirt instead of the white lace dress I’d picked out for this day. “You…” He stepped inside, looking around the room. “Why aren’t you dressed?” I looked at him through the mirror. “What are you here for, Sawyer?” He hesitated, then forced a smile. He walked toward me. “To take you away, obviously. Isn’t that what we agreed? Twenty-two. I come for you.” “Who, specifically, are you coming for?” He stopped in his tracks. I turned around to face him. “Sawyer, look at me. Whose hand are you here to ask for?” The smile died on his face. He was silent for a few agonizing seconds before he finally spoke. “Jo, let me explain—” “I don’t need an explanation.” I stood up, tossing the makeup pad onto the table. “I heard you on the phone. Every word.” His face went pale. “You said Grace didn’t have a degree, that she couldn’t make it outside, so you had to marry her,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You said I was the strong one. That I could fend for myself, so it wouldn’t matter if you left me behind.” “Jodie—” “What you’re saying,” I continued, my tone flat, “is that you weighed us on a scale. You decided I was less deserving of your protection because I didn’t act helpless. So you’re taking her instead.” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I knew it. He couldn’t deny it because it was the truth. We had known each other for five years. We’d been together for three. He had met Grace less than a dozen times. And yet, he’d done the math. On one side was me, and on the other was her. He decided that because I could carry the weight, I didn’t need him to help me bear it. “Sawyer,” I said, stepping back. “Leave.” He frowned. “You need to calm down. I have my reasons—” “I am perfectly calm,” I said. “More calm than you can possibly imagine.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but footsteps echoed in the hallway. Then came Grace’s voice—soft, melodic, with that practiced hint of a tremor. “Jo, I know you’re upset. But you don’t understand… I didn’t think…” She pushed the door open and stood there, her eyes rimmed with red, tears trembling on her lashes. She was beautiful when she cried. She’d always been. Since we were girls, one tear from her and the world would stop to comfort her. Even I used to fall for it. But now, I just looked at her. “Grace, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” She blinked. “Jo…” “I have no right to blame you,” I said. “I was the fool. I was the one who thought promises actually meant something.” I said it to both of them. There was a heavy silence. I picked up my phone from the nightstand. “I’m going to the chapel. You two stay here.” “Wait,” Sawyer said, stepping forward. “What are you going to the chapel for?” I didn’t look back. “To tell the Elder,” I said, “that I’ll be taking part in the Anointing tomorrow. I’m staying.” 2 The chapel sat at the furthest edge of the Creek, nestled against the mountain. The cobblestone path was lined with red lanterns for the festival. As the wind kicked up, their shadows danced across the stones like restless ghosts. I walked slowly. Not because I was hesitant, but because my mind was a chaotic mess of threads that I needed to untangle before I reached the door. I kept thinking about five years ago. I was seventeen. Sawyer was a college student who had come to the Creek for a summer volunteer program. I remember seeing him for the first time, sitting on the stone steps of the local library, the sunset gilding his profile. I’d never seen anyone like him. He looked clean, light, as if he belonged to a world that wasn’t covered in coal dust and tradition. He’d asked me where the road out of town led. “To the valley,” I’d said. “Then to the town, then the city, then the world.” “Where do you want to go?” he asked. “Everywhere,” I told him. He laughed. “Then let’s go everywhere.” I believed him. I believed a stranger’s casual promise. After he left, we wrote letters. When everyone got smartphones, we switched to texts. We talked every day for five years. He told me he’d come for me at twenty-two. I’d joked, How do you know I’ll still want to go? And he’d say, Because you love me. I had called him arrogant. But he was right. I did love him. For five years, I hadn’t looked at another soul. At the chapel steps, Cyrus, the town Elder, sat smoking a pipe. He squinted as I approached. “You’re here,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d show tonight.” I crouched down across from him. “Cyrus, I need to ask you something.” “Speak.” “The rules for the Keeper—must she stay within the Creek? Forever?” Cyrus took a long drag. “The old laws are clear. The Keeper guards the hearth. She protects our history. She stays within the gates, she remains unwed, and she serves until the end.” I nodded. “And if she leaves?” He paused, tilting his head. “No Keeper has ever left.” “I’m just asking.” He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into the lantern light. “Have you made up your mind? Are you accepting the Anointing?” “I haven’t decided,” I said. “I just want to understand the cage before I step inside.” He watched me for a long time. Then he said something that caught me off guard. “Jodie, do you know that out of everyone in your generation, you’re the first one I misread?” “What does that mean?” “The twins,” he said. “I always assumed it would be Grace who stayed.” “She’s the one everyone says is perfect for it.” “Grace has lived here her whole life,” Cyrus said, “but her eyes have never truly rested on this town. She’s always looking past it.” The wind gusted, rattling the lanterns. “But you,” he continued. “Every time you come down from the ridge, you stop and look back. You aren’t looking with longing to leave. You’re memorizing. You’re recording the path, the trees, the way the light hits the valley. The way someone looks at a place they want to escape is very different from the way someone looks at a place they actually care about.” I looked down. My throat felt tight. “I wasn’t the one who was supposed to stay,” I said, my voice thick. “I had a life planned.” “Go live it then,” Cyrus said, tapping his pipe against the stone. “But know this: Grace can’t walk that path. She wouldn’t last a year out there, and she’d destroy this place if she stayed as Keeper. You have to be sure.” He stood up and disappeared into the darkened chapel. I stayed on the steps, watching his shadow vanish. I knew he was right. Grace couldn’t be the Keeper. Not because she wasn’t “good” enough, but because she couldn’t hold the weight of it. To be the Keeper isn’t just about staying; it’s about guarding the heart of the community. You can’t guard something you’re trying to flee. I stood up and brushed the dust from my jeans. Footsteps behind me. I didn’t need to turn around. “Are you really doing this?” Sawyer asked. “I haven’t decided.” “Then why come here?” “To know what I’m signing up for.” He walked up beside me. After a long silence, he said, “Jo, if you do this, you’re stuck. For life.” “I know.” “You have a degree. You have so many options—” “Sawyer,” I interrupted, turning to him. “Did you come here today to take me, or to take her?” He went quiet. “Then we have nothing left to talk about.” 3 When I got home, Grace was still in the living room. My parents were there, too. My mother looked up as I walked in. “Jodie, where have you been?” “The chapel.” She stiffened. “You…” “I was asking Cyrus about the ceremony. If I’m doing this tomorrow, I want to know the details.” My father didn’t say a word. He just stared at his boots. Grace looked up, her eyes still puffy. “Jo…” “Grace,” I said. “You were the one who promised to stay. You said you’d take the mantle so I could go to school. Those were your words, right?” Grace’s fingers tightened in her lap. “Yes, but…” “No ‘buts’,” I said. “You said it, and I remembered it. Because of that promise, I stepped aside for you. Mom and Dad gave you everything because they felt guilty you were staying. Every time I wanted something, I gave it to you.” My voice was steady, almost clinical. “I didn’t study that hard because I loved the books, Grace. I did it because I felt like I was carrying your freedom on my shoulders. I didn’t want to waste the chance you gave me.” The room was suffocatingly quiet. “And now,” I said, “you’re trading that promise for what? For Sawyer to carry you away?” Grace broke down, tears streaming. “I didn’t plan this! I didn’t scheme against you. Sawyer and I just… we started talking…” “Just what?” “We just connected,” she sobbed. “He… he understood how scared I was. He felt sorry for me…” My mother reached out to wipe her own eyes. “Jodie, your sister has suffered too. She’s spent her whole life knowing she might be trapped here. Have some heart.” I looked at my mother. “And me? What about my heart?” She flinched. “I spent my life knowing that if it wasn’t her, it would be me,” I said. “I’ve been preparing for a life that was supposed to be mine. Who’s having ‘heart’ for me?” No one answered. My father finally spoke, his voice muffled. “Jodie, this is on us. It’s not your sister’s fault.” “We were the ones who called Sawyer,” he admitted. I froze. “What?” He sighed. “Grace hasn’t been well. She’s fragile. We were worried that if she stayed here, she’d… she’d wither away.” He trailed off. “We called Sawyer. We begged him to come take her.” “And to get him to come, you had to give him a reason,” I whispered. “We told him how miserable she was. We told him to marry her to save her,” my mother said, looking at the floor. “We knew he was a good man, but he’s loyal to you. He couldn’t just leave you. So we told him you were fine. We told him you were strong, you had your education, and you could make it on your own…” I sat down. I processed the words slowly, one by one. Then, I laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. It was a jagged, hollow noise. “So,” I said. “The three of you. You all conspired against me.” “Jodie—” “It wasn’t a conspiracy,” my mother cried. “We just didn’t see another way. If Grace stayed, she’d break.” “And if I stay?” My mother stopped. “Mom,” I said. “If I were the one breaking, would you have tried this hard to find me a way out?” The question hung in the air like a dead weight. No one answered. I didn’t need them to. Some answers are louder when they’re unspoken. I stood up. “I’ll be at the ceremony tomorrow.” My mother jumped up. “You can’t! You have your whole career ahead of you—” “Don’t worry about my career,” I said. “I went to school to fulfill a deal I had with Grace. Since she’s backed out, I guess I don’t need that path anymore.” “Jodie!” I didn’t say another word. I walked into my room and shut the door. The click of the latch was soft, but it sounded final. I leaned my back against the wood and stared up at the dark ceiling. My head was a mess of years of suppressed resentment, but my heart was strangely clear. Starting today, I could let go of them. 4 The Anointing was held just before dawn. The town was still mostly dark, but lights were flickering on in every house. Red lanterns lined the main street, and the rhythmic beat of a drum echoed from the chapel—thump, thump, thump—like a giant’s heartbeat. I put on the Keeper’s gown. It wasn’t a wedding dress; it had no lace, no embroidery. It was just plain, stark white. A dress so clean it felt frightening. I brushed my hair in front of the copper mirror, tying it back with a simple white ribbon. The girl looking back at me looked like a stranger. I stared at her and realized this was the face of someone who was born to be sacrificed. My parents knocked on the door. “Jodie, are you sure?” “Yes.” “But your degree—” “Mom,” I said through the door. “Don’t ever mention the degree again. It doesn’t matter now.” Silence followed. Eventually, their footsteps faded away. I tied the final knot on the ribbon and stood up. When I stepped out, Grace was standing in the hall. She was in her everyday clothes, her face pale and her eyes swollen from a sleepless night. We locked eyes for a long second. “Jo,” she whispered. “If… if you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. You could make a scene. You could scream at them and just drive away. No one could stop you.” I gave her a small, sad smile. “I know.” “Then why?” “Because I realized something,” I said. “The Creek needs a Keeper. And as Cyrus said… you can’t do it.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Jo…” “Don’t feel guilty,” I said. “Just go. Live the life you wanted. Don’t look back at this place.” I walked past her and out the front door. The morning light was just beginning to spill over the mountains—pale, golden rays hitting the wet cobblestones. The drumming grew louder. I walked down the center of the road, the townspeople lining the sides. I heard the whispers. She’s doing it. Jodie’s staying. I had made it halfway to the chapel when someone came sprinting up behind me. It was Sawyer. He was breathless, his face drenched in sweat. “You can’t do this!” he shouted.

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Getting our family portrait taken at the end of every summer was an unbreakable tradition in our household. This year was no exception. We stood in the familiar, cramped studio of Gary’s Lens & Light on Main Street, posing against a mottled gray backdrop. The shutter clicked, the bright flash momentarily blinding me. Gary pulled his head out from behind the camera, flashing a wide, satisfied grin and giving us a thumbs-up. “Absolute perfection,” Gary declared, his voice booming in the small room. “What a beautiful family of three!” His words had barely landed before a sharp frown carved its way onto my face. “Did you miscount, Gary?” I interrupted, a flicker of irritation lacing my tone. “My sister, me, and my parents. We are clearly a family of four.” The moment the words left my mouth, the air in the room seemed to solidify. Gary’s practiced smile froze, turning brittle. Beside me, my parents slowly turned their heads. The way they looked at me—eyes wide, expressions utterly blank—made the hair on my arms stand up. It was a deeply unsettling, hollow kind of stare. “Sweetheart, what on earth are you talking about?” my mother said. Her voice carried a faint, almost imperceptible tremor. “You have always been our only child. What sister?” They practically dragged me out of the studio and into the car, but my mind was already racing, heavy with a suffocating dread. The second we got home, I sprinted to the hallway closet, tearing through boxes until I found the heavy leather-bound albums holding our past family portraits. I was going to find the proof. I was going to show them Haley’s face. But as I flipped open the thick pages, a wave of pure, glacial terror rushed from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. The blood in my veins felt like ice. Between my fourth and eleventh birthdays, there were eight family portraits. My fingers trembled as I touched the plastic sleeve of the first one. There were ten people in the photo. I turned to the second page. The number of people had dropped to nine. … I shoved the pages over, my breath coming in shallow gasps, until I reached the eighth photo—last year’s portrait. There were four people. For seven years, counting my sister who vanished today, seven children had disappeared from our family photos. Who were they? And where, dear God, did they all go? 1 “You’re lying to me!” I stormed into the living room, hurling the heavy album onto the coffee table with a resounding smack. My father looked up from his armchair, the TV remote hovering midway to the side table. My mother poked her head out from the kitchen, wiping flour onto her floral apron. “Lying about what, Kate?” she asked softly. “The portraits! Haley is right here! Look at all these people! Why are you telling me I’m an only child?” My parents exchanged a long, heavy look. My mother’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Kate, honey… your condition is flaring up again.” “I don’t have a condition!” I slammed my finger against the glossy paper. “This is Haley! She’s right here in the braids! She’s two years older than me, she has a tiny freckle above her left eyebrow, and she has to drink warm milk every single morning, she—” “That is enough.” My father stood up. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that brokered no argument. He reached over and calmly slid the album out from under my hands. “You are an only child, Kate. You always have been.” “No!” I snatched the album back, frantically flipping it open to shove Haley’s face into his line of sight. My hand froze mid-air. There were only three people in the photograph. My father, my mother, and me. I flipped the pages like a maniac. The second photo—three people. The third photo—three people. Every single page, just a perfectly neat, smiling family of three. “Kate…” My mother walked over and crouched in front of me, her voice trembling with what sounded like genuine heartbreak. “Listen to me, baby. When you were little, you had a terrible fever. A hundred and five degrees. It lasted for three days.” She reached out, gently touching my knee. “The doctors told us there might be lingering effects. You’ve always blurred the lines between your dreams and reality. Remember in third grade? You swore you had a classmate named Daisy, but the teacher told us she didn’t exist…” No. I don’t believe it. I shoved her hands away, spun around, and bolted out the front door. Mrs. Gable next door. She had watched us grow up. She would remember Haley. I hammered on her wooden door a dozen times before the deadbolt finally clicked. Mrs. Gable stood there in her reading glasses, looking utterly bewildered by the sight of me panting on her porch. “Oh my stars, Kate, what’s wrong? You’re sweating through your shirt, child.” She smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling. “Come inside, let me get you a piece of candy.” I lunged forward, grabbing her wrinkled, fragile hands. My voice shook violently. “Mrs. Gable, please, tell me the truth. I have an older sister, don’t I? Haley! She’s three years older, she wears her hair in a ponytail, and she always wears a red butterfly barrette!” I was begging now, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. “She disappeared today! And my parents are saying she never existed!” Mrs. Gable stared at me. For a few agonizing seconds, she just looked at me. Then, her gaze deepened into something inscrutable. “What on earth are you babbling about, sweetheart?” Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her hands out of my grasp. “Kate, you’ve been an only child since the day they brought you home. I’ve watched you grow up. What sister?” My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the porch planks. How was this possible? Just last week, Mrs. Gable had complimented Haley on the sweater she was knitting. She gave both of us candy. Just then, a heavy, warm hand clamped down on my shoulder from behind. “Mrs. Gable, I am so sorry for the disturbance this late,” my father said. I hadn’t even heard him cross the lawn. He offered her an apologetic, weary smile. “She’s been under a lot of pressure with school lately. A bit of a nervous breakdown. She’s been talking nonsense all evening.” Mrs. Gable waved him off, her face practically melting with pity. “Get that sweet girl inside and let her rest. Poor thing. Don’t push her too hard.” I was half-carried, half-dragged back into the house. Later, my mother brought a steaming mug of chamomile tea into my bedroom, gently stroking my hair. “Drink this, Kate. Be a good girl. Just sleep. Everything will make sense after you sleep.” When the mug was empty, I lay in the dark, my mind replaying the shifting images in the photo album. Was I actually losing my mind? Was Haley—and the seven other missing children—just a phantom created by a broken, fever-fried brain? I curled into a tight ball, my hands mindlessly searching under my pillow, desperate to anchor myself to something real. Suddenly, my fingertips brushed against something cold and hard of plastic. I pulled it out into the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. It was a tortoiseshell butterfly barrette. The tears came instantly, hot and fast, choking me. It was Haley’s favorite clip. Her best friend, Brooke, had given it to her for Christmas. I gripped the barrette so tightly the plastic dug into my palm. I wasn’t crazy. My sister was real. But why was everyone lying to me? Wait. Brooke. She went to our high school. There was no way Brooke would forget her. 2 The next morning, I forced myself to eat a bowl of cereal like everything was normal. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed out. The moment I hit the school grounds, I bypassed my locker and sprinted toward the junior hallway to find Brooke. She and Haley had been inseparable since kindergarten. If anyone remembered my sister, it was her. “Brooke!” I called out, breathless. “Hey, Kate! What are you doing in the upperclassmen wing?” Brooke grinned, affectionately ruffling my hair. I didn’t smile back. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the butterfly barrette, and held it flat on my palm. “Do you remember this? It’s Haley’s. She wears it every day.” Brooke glanced down at the clip, and then she laughed. “Kate, you don’t have a sister. That’s yours.” She looked at me like I was making a weird joke. “I gave that to you for your birthday last year, remember? You said the butterfly shape was your favorite. You wouldn’t take it off for a month.” My hands started to shake. “You didn’t give this to me. It’s my sister’s! You and Haley shared a desk in kindergarten! How can you not remember?” Brooke tilted her head. There was no hesitation in her eyes, no flicker of a lie. Just pure, unadulterated confusion. “Kate, we grew up together. You’re like a little sister to me. But I don’t remember you ever having a real sister.” Her smile faded into concern. “You’ve always been an only child. Are you okay?” She reached out to touch my forehead. “Are you sick? Let me take you to the nurse.” I gripped the barrette and backed away, stumbling over my own feet. When she reached for my arm, I turned and bolted. I flew down the stairs, running until my lungs burned, and collapsed into my desk in the sophomore homeroom. My head was a hive of buzzing static. Maybe they were right. Maybe there never was a Haley. Maybe the barrette had always been mine. Maybe my mind had fabricated this entire person to cope with my own loneliness. Maybe I really did need to see a psychiatrist. I have no idea how I survived the rest of the school day. When I got home, the house was empty. My parents were still at work. I locked myself in the bathroom, turning the faucet to cold, and violently splashed water on my face, praying for clarity. The girl staring back at me in the mirror was pale, her eyes hollow and unfocused. I looked insane. I slid down the bathroom wall, wrapping my arms around my knees as the dam finally broke. I wept until my ribs ached. I was sick. I was deeply, fundamentally broken. And then, through my blurred vision, I saw it. On the edge of the wooden doorframe, about five feet off the ground. Two faint, jagged lines carved deep into the wood, one slightly higher than the other, maybe two inches apart. Next to the higher notch, clumsily carved into the paint, was the letter H. Next to the lower notch was an M. It was from when we were kids. Haley and I used to stand back-to-back against the doorframe, using one of Dad’s spare razor blades to secretly mark our heights, measuring who was growing faster. The blood roared back into my ears. My scalp prickled with a sudden, electric heat. You can alter digital photos. You can fake text messages. But you cannot fake physical scars carved into the very bones of a house. I scrambled up and ran my fingers over the rough, splintered wood. My knuckles turned white. I was not crazy. Haley existed. She stood right here, pressing her back against this wood, going up on her tiptoes just to be a little taller than me. Someone was erasing her. My parents, Mrs. Gable, Brooke… every single one of them was in on it. I stood up, wiping my wet face with the back of my sleeve. They could force the town to play along, but they couldn’t force the actual law. I needed to go to the police. 3 “I need to report a missing person!” I threw myself against the high counter of the local precinct, my words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “My sister is gone! And my parents and everyone else are pretending she never existed!” The duty officer, a heavyset, middle-aged man with a permanent scowl, looked down at me. “Whoa, slow down, kid. Take a breath. What’s your name? What’s your sister’s name? When was she last seen?” I spilled everything. The photos, the denials, the barrette, the doorframe. The officer listened, his expression tightening. He turned to his computer and typed in my information. “You’re Kate. Father is Richard, mother is Susan, right?” He squinted at the monitor, clicking his mouse. “Yes! Please, search for Haley! Look her up! She’s really gone!” I pleaded, leaning over the counter. The officer was silent for a long moment. Then, he grabbed the edges of his monitor and swiveled it to face me. His face was stone-cold. “Look for yourself, kid.” Right there on the screen, the official state registry glowed blue and white: Head of Household: Richard. Spouse: Susan. Dependents: Kate (Only Child). He opened another tab, searching the county school records, scrolling down page after page. “There is no record of a Haley in this entire county. Not a birth certificate, not a school file. Nothing.” “No… no, that’s impossible…” I stumbled backward, the air knocked out of my lungs. Seeing my distress, the officer immediately picked up the desk phone and called my parents. They arrived fifteen minutes later. My mother burst through the precinct doors and threw her arms around me. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice cracking with raw emotion. “Kate, you ran off again. Do you know how terrified I was? I was losing my mind looking for you!” My father stood behind her, taking off his glasses to wipe the lenses. He looked exhausted. He turned to the officer. “I am so sorry, Officer. When she was young, she had a terrible fever. It didn’t break for three days. Ever since then, she gets these… episodes. She hallucinates people. We’ve taken her to doctors, they call it hysteria. She’s on medication.” The officer sighed and gave me a pitying look. “Look, kid, stop working yourself up. Look how fast your folks rushed down here. They love you.” The ride home was suffocatingly quiet. I sat in the back of our old station wagon. My dad drove in silence, the streetlights rhythmically casting shadows over his face. My mother sat in the passenger seat, turning around every two minutes to check on me with worried, mournful eyes. As we drove down Main Street, my dad pulled over. Mom hopped out and bought a candy apple from a corner vendor. “Here,” she said, handing it to me through the window. “Your favorite.” I took a bite. The sugary, crimson shell cracked, and the tart juice flooded my mouth. Without warning, a tear slipped down my cheek. The police database was connected to the state. It was the ultimate, undeniable truth. Maybe they were right. Maybe I really was sick. There was no sister. I was an only child. I had these wonderful parents, and I was torturing them with my broken brain. I wiped my face aggressively. I’m done, I promised myself. Starting today, I will never mention Haley again. But just as the car rolled past the dark, narrow alleyway at the end of Main Street, a faint, chilling sound drifted through the open window. It was the sound of children singing a jump-rope rhyme: One, two, wash them clean, walk them down the street unseen. Three, four, stand in line, follow the stranger, you’ll be fine. Five, six, close your eyes, don’t look up into the skies. Seven, eight, on the wall, in the studio, we hang them all. A hazy, fragmented memory flashed in my mind: a group of children, holding hands, singing in the dark. … From that day on, I became the perfect daughter. I didn’t speak Haley’s name. The oppressive tension in the house visibly evaporated. My mother started humming while cooking dinner again. My father would read the morning paper and chuckle, reading snippets out loud to me. It was as if, as long as I kept the ghost buried, life was picture-perfect. During breakfast on Saturday, my dad suddenly tapped his forehead. “Ah, the portraits from last week should be ready. Kate, do you mind swinging by Main Street this afternoon to pick them up? I’ve got overtime today.” “Sure,” I said, keeping my eyes on my oatmeal. At three o’clock, I pushed open the glass door of Gary’s Lens & Light. The bell chimed into an empty room. “Hello?” No answer. I called out again, stepping up to the front counter. Several brown envelopes were scattered across the glass display case. I sifted through them until I found the one marked with my father’s name. I pulled the photo out. It was the three of us. Me in the middle, my parents flanking me, against that mottled backdrop. Just the three of us. I stared at it until the faces blurred, then shoved it back into the envelope. As I turned to leave, something caught the corner of my eye. Tucked beneath the counter, in a small, shadowy compartment, the edge of a stack of photo negatives was sticking out. There were strange, microscopic scratches on them. Frowning, I picked the negatives up and held them to the light. They weren’t random scratches. They were deliberate, tiny grooves dug fiercely into the film with a fingernail. The scratches were of varying lengths. Irregular, but patterned. I froze, the breath dying in my throat. 4 It was Morse code. When Haley and I went through a detective novel phase, we memorized Morse code to pass secret notes that our parents couldn’t read. It was a language only the two of us shared. My hands shook so violently the negatives rattled against each other. I squinted at the tiny marks. Dash… dot… dash… I… WAS… SOLD… Dot… dot… dash… RUN… I WAS SOLD! RUN!

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The bridal suite was a hurricane of hairspray, half-empty champagne flutes, and the shrill, joyful chatter of my bridesmaids. Through the chaos, my foster sister, Molly, suddenly stepped forward. She pulled a small foil packet of condoms from her clutch, a teasing, wicked smile playing on her lips as she looked at Colin. “So, Colin,” she purred, drawing out the syllables. “When was the last time you got lucky?” I opened my mouth, about to shoot her a warning look to dial back the raunchy jokes. But Colin didn’t even blink. “Last night,” he answered smoothly. I let out a soft breath of laughter, assuming he was playing along. After all, tradition dictated we spend the night before the wedding apart; he wasn’t even supposed to see me until I walked down the aisle. But then, he reached into the breast pocket of his tailored tuxedo. He pulled out a crisp, embossed piece of paper—a marriage certificate from the County Clerk’s office—and held it right in front of my face. “We spent all night in the bridal suite you set up,” he said, his voice casual, as if he were discussing the weather. “Used up half that box. We even squeezed in a trip to City Hall this morning to make it official. That’s why I was a little late getting here.” The room went dead silent. My fingers went numb. I hurled my bridal bouquet directly at his chest, my eyes burning. “Who the hell is she?” I demanded, my voice cracking. He just smiled, a small, patronizing upward curve of his lips, and flipped the certificate open. “See for yourself.” When my eyes finally focused on the names and the attached photo, the bottom dropped out of my stomach. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Molly leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, her voice a triumphant whisper. “It’s your choice, sis. Do you want to be the other woman, just like your mother? Or are you going to be a good girl and step aside?” … For a second, the entire world simply ceased to exist. My gaze shifted mechanically from Colin’s handsome, familiar face to Molly’s. These two people standing in front of me. One was the man I had loved fiercely for eight years. The other was the girl I had pulled out of a backwoods nightmare, the foster sister I had practically raised with my own two hands. And last night, they had tangled the sheets in the very room I had painstakingly decorated for my wedding night. They had gone to City Hall and gotten legally married on the morning of my wedding. The sheer, suffocating weight of the betrayal pressed down on my chest until I couldn’t breathe. “Do you have any idea what today is?” I asked, a violent tremor in my voice. He nodded, entirely unbothered. “Of course. It’s our wedding day. And our eight-year anniversary.” He knew. He knew all of it. I had fantasized about my wedding with Colin a thousand times, playing it over in my head like a beloved movie. But I never imagined an opening scene this humiliating. He dropped to one knee in front of me. It was the exact same posture he had taken eight years ago when he shyly asked me to be his girlfriend. But the fervent, burning devotion that had once lit up his eyes was entirely gone. “Why today?” I whispered. “Why did it have to be today?” He carefully folded the marriage certificate and slid it back into his pocket, right beneath his custom boutonnière. The sight was blindingly absurd. “No real reason,” he said softly. “Molly wanted it. That’s all.” A jagged, broken breath escaped my lips. Tears slipped down my cheeks, landing in dark, heavy drops on the bodice of my custom ivory gown. Just because Molly wanted it. For a fleeting whim, Colin was willing to take our eight years of history and grind it into the dirt on my wedding day, offering up my dignity just to see her smile. He pulled a tissue from the vanity and reached out to dab at my face. “Don’t cry. You’ll ruin your makeup, Clara. Didn’t you say you wanted to be the most beautiful bride?” There was a flicker of helplessness in his eyes, a familiar look that sent a sharp ache through my ribs. In a flash, I remembered our college years. I had taken on extra shifts modeling bridal wear just to afford a nice watch for his birthday. Every time he picked me up from work, he would kiss my forehead and tell me I was the most beautiful bride in the world. I had worn dozens of wedding dresses for money, but I had never looked forward to wearing one more than I did today. And now, he had turned the day I had waited nearly a decade for into a grotesque punchline. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. Hard. “You bastard,” I spat. He ground his jaw, the muscle ticking, but he didn’t argue. Suddenly, Molly dropped to her knees in front of me, huge crocodile tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Clara. I’m sorry for ruining your day. But when true love happens, you just… you can’t fight it.” She looked the picture of fragile innocence. But the smug glint buried deep in her pupils was a glaring reminder of how utterly blind I had been. “I took care of you for ten years, Molly. I was a mother to you,” I said, my voice shaking with a rage so pure it felt holy. “When you graduated and couldn’t find a job, I begged my boss to hire you. I trained you myself. When your deadbeat family tried to sell you off to that older guy to pay for your brother’s debts, I was the one who paid them off…” “Clara, that’s enough!” Colin barked, cutting me off. A flash of protective anger crossed his face. He didn’t even try to hide how much he cared for her. “She’s sensitive. Do you really need to traumatize her by dragging up ancient history?” “Sensitive?” I barked a manic laugh. “She was sensitive enough to climb into your bed!” Colin stiffened. He instinctively shifted his body to shield hers. “She’s innocent in this. I was drunk. I slipped up and pulled her into bed. I took her virginity, Clara. I have to take responsibility. I couldn’t just let her be my dirty secret.” His words poured over me like a bucket of ice water. I stared at him for two agonizing seconds before a hollow laugh tore from my throat. “And when you were standing at City Hall, signing that paper, did it ever cross your mind what I was supposed to do?” He frowned, looking at me with dead-serious earnestness. “I did think about it, Clara. We’ve been together for eight years. Today’s ceremony is for our families, to give everyone the show they expect. As long as you keep your mouth shut, no one has to know we aren’t legally married.” A tidal wave of absurdity crashed over me. I looked at the man standing before me—this man speaking with such quiet, terrifying rationality—and felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. In his twisted mind, a marriage could be neatly severed down the middle: the legal document for Molly, the glamorous party for me. Molly looked up at me, her voice trembling with manufactured timidity. “Don’t worry, Clara. I promise I won’t try to steal him away from you day-to-day.” The sound of my name in her mouth made my stomach heave. “Don’t speak to me,” I said, stepping back. I looked at Colin. “I’m not marrying you. The wedding is off.” Surprise flickered in Colin’s eyes. He looked at me like I was a petulant, unreasonable child throwing a tantrum. “Clara, the guests are already seated. You can’t just cancel. Stop being so emotional. Molly isn’t going to fight you for anything. Do you really need to make a massive scene?” His sheer, breathtaking audacity almost made me laugh again. This wedding reception was real. But Molly’s marriage certificate was also real. Colin thought he could partition his life, but I refused to play the role of the oblivious fool. “Are you honestly acting like you aren’t the one who created this freak show?” I asked. Colin’s expression darkened. A cold sneer curled the corner of his mouth. “You’re the one who begged for a lavish wedding, Clara. You threw your own money at it. And now you’re calling it a freak show? Don’t you think that’s a little pathetic?” I froze. My mouth opened, but the words died in my throat. When we were picking venues, I had fallen in love with a stunning botanical hall, planning to fill it with thousands of white baby’s breath flowers. But it cost fifty grand. Colin had frowned, insisting it wasn’t in the budget. I hadn’t wanted to compromise on a once-in-a-lifetime day, so I quietly emptied my own savings account, handing him the extra cash to cover it. How stupid I was. I never stopped to wonder why a man making a high six-figure salary couldn’t afford the venue. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that I wasn’t worth it. His sneer felt like a physical knife twisting in my eyes. From the very beginning, I was the only one who wanted this. The humiliation I was currently drowning in was something I had literally paid fifty thousand dollars for. Seeing the devastation on my face, a flash of regret briefly softened Colin’s features. His tone dropped an octave. “Clara, I know I screwed up. I’m sorry. But we have to walk down the aisle today.” The sincerity in his eyes made my head spin. I couldn’t tell if he genuinely wanted to stand at the altar with me, or if he was just terrified of the public embarrassment. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. “I’m not doing it, Colin,” I said, my voice dead. “I actually have a shred of self-respect. I’m not going to put on a white dress and smile for the cameras knowing you’re legally bound to someone else.” His face drained of color. Molly immediately clutched his arm, bursting into fresh, pathetic sobs. “Are you calling me shameless, Clara? If it bothers you that much, I’ll divorce him right now! As long as Colin is happy, I don’t care about a piece of paper!” I glared at her, my lip curling in disgust. “Was my bridal suite comfortable, Molly? Did you get off on the thrill of screwing the man who practically acted as your older brother?” Her face went pale. She reached out, weakly tugging at the hem of my dress. “I was forced into this! You’re so smart, Clara, you have a great career, you have a family that loves you. You’ll find someone better. But if I don’t marry Colin, my parents will drag me back to the trailer park and force me to marry that degenerate with three ex-wives.” Three years ago, I had believed that exact sob story. And my reward was absolute, unfiltered betrayal. “Your misery is not my problem, Molly,” I said coldly. “And it certainly isn’t an excuse to sleep with my fiancé and destroy my life.” She stiffened. Then, turning her tear-streaked face up to Colin, she whimpered, “I didn’t…” Colin pulled her against his chest, murmuring soft assurances into her hair. He whispered a dozen gentle promises until a weak smile finally broke through her tears. He let out a sigh of relief. Then, he turned his gaze back to me, his eyes entirely devoid of warmth. “There’s no law against cheating, Clara,” he said flatly. “And considering your own mother’s history, I hardly think the daughter of a homewrecker has the moral high ground to judge us.” My head snapped up. Molly peeked at me from the safety of his arms, her eyes wide with exaggerated shock. “Oh my god. I had no idea your family was so… scandalous. No wonder you’re so obsessed with a big, flashy wedding. People always overcompensate for what they lack, right?” Colin winced slightly, realizing he had gone too far. He picked my fallen bouquet off the floor and tried to press it into my hands. “Clara… I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. Just forget it.” I violently shoved his hands away. It’s the instinctive, unfiltered words that do the most damage. I realized then that the mouth that whispered ‘I love you’ could just as easily tear me to shreds. I would never forget the look of utter disgust that had just crossed his face. It was burned into my retinas forever. Years ago, when I finally summoned the courage to tell him about my mother’s past—how she had been manipulated by a married man, how she was cast out and left to raise me alone—his eyes had filled with tears. He had pulled me into his arms, swearing that I wasn’t defined by my family. He promised he would protect me forever. But the boy who made those promises was gone. Today, to protect his new mistress, he had weaponized my deepest, bloodiest wound and driven the knife all the way to the hilt. “Do you love her?” I asked. Colin looked at me, completely unapologetic. “I don’t know about love. But I do care about her. You know I don’t lie to you.” You know I don’t lie to you. When we first got together, his one vow was total honesty. Over the years, he was transparent to a fault. Even when his frat brothers mocked him for being whipped, he wore it like a badge of honor. I like belonging to Clara, he’d say. I’d never lie to her. Even if I cheated, I’d tell her to her face. He had kept his promise. But his honesty had become a weapon. A sharp knock on the door interrupted us. The wedding coordinator poked her head in. “Are we ready in here? The guests are waiting.” Ignoring Colin’s outstretched hand, I stumbled past him toward the door. Just as my fingers grazed the handle, he grabbed my wrist. “Are you sure about this, Clara? You’re really going to blow this up?” “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He let out a dark, breathless chuckle. “Fine. If you walk out, Molly is putting on the dress. At least we actually have the paperwork to back it up.” Molly immediately clung to his bicep, practically buzzing with excitement. “Oh, yes! When Clara was at her fitting, I secretly tried on the backup gown. It fit me perfectly. It’s meant to be.” She covered her mouth, feigning guilt. “Oops. Did I say that out loud?” The heavy silk of my dress suddenly felt like it was suffocating me. I grabbed the fabric at my collar, desperately trying to yank it down, but Colin grabbed my shoulders, pinning me in place. “Stop it, Clara,” he hissed. “Maybe you can handle the fallout of a canceled wedding, but are you absolutely sure your mother’s heart can take the shock?” His eyes gleamed with a sickening certainty. He was waiting for me to break. Just like every other time we argued, he would simply stare me down in silence until I caved. Before I could answer, the door swung wide open. A swarm of family members and bridesmaids poured into the suite. An aunt caught sight of my face and beamed. “Oh, look! The bride is already crying happy tears!” I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing the bile in my throat. I couldn’t let my mother see this. Not yet. Not like this. We were ushered onto the plush sofa for a pre-wedding family photo. As the photographer adjusted the lighting, Colin leaned close to my ear. “Smile, Clara.” I forced the corners of my mouth up, my muscles trembling. Just then, a heavy piece of paper slipped from Colin’s jacket and landed squarely in my lap. My mother, sitting on my other side, quickly picked it up, a fond smile on her face. “Honestly, you two. I know you’re crazy about each other, but carrying your marriage certificate during the photos? Put this away before you lose it.” I gave a stiff, jerky nod. I reached for it, but a hand darted out and snatched it away. Molly pressed the certificate to her chest, batting her eyelashes innocently. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. This is actually mine.” My mother chuckled, clearly confused. Molly traced the edge of the paper with her French-manicured nail, looking directly at my mother. “Would you like to see?” “Molly, shut your mouth,” I snarled, the temperature in the room plummeting. My anger only fueled her twisted satisfaction. She flipped the document open and shoved it right in my mother’s face. “Did you know your daughter is a homewrecker, just like you?” she asked sweetly. The words dropped like a bomb. The room instantly erupted into chaotic murmurs. I could feel a dozen pairs of eyes scraping over my skin, peeling back my layers. My mother stared at the photo of Colin and Molly on the legal document. The blood drained from her face, only to rush back in a violently flush of rage. She stood up, instinctively throwing her arm in front of me to shield me. “How dare you!” my mother choked out. “My daughter has been with him for eight years! If anyone is a homewrecker, it’s you!” Tears burned my eyes at the sight of her trembling back. Molly didn’t flinch. She waved the certificate in the air for the room to see. “We’re legally married. What else do you call her but a mistress? Everyone knows your sordid history. You got knocked up by a married man and thrown out into the street. With a mother like you, it’s no surprise the apple didn’t fall far from the tree!” A blinding, primal rage hijacked my nervous system. I lunged forward, hands raised, wanting nothing more than to rip the hair from Molly’s scalp. “Don’t you ever speak to my mother like that!” But Colin caught me around the waist, his arms locking around me like iron bands, pinning me back. Suddenly, a gasp echoed from behind us. I whipped my head around. My mother’s face was ashen, her lips turning a faint, terrifying shade of blue. She clutched her chest, her knees buckling as she collapsed onto the carpet. “Mom!” I thrashed against Colin’s grip, finally breaking free, and threw myself onto the floor beside her. Tears splashed violently against the rug. My hands shook uncontrollably as I fumbled for my phone. “Mom, hold on, I’m calling 911, just hold on—” A sharp kick sent my phone skittering across the hardwood floor. Molly stood over me, her chest heaving, a look of unhinged malice on her face. “You aren’t calling anyone,” Molly spat. “Not until you get on your knees and press your forehead to this floor. Beg me for her life, Clara.” I scrambled toward the phone, but Molly kicked it further away, out of reach. I looked up at Colin, desperate. But his face was a mask of cold stone. “Apologize to my wife, Clara,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Your mother is just having a panic attack. She’ll live. But Molly’s honor matters.” The tears blinded me. “She insulted my mother first!” I screamed, my voice breaking. His eyes were dead, devoid of a single ounce of the love he had harbored for eight years. “She is the woman I legally married. When you attack her, you attack me. Apologize.” Molly sniffled, burying her face in his shoulder. “It’s fine, Colin. I don’t want to cause trouble…” Colin tightened his hold on her, stroking her hair. “No. I won’t let anyone disrespect you.” Eight years. Eight years of my life given to this man, and he was demanding I sacrifice my dignity to feed her ego, while my mother lay dying on the floor. “We’re wasting time, Clara,” Molly whispered, her voice like a razor blade. “She doesn’t look so good.” I closed my eyes. The world shattered into a million irreparable pieces. I slowly pushed myself onto my knees. I bent forward. My forehead hit the cold floor. One. Two. I bowed over and over again, until the skin on my forehead tore and a smear of red stained the floorboards. Beside me, my mother’s breathing grew horribly, impossibly shallow. “That’s not enough,” Colin said coldly. “Take the dress off, Clara. Give it to Molly. Your mother needs a doctor, but my wedding is still happening.” I moved like a hollowed-out machine. I unzipped the custom silk gown, stepping out of it and leaving it in a crumpled white heap on the floor. I sat there, shivering in my slip, watching him wrap his arm around Molly’s waist. They walked out of the suite, bathed in the confused but obedient applause of his family. As the faint, distant wail of an ambulance siren finally cut through the air, I crawled back to my mother’s side. Her eyes had gone cloudy and dim. “Oh, my sweet girl…” she gasped, her voice barely a rattle. “This is my fault. I was a fool… and you’re paying for my sins. But you… you shouldn’t have to bow to anyone.” She reached up, her trembling fingers brushing the blood from my forehead. And then, she locked her jaw. A violent spasm seized her body, her teeth sinking so hard into her own lip that blood welled up, spilling over her chin. She chose the physical agony, her heart giving out under the sheer, unbearable weight of the humiliation. “Mom!” I shrieked, the sound tearing my vocal cords. The paramedics rushed in a minute later, tossing equipment onto the floor, pumping her chest, pushing epinephrine. But eventually, the medic rocked back on his heels and slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. She’s gone.” My mother died because of me. She died so I wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. With fingers entirely slick with blood, I found my phone. I opened my messages and typed one final text to Colin.

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I was the protagonist of a story written in blood and bitterness. The System forced me into this role, a celestial architect whispering that if I played my part—if I followed the script of my own destruction to the letter—I would receive the only thing I ever wanted. I just wanted to know if Matt could come back. If there was a version of the universe where he wasn’t a ghost. The System’s answer was a riddle, a vague promise that it all depended on my “performance.” And so, I stepped onto a path of orchestrated agony. Ninety-nine chapters of slander, physical torment, and betrayal, all to earn the “love” of the leading man, Beckett. But I didn’t want his love. I wanted the nightmare to end. The System was a cold, silent observer, indifferent to my breaking bones and shattered heart. It only prodded me to suffer more, to bleed more beautifully for the plot. Until the day I held my son’s cold, lifeless body and coughed up a spray of crimson despair. Then, the machine glitched. The voice that had been metallic and merciless for years suddenly softened. It used the secret name only Matt had ever known. “Mona,” it whispered. It told me to let go. It told me to finally live a life that wasn’t a tragedy. … It took four years of marriage to Beckett to finally have a son. Jamie was only ten months old. Yesterday morning, he had opened his mouth—showing off those two tiny, pearl-like front teeth—and babbled his very first word: “Mama.” So, when I was standing in the waist-deep, freezing currents of the river at dusk, scavenging for a diamond hairpin that belonged to Cynthia—Beckett’s favorite mistress—I thought of that one word. It made the ice in my veins bearable. I even found the strength to whisper to the System, “I never recovered from the birth. I’ve been in this water for an hour. My body is numb. The cold is settling in my womb; I’ll never be able to carry another child. Is this enough? Is this tragic enough for you?” The System paused. When it spoke, it was only three words: “Not quite yet.” I was shaking so hard my jaw ached. My skin was a ghostly blue. “Not enough? Beckett took my blood to ‘cure’ Cynthia’s feigned illness. I was bedridden for months. When the assassins came, you made me jump in front of him. I was blinded by that caustic powder for half a year. And while I sat in the dark, he took every servant from my wing to throw a gala for Cynthia’s birthday. I tripped and cracked my skull on the marble, and I lay there for twenty-four hours before anyone noticed I was missing.” My voice broke, a ragged sob catching in my throat. “When Jamie was born, I nearly bled out. Beckett was away on a weekend retreat with her. He didn’t even send for the specialist until it was too late. I live in constant pain now. Every rainy day feels like my bones are being crushed. Is that still not enough?” The System remained unmoved. It was mechanical, chillingly calm. “We need to turn up the heat,” it said. “If you won’t lean into the role, Mona, I’ll have to intervene.” A jolt of pure terror spiked through my chest. “What are you going to do?” Before the words left my lips, a scream tore through the air from the riverbank. “Help! The hunting hounds! Cynthia’s dogs have broken out of their enclosure!” A servant pointed, his hand trembling, toward the nursery wing. Cynthia was standing on the bank, looking down at me with a sharp, indecipherable smile. “Oh dear,” she purred. “It looks like they’re heading straight for your quarters, darling.” Jamie didn’t survive the night. I never heard him say “Mama” a second time. The night was a frozen tomb. My wet clothes were a shroud of ice against my skin, but Jamie’s small body was colder. I sat in the dark, cradling him, my world reduced to a singular, agonizing void. Beckett came in late. He knelt beside me, his eyes flickering with something that might have been pity, or perhaps just irritation at the mess. “Mona, don’t blame Cynthia,” he said, his voice smooth and maddeningly reasonable. “It was an accident. She’s devastated.” He draped his heavy wool coat over my shoulders. “We’re young. We’ll have another.” I didn’t look at him. I whispered to the void: “Wasn’t I supposed to be the only one who suffered? Why the baby? Why him?” The System chuckled—a sound of pure, satisfied malice. “Pain in the child is a dagger in the mother’s heart. Physical torture is nothing compared to this. Look, the hero is actually showing you affection now. Objective achieved.” The coat was thick, but it brought no warmth. Beckett reached down to take the boy from my arms. “Let him go, Mona. You can’t keep holding him. You’re shivering, and frankly, you’re scaring Cynthia. She can’t sleep with you looking like this.” “No!” I pulled back, clutching Jamie to my chest. But I was weak, and he was strong. I watched, paralyzed, as Beckett handed my son to a servant. “Bury him tonight,” Beckett ordered. “Deep. Cynthia is early in her pregnancy; I don’t want the gloom of this house affecting her or the baby.” I screamed then. A raw, primal sound until my lungs burned and my vision went black. My heart felt like it was physically tearing. I tasted iron, spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, and felt the world slip away. In the haze of my collapsing consciousness, I heard a voice. It wasn’t the System’s metallic drone. It was a ghost. “Mona.” How many years had it been since I heard that? Six? Only Matt called me Mona. Growing up, I never understood why my parents looked through me as if I were a ghost while they doted on my cousin, Lola. They called her their “Little Moonlight.” To them, I was just “Mona” when they were in a good mood, and a “curse on the family” when they weren’t. Lola got the silk dresses, the French pastries, the front-row seats. I got the scraps, if there were any left. My parents would rather give my hand-me-downs to the maids than see me in something nice. Then, when I was twelve, I met Matt. There was a garden party at our estate. As usual, I was forbidden from leaving my room. The staff was too busy to bring me food, and the hunger became a physical ache. I snuck down to the kitchens to steal a piece of bread, but the new cook caught me. She didn’t know who I was. She screamed at the top of her lungs about a “filthy little thief.” I begged her to be quiet, telling her I was the daughter of the house. She laughed in my face. “I know Miss Lola. You? You look like you crawled out of a coal chute. No lady steals bread like a rat.” The commotion brought Lola out. She looked radiant in her lace and ribbons. She looked at me with a theatrical sort of disappointment. “How could my aunt and uncle raise such a dishonest girl? You’re a disgrace, Mona. Do you want to humiliate us in front of the Governor?” She turned to the stable hands. “Teach her a lesson. Use the switch. Hard. I’m doing this for her own good.” The switch didn’t just hit my hands. It hit everywhere. I was a scrawny kid, and every blow felt like it was striking bone. That’s when Matt appeared. He was a twelve-year-old boy with a sense of justice that burned like a sun. He didn’t say a word; he just kicked the stable hands away from me. “Lola,” he said, his voice cold as a winter snap. “Do you actually think anyone believes you’re the lady of this house? You’re a guest. A parasite. You’ve got a thick skin and a black heart.” He looked at my swollen, bleeding hands. “I heard my father was considering a marriage alliance between you and my older brother. I’m going home to make sure that never happens.” Lola fled in tears. Matt sat with me and cleaned my wounds. “The more you shrink, the more they’ll step on you,” he told me. “You have to stand up, Mona. Make them look at you.” The spring sun caught the gold in his hair. I stared at him, thinking he looked like a young god who had accidentally wandered into my miserable life. From that day on, Matt was my shield. His family was legendary—old money, political power—and everyone wanted a piece of him. But he only wanted to be near me. He was the only anomaly in my “tragedy.” He fought my parents until they moved me out of the damp servant’s room and into a sunlit bedroom. He hired a world-class pianist to tutor me and me alone. When Lola tried to join the lessons, he told her, “Music requires a soul. You’re unqualified.” I blossomed. I became a woman of talent and repute, no longer a shadow. And then, at seventeen, Matt enlisted. My father’s career had tanked, and Matt’s family refused to let him marry “beneath” him. He told me, “Mona, wait for me. I’m going to earn my own name. I’ll come back with enough medals that no one can say no to us.” He never came back. He took a bullet meant for the President’s son during an extraction mission. It was a messy, poisoned end. The man he saved held his hand as he died and asked for his final wish. Matt used his last breath to secure a legacy for me. Not a marriage, but a title and a trust—something my parents could never touch. “Make her a Lady,” he whispered. “Don’t let them hurt her anymore.” “Anything else?” the man asked. Matt closed his eyes. “Find her someone good… someone to… take care of her…” The dream shattered. I woke up drenched in sweat. Beckett was sitting by my bed, his eyes bloodshot. A wave of pure exhaustion and revulsion washed over me. I turned my head away. He was the “good man” the government had chosen for me. The Governor’s younger brother. Handsome, powerful, prestigious. To the world, he was the ultimate catch. “You’re finally awake,” he said. “You’ve been out for three days.” My maid chimed in from the corner, trying to score points for him. “The Senator hasn’t left your side, ma’am. He’s been devastated.” I didn’t ask about Jamie. I already knew the answer. The System whispered that I was the heroine of a tragedy, and this was simply my tax to pay. Beckett watched my numb face, searching for a spark of gratitude. “Mona, word of what happened to the boy reached the Governor’s office. He’s furious. He’s demanding I send Cynthia away.” He sighed and took my hand. “You’ve always been the bigger person. You wouldn’t want to see a pregnant woman out on the streets with nowhere to go, would you?” I pulled my hand back. “What do you want me to do, Beckett?” “Go to the Governor’s wife. Tell her the baby’s death was an accident caused by your own negligence. Tell her it had nothing to do with Cynthia’s dogs. They’re close; she’ll listen to you.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw his eyes out. But I felt like I was wearing a lead mask. My emotions were trapped behind a wall of scripted compliance. If I refused, the System would find a new way to break me. “I—” I was about to say, I’ll do it. But a voice in my head—silent for days—suddenly spoke. It wasn’t the usual robotic chime. It was a low, vibrating growl. “Refuse him.” I froze. “Refuse him,” the voice repeated. “You are the victim. Why the hell are you looking out for him?” I wondered if I had finally lost my mind. The System had first appeared on the anniversary of Matt’s death. I had been sitting at his grave with a bottle of pills, ready to follow him. “If the lead dies, the story collapses,” the System had said then. “This Matt person wasn’t in the script. He ruined your trajectory. I won’t allow it. You have to suffer until the end.” I had tried to swallow the pills anyway. “Stop!” it had yelled. “If you cooperate, I’ll give you a reward. Your deepest wish.” “Can you bring Matt back?” “Perform well, and we’ll see,” it had replied. For four years, I had been its puppet. It had never told me to disobey. “Come on,” the voice urged, sounding almost like a coach. “Repeat after me: Go to hell, you spineless, pathetic bastard. You think I’m going to help you? In your dreams.” I opened my mouth. “Go to—” Beckett smiled, relieved. “—hell,” I finished. “You spineless, pathetic bastard.” His smile died. He looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. “What did you just say?” I looked him in the eye, the lead mask finally cracking. “I said, go to hell. You think I’m going to cover for you? In your dreams.” I felt the hot sting of tears—real tears—for the first time in years. “Think of Jamie, Beckett. You know he was murdered by her negligence, and you don’t even care. You aren’t a father. You aren’t even a man. I hope when you close your eyes at night, you see his ghost standing at the foot of your bed.” Beckett’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He tried to speak, sputtered, and finally stormed out of the room. I sat there, stunned. “Now what?” I asked the System. “What’s the next ‘tragedy’ task?” “The sun is out,” the voice said. “Go for a walk in the garden. The hydrangeas are blooming.” “That’s it?” “That’s it. Go. I’m right here with you.” Usually, it would have snapped at me for being lazy. It would have reminded me that my wounds were healed enough to start the next round of misery. I went to the garden. The hydrangeas were a vibrant, defiant blue. They reminded me of the little sweater I’d been knitting for Jamie. I had embroidered tiny flowers on the sleeves. He never got to see the real ones. Cynthia blocked my path. She had a trail of servants behind her, her chin tilted high. “Mona, it doesn’t matter if you won’t talk to the Governor’s wife,” she sneered. “Beckett went himself. He’s currently groveling in the office, doing whatever it takes to keep me here.” She plucked a blue bloom and stepped closer. “And just so you know… Beckett knows the dogs weren’t an accident. But he can’t bring himself to punish me. He saw me cry for two minutes and promised me that our child—my child—will inherit everything. You might be the wife on paper, but you have nothing. My baby is worth a hundred of your dead brat.” My hands curled into fists. This was the script. This was the “heartbreak” the System lived for. “Kill her.” The voice in my head was a cold blade of steel. “I’m tired of her,” it said. “A glorified social climber who thinks she’s a queen because a coward sleeps with her? She’s disgusting. You have a title, Mona. You have power she can’t touch. Kill her.” I gasped. “I… I can?” “…Matt taught you how to defend yourself, didn’t he?” the voice softened. “Mona, use what he gave you.” He called me Mona again. Matt had taught me how to use a knife. He said a girl like me needed a “bite.” I had practiced for hours, over and over, until Matt would look at me with that proud, lopsided grin. “You’re a natural, Mona.” When Lola had tried to corner me one last time, Matt had sat on the garden wall, the wind catching his hair. “Use it, Mona,” he’d shouted. I had cut her hair off in one clean swipe. She never touched me again. I had forgotten I was that girl. I didn’t have a knife, but I had a heavy, sharpened silver hairpin—the one Matt had given me years ago. “Now,” the System whispered. I moved with a speed I didn’t know I still possessed. I drove the pin into the soft, vulnerable space of Cynthia’s throat. The look in her eyes as she fell was one of pure, unadulterated shock. Do you see this, Jamie? I thought. Matt, are you watching? I didn’t cry for long. The System nudged me again. “Go to the Governor’s residence. Now.” When Beckett found out, he would lose his mind. I couldn’t kill him yet—not in broad daylight. I needed a sanctuary. I wiped the blood off the silver pin using Cynthia’s expensive silk dress. I couldn’t lose the pin. It was all I had left of him. The servants were frozen in terror. It took me walking halfway across the estate before I heard the first scream. I ran into Beckett at the gates. When he saw me, a flicker of relief crossed his face before he masked it with his usual stoicism. “I knew you’d come around, Mona. You’re doing the right thing for the family. The Governor has dropped the inquiry.” I didn’t say a word. I just walked past him. “Mona!” he called out. “About this morning… I’ll overlook the things you said. You were grieving. You weren’t yourself. But from now on, you will be the dignified wife I married. I’ve already spoken to a specialist… we’ll have another child soon. I promise.” The iron gates groaned shut behind me, separating his world from mine. In this story, the heroine had no friends. But I had one ally: Katherine, the Governor’s wife. Years ago, I had helped her with a musical composition, and she had never forgotten it. She had always looked at my marriage to Beckett with a sadness she couldn’t quite voice. When I found her, she was playing the piano. A melancholic, beautiful piece meant to soothe a grieving mother. I waited for the last note to fade. “Katherine,” I said. “I killed Cynthia.” Her hand slipped, a discordant clash of keys echoing through the room. She sat in silence for a long moment, then turned to me. “You’ll stay here tonight. Beckett won’t set foot in this house.” I nodded. “I need one more thing. A legal separation. An ironclad divorce. I want out.” The silence stretched. Then, she began to play again—a soft, hopeful melody. “Consider it done,” she whispered.

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For six years, I hauled the dead out of city basements and off hot asphalt. I worked the night shift for a body removal service, letting the stench of decay settle so deep into my pores that no amount of bleach could scrub it away. I did it for one reason: to pay for my sister’s leukemia treatments. Today, I finally had the last of the money. But as I stood in the hospital hallway, my sister, Hedy, looked at me with a chilling nonchalance. She didn’t need the surgery, she said. She wasn’t sick. Our parents weren’t dead. The car accident six years ago? She’d orchestrated the whole thing. I was the only one who actually bled that day, the only one left permanently mangled while they watched from the sidelines. Then came the second blow. My wife, Isla, stepped forward. She wasn’t bankrupt, and those late nights at the “office” weren’t for overtime. She’d been retreating to her private estate because she couldn’t stand the sight of our cramped, moldy basement apartment—or me. “We were going to keep the game going for another three years,” Isla said, waving a hand in front of her nose as if I were a piece of rotting meat. “But the smell of the morgue on you… it’s nauseating. Neither of us can take it anymore.” I stood there, my hand frozen over the check meant for her life-saving surgery. A wave of pure, concentrated absurdity washed over me, so cold it burned. Hedy snatched the check from my numb fingers and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “There’s no money left in your accounts anyway, Wayne. I’ve been rerouting your ‘death money’ to the homeless for years. Think of it as karma for your dead child. You earn a living off the dead—it’s bad luck. We wouldn’t touch a cent of it.” My blood turned to ice. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t wrap my head around the why. Then my parents appeared. They stood at the end of the hall, huddled together as if I were a leper. My father spoke first, his voice hard. “It was the only way, Wayne. You were a spoiled brat, always picking on Landon. We had to break you. We had to make you humble.” My mother nodded, her eyes devoid of warmth. “If you swear to never lay a finger on Landon again, you can be our son. Otherwise, we’re done.” As the world blurred and my heart gave its final, jagged beat of hope, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. It was the System, sounding almost… pitying. Do you wish to abandon the mission? Do you wish to leave this world behind? … 1 “Take me out.” I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. The pain was the only thing keeping me upright. [Confirmed. Departure in T-minus twenty-four hours.] Isla, seeing my silence, reached out to brush a tear from my eye. Her touch felt like a centipede crawling on my skin. “Do you finally get it? If you hadn’t fought Landon for our parents’ love, if you hadn’t tried to hurt him over and over, we could have been a happy family of three.” I shoved her hand away, a raw, guttural scream tearing from my throat. “You don’t get to talk about a ‘family of three’! Landon cut the brake lines! My son died because of him!” Isla’s expression remained terrifyingly placid. “The baby didn’t die, Wayne. I gave him to Landon the second he was born. Stop blaming him for your delusions.” The air left my lungs. It took seconds for my brain to process the words. “You… what did you say?” Isla looked at me as if I were a slow child. “He’s my heir. You didn’t honestly think I’d let him grow up in a basement with a man who hauls corpses? Landon is kind. Our son is better off with him.” I stood paralyzed. The cold was absolute now. Six years ago, I woke up from that crash with a shattered body and a broken spirit. Isla had been there, eyes red, telling me it was my fault we were out that night. She told me the baby was stillborn, that our parents were gone. Hedy had played the grieving sister, drowning her “sorrow” in booze until she “developed” cancer. The System had asked me then if I wanted to leave. The mission—to gain their love—was technically a failure. But I stayed. I dragged my broken body to the darkest jobs in the city, enduring the stares and the smell, all to save a sister who wasn’t dying and support a wife who was secretly laughing at me. It was all a joke. My chest ached so hard I thought my ribs might snap. “Why?” I whispered, tears leaking out. “Why not just lie to me until the day I died?” “Because Landon wants a daughter now,” Hedy said, her voice dripping with a terrifying maternal fondness for a man who wasn’t her brother. “The procedure for him is too invasive. He shouldn’t have to suffer. So, we need you one last time.” 2 I stared at them, my vision swimming. They weren’t people. They were monsters wearing the faces of those I loved. “Landon has suffered enough, Wayne. We just want to give him what he wants. Be a good boy. We can always have more children later.” Isla ruffled my hair, the gesture so patronizing it made me want to retch. “And this is your chance to prove to Mom and Dad that you’ve changed. Show them you won’t bully Landon anymore.” Landon had suffered? I thought of the dark closet in my foster home. I thought of the red-hot fire poker the woman used on me while she screamed that her son—the real Landon—was living my high-society life while I rotted. I yanked up my sleeves, exposing the jagged, silver scars that mapped my forearms. “Who suffered? You told me you’d make them pay! You said you’d never let me be hurt again—” “Wayne, stop lying!” Hedy snapped, slapping my arm away. I was malnourished and weak; the force sent me stumbling back until my hip collided with the sharp edge of a table. “Landon’s birth mother said no one ever laid a finger on you,” Hedy sneered. “Those scars? You got those fighting in alleys with delinquents when you were a teenager. You were always a rebel.” My parents scoffed in the background. “Nature over nurture,” my father muttered. “We didn’t raise him, and it shows. He’s a born liar. He’s not fit to be a father.” I stared at them, the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat. “I’m not fit? But the son of a human trafficker is a saint?” “Shut up!” Hedy’s eyes turned predatory. “How dare you? If Landon heard that, he’d be devastated.” She lunged forward, grabbing my arm with a grip like a vice. “Clearly, these six years haven’t taught you enough.” She forced my head down, her strength surprising me, and shoved me toward a large wooden shipping crate in the corner of the room. The moment the lid slammed shut, my breath died. Four years ago, while on a job, a grieving family had played a sick prank. They’d locked me in a casket with a fresh cadaver for three days. I had spent seventy-two hours nose-to-nose with the scent of rotting meat and silence. I’d developed a paralyzing, screaming case of claustrophobia that day. “Let me out! Please! I’m sorry! Help me!” I clawed at the wood, my words dissolving into frantic whimpers. I scraped my fingers against the seams until all ten of my fingernails were torn to the quick, the wood slick with my blood. Finally, the latch clicked. The lid opened. I spilled out, sobbing, clutching at Hedy’s ankles. “Please, don’t put me back. I’ll die, I’ll die—” Hedy retracted her foot as if I were a stray dog. “Stop the drama, Wayne. It’s pathetic.” She looked down at me, her expression bored. “Every client you worked for these last few years? I hand-picked them. I told them to be tough on you to build your character. Nobody actually hurt you.” The room tilted. “You… you arranged them?” Memories flashed: “Kneel. Crawl between my legs and bark like a dog, or you don’t get paid.” “Drink these ten shots of rotgut, and I might give you an extra hundred.” 3 The insults. The bottles smashed over my head. The most degrading moments of my life—all choreographed by my sister. “So what?” Hedy said. “I wanted you to learn empathy. To walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. Without my ‘training,’ you wouldn’t be ready to come home.” Isla stepped forward, her voice like silk. “Tonight, Landon is hosting a charity gala. You’re coming. We need you there so the world finally stops whispering that Landon is the son of a kidnapper. If they see you two together, the rumors die.” She looked at me with a spark of something that might have been pity, if she were human. “You always wanted a real wedding, didn’t you, Wayne? Give Landon a daughter, and I’ll give you a wedding that will be the talk of the Hamptons.” It was the same promise she’d made me under the moonlight years ago. Now, it was just the bait on a hook. A neon countdown flickered in my peripheral vision: [12 hours remaining.] I lowered my head, burying the white-hot rage deep in my gut. When I looked up, the brokenness was gone, replaced by a hollow, terrifying calm. “Fine. I’ll go.” The gala was a sea of black ties and silk. The second I stepped in, the press swarmed. “Mr. Callahan, you’ve been underground for years. What’s the status of the ‘True Heir’ vs. ‘The Imposter’? Have you made peace?” My mother shoved a piece of paper into my hand, whispering harshly, “Read it. Word for word.” I looked down. [I was never kidnapped. I was a rebellious child who ran away. Landon’s mother was a saint who took me in. I’ve spent these years in seclusion, reflecting on my cruelty toward Landon. I am the one who is unworthy.] “Read it,” my father hissed. “Peace?” I whispered. My hands tightened on the paper. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I ripped it into shreds and let them fall like snow. “Why would I make peace with the son of the woman who tortured me?” The room went dead silent. The flashbulbs stopped. I locked eyes with Landon, who was standing center-stage, looking like the golden boy they all thought he was. “Why don’t you tell them, Landon? You stole my name for twenty years. Now you’ve stolen my wife and my son. Is there anything left of mine you don’t want?” Gasps rippled through the hall. Landon didn’t even flinch. He waited exactly one second, then his eyes welled with tears. He looked like the victim of a grand tragedy. “Wayne… why do you keep doing this to me?” He reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small, navy-blue book. “I am Isla’s legal husband,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’re the one who’s been the interloper.” My brain shrieked. I lunged forward, snatching the marriage license. There it was, in elegant calligraphy: Isla Sterling and Landon Callahan. The reason she never showed me our certificate. The “safe deposit box” lie. The blood drained from my face. I turned to Isla. “Names don’t matter, Wayne,” she said, her voice loud enough for the room to hear. “I loved you in my own way, but Landon needed a legacy. You stole his birthright; we just gave him back a life in this city.” Hedy stepped up, her face a mask of disappointment. “I’m sorry, everyone. My brother has struggled with his mental health for years. Delusions of grandeur. Please, ignore him.” The pity in the room turned to disgust. 4 “He’s a psycho,” someone whispered. “Imagine trying to ruin a man like Landon.” “You’re a bad man! Stop hurting my daddy!” A small boy, no older than five, burst from the crowd. He charged at me, headbutting me with enough force to send me sprawling to the marble floor. One look at his eyes, and I knew. He was mine. My son. I reached out, my hands shaking, wanting to hold him just once. Hedy stepped between us, her heel narrowly missing my fingers. She leaned down, whispering in my ear. “He’s Landon’s now, Wayne. And if you try to take him, I’ll show him the video.” My voice was a thready rasp. “But he’s my son.” She pulled out her phone and hit play. The screen blurred, but I recognized the alleyway. It was three years ago, a night I’d tried to come home early from the morgue. A group of men had dragged me into the shadows. I’d screamed for Hedy, hoping she’d come for me. The video showed the nightmare. My dignity being shredded in the dirt. A sob broke out of me, a spray of blood hitting the floor. “You knew… you knew they actually did it? It wasn’t just ‘acting’!” “Stop it,” Hedy said, her voice cold. “I hired those men to scare you. They wouldn’t have actually touched a Callahan. You’re just making up stories to make us feel guilty so we’ll get rid of Landon. I don’t know why you hate him so much.” My heart hammered against my ribs. Who hated whom? The System countdown flashed: [5 hours.] There was no point in arguing. The exit was close. Suddenly, a fist slammed into my jaw. Then another. “Home-wrecker!” someone yelled. It started with one man, then a surge. Men whose wives had cheated, people looking for a scapegoat, all fueled by the “delusional psycho” narrative Hedy had spun. I curled into a ball as the kicks rained down. My lip split. My ribs cracked. Hedy’s face flickered with a brief moment of alarm. She started to move toward me, but Landon suddenly gasped, clutching his chest. “Hedy… too many people… I can’t breathe…” The tide turned instantly. “Oh honey, don’t look,” my mother cried, rushing to Landon. “Isla, help him!” Isla glanced at me, then at the trembling Landon. She hesitated for a heartbeat. “Wayne, they’re just venting. You’ll be fine.” She turned her back on me to follow Landon. Hedy lingered for a second, then scooped Landon up in her arms and walked away. The crowd closed in. “Scum! Did you sleep with my wife too? Let’s see how pretty you are after this!” A heavy boot landed between my legs, a sickening crunch echoing in my ears. I felt a hot, wet explosion of pain. Blood began to pool under me, staining the white marble. I vomited blood, my vision fading into a hazy grey. By the time I crawled back to the “family” estate, my parents were fussing over Landon on the sofa. When they saw me, their faces soured. 5 “Are you still doing this?” my father sighed. “Looking like a mess just to get attention?” Isla’s eyes were full of irritation. “Don’t look at us like that. If you hadn’t tried to embarrass Landon, he wouldn’t have had to go public with the marriage. He’s always thinking of you, Wayne. Be a man and apologize.” Every step I took felt like treading on broken glass. My internal organs were a symphony of agony. I didn’t have the breath to fight her. Landon reached out, grabbing my hand, his grip surprisingly strong. “Wayne, look at you. You’re a mess.” He leaned in, his voice a whisper only I could hear. “I’m bored with your son. Give me a daughter. I need something new to play with. If I’m in a good mood, I might give the boy back before I break him.” Something snapped. The last tether of my sanity ignited. I swung my fist at his smug, beautiful face. SLAP! My head whipped to the side. The taste of iron filled my mouth. Hedy stood over me, her eyes like chips of ice. “Have you no shame? Attacking him right in front of us? When will you stop being so selfish?” “Don’t hurt my daddy!” My son—Toby—lunged forward. He was holding a silver appetizer fork. He slammed it into my abdomen. He didn’t expect it to actually go in. His face went pale as the silver tines disappeared into my sweater. But he held his ground, glaring at me with Landon’s taught hatred. The world went dark for a second. The pain in my stomach was nothing compared to the hole in my chest. “You protect him because you think he’s your father,” I wheezed. “But Toby… what if I told you that I’m—” “Shut up!” My father threw his crystal whiskey glass. It shattered against my temple, blood instantly blinding my left eye. “Don’t you dare fill the boy’s head with your lies!” Toby sneered, his voice high and cruel. “You? My dad? You’re a body-hauler. You smell like death. If you were my dad, I’d rather be dead.” Hedy pulled out her phone, the screen showing the video of my assault in the alley. “Apologize, Wayne. Record a video recanting everything. Or I’ll post this on every social media platform in the world. You’ll be a joke forever.” I started to laugh. It was a wet, ragged sound that turned into a cough of blood. “Don’t bother threatening me anymore, Hedy. I’ll do it for you.” I took the phone. My thumb hovered over the screen. Send to all. Hedy froze, confused. Before she could react, I turned and scrambled onto the windowsill of the sixteenth-floor study. Behind me, the room finally erupted in panic. “Wayne, what are you doing?” my mother screamed. “Get down! This isn’t funny!” Isla’s face was white. “We won’t give the daughter away, Wayne! We’ll keep her! Just… don’t do this!” I smiled, shaking my head. There won’t be a daughter. Hedy, ever the cynic, crossed her arms. “He’s bluffing. He wants us to beg. He knows we care, so he’s using suicide to manipulate us.” She took a step forward. “Get down, Wayne. No matter how much you scream, you’re apologizing to Landon today.” The cold night air rushed in, whipping my hair. The System’s voice chimed in my skull. [Host, time is up. You may leave.] I looked at the four people who had systematically dismantled my life and gave them a hollow, empty smile. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this. But if my child and six years of my life weren’t enough to pay my ‘debt’ to Landon, then maybe my life will cover the rest.” As they lunged toward me, faces twisted in sudden, genuine horror, I let go. I leaned back into the dark.

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I’m alive again. After being left to wither away and starve in that godforsaken psychiatric ward, the universe has somehow pulled me back through the veil. Today is the day. The opening of the National Steinway Invitational. My twin sister, Brianna, is currently preparing to step onto that stage, clutching the sheet music she stole from my desk. In my previous life, I made the mistake of confronting her. I screamed the truth. I demanded my credit. The reward for my honesty? My own parents committed me. They told the world I was suffering from a “persecution complex,” that I was a jealous, delusional girl who couldn’t handle her sister’s brilliance. Brianna used my soul, note by note, to become the “Darling of the Classical World.” And when she no longer needed me, she let me rot. She forgot I existed while I clawed at the padded walls, my stomach a hollow pit of agony until the lights finally went out. If a “prodigy” requires blood to stay in the spotlight, then so be it. This time, I won’t fight her. I’m going to personally build her pedestal. I will lift her so high that when she eventually falls—and she will fall—there won’t be enough of her left to bury. I’m not crying to Mom and Dad this time. I’m playing a much longer game. 1 “Callie? I’m finished practicing. Can you come take a listen?” Brianna’s voice jolted me awake. I snapped my eyes open, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I was in my room. There was my black baby grand, the finish gleaming under the morning sun. Resting on the music stand were the handwritten scores I’d spent three sleepless nights perfecting. I wasn’t dead. I was back. The memory of the hunger still lingered—a phantom iron chain tightening around my stomach. I could still smell the rot of the institution and feel the cold weight of the steel door. Before I died, I had screamed until my vocal cords shredded, leaving nothing but the metallic taste of blood in my throat. I had watched my life drain away while, outside those walls, the radio played Brianna’s latest hit, Radiance. My life, transcribed into her glory. I quickly shut my eyes and curled into a ball under the duvet, pretending to be asleep. Brianna’s footsteps were light, hesitant. She crept toward the piano and, without a second’s hesitation, snatched the manuscript that held my entire heart: The Leviathan’s Descent. Under the covers, my fingernails dug into my palms until I drew blood. That piece was the spark that ignited her career. In my last life, it was my death warrant. Soon, the muffled sound of my parents’ excited voices drifted in from the living room. “Brianna, you wrote this? The melody… it’s so haunting. It tells such a story!” My mother’s voice was thick with pride. “I always knew our girl was born for the stage,” my father added with a booming laugh. “This kind of talent? You can’t teach that.” “Of course, Dad,” Brianna chirped, her voice dripping with that practiced, sugary modesty. “I am your daughter, after all.” My father paused, a hint of confusion in his tone. “But your scales lately, and the technical exercises…” “Oh, stop! I was just holding back, saving the best for the competition. This is my secret weapon!” Listening to her shameless lies, I bit my tongue until I tasted copper. The door to my room creaked open. My mother walked in, and seeing me awake, a flicker of awkwardness crossed her face. “Callie, you’re up? Sorry, your sister got a bit… excited. Did we wake you?” I rubbed my eyes, feigning a dazed, sleepy fog. “What’s going on? I was out cold. I didn’t hear a thing.” Mom visibly relaxed. She walked over and tucked the edge of my blanket in, a gesture that felt more like a dismissal than an act of love. “Nothing important. Your sister is entering a major competition, and we’re just celebrating the good news.” She hesitated, her tone turning cautious. “You should try to practice more too, Callie. I know you don’t have Brianna’s natural spark, but hard work can make up for a lack of talent. Don’t waste your time dreaming about things that aren’t realistic.” I looked down, hiding the ice in my eyes. “I know, Mom. I understand.” She gave my head a pitying pat and turned to leave, eager to get back to the living room to toast her “genius” daughter. I listened to their laughter and smiled into the shadows. This time, I’m going to build Brianna the most magnificent scaffold the world has ever seen. 2 A week later, the inevitable happened. Brianna won the gold medal with The Leviathan’s Descent. The local papers and TV stations swarmed our house. She sat at the piano in a white silk dress, bathed in the glow of the cameras, looking like some ethereal creature untouched by the grime of reality. She spoke to the reporters with a rehearsed grace. “My inspiration? It came from a documentary about the ocean. Watching a great whale die in the deep… how its body sinks and nourishes an entire ecosystem for decades. That kind of grand, tragic sacrifice… it moved me deeply.” She recited my words, my soul-searching, my private thoughts, word for word. It became her “inspiration.” My parents stood behind her, beaming, as if they were admiring a flawless diamond they had personally cut and polished. I, meanwhile, was ordered to stay in my room. “We don’t want the press getting the wrong idea,” Dad had told me earlier. “If they see two sisters and only one with talent, they might write something nasty about favoritism. It’s better for Brianna’s brand if you stay out of the shot.” I became the “extra” that didn’t fit the frame. When Brianna returned from the awards ceremony, the house was packed for a victory party. Our villa was teeming with socialites and relatives, all clamoring to touch the hem of the new prodigy’s dress. “The Voss family must be so proud! A world-class pianist in the making!” “She’s always been special. You can just see it in her eyes.” I stood in the corner with a glass of orange juice, a shadow in the periphery, watching the coronation. Brianna eventually spotted me. Clutching a glass of champagne, she navigated the crowd and cornered me. She lifted the heavy gold trophy, leaning in so only I could hear her. “See this, Callie? This is where I belong.” Her eyes were cold, predatory. “Stop daydreaming. People like you? You’re just the dirt that makes the flowers look brighter.” I looked up at her. I didn’t show the rage she expected. Instead, I gave her a dazzling, supportive smile. “Brianna, you were amazing,” I whispered. “You really are the greatest musician I know.” She froze. The sneer she had ready died on her lips. She had expected me to scream, to try and claw the trophy out of her hands like I did in the other life. She didn’t know that I wanted her this high. I wanted her at the very peak. From that day on, I became Brianna’s most devoted shadow. When she went to the studio, I had hot tea and pastries waiting. When she “ran out of inspiration,” I played her my “discarded” sketches and fragments, letting her take her pick. I spent every cent of my allowance on rare sheet music and concert tickets for her. At first, she was suspicious. She watched me like a hawk, looking for the trap. But eventually, she decided I had simply “broken.” She began to accept my service as her birthright, treating me as her personal muse and maid. My parents were thrilled by my “maturity.” “Callie’s finally growing up,” I heard Dad say one night. “She knows Brianna is our hope. She’s stopped being so difficult.” “It’s how it should be,” Mom agreed. “One sister in the light, one in the wings. It’s for the good of the family.” They cut my music budget and poured everything into Brianna. “Callie, your playing is just a hobby,” Dad told me. “Let’s not waste money on elite tutors for you anymore. Your job is to make sure Brianna has everything she needs. That’s how you contribute.” I nodded submissively. “I understand, Dad. Brianna needs it more.” Of course they felt that way. They didn’t need two stars. They needed one goddess and one servant to keep the temple clean. Perfect. 3 Three years vanished in a blur of fake smiles and stolen melodies. Brianna was now a national sensation—the “It Girl” of the American classical scene. Her repertoire was stunningly diverse—Baroque one day, avant-garde the next. The critics called her range “miraculous.” Only I knew that every “shift in style” came from the crates under my bed, filled with manuscripts the world had never seen. By day, I was the dutiful sister. By night, I was a ghost at my piano, teaching myself composition software and complex orchestration, pushing my soul into territories Brianna couldn’t even imagine. My technical skill far surpassed what I had achieved in my previous life. Brianna, meanwhile, had gotten very good at signing autographs and wearing couture, but her understanding of music was still stuck in high school. Soon, the whispers started in the industry. “Don’t you think Brianna’s work feels… disjointed? Like it’s missing a core identity?” “Yeah, her style is all over the place. There’s no signature Voss sound.” “I tried to talk to her about the counterpoint in her latest sonata backstage,” one critic whispered at a gala, “and she looked at me like I was speaking Greek. She’s remarkably vapid for a genius.” The rumors eventually reached Brianna. She became erratic, paranoid. One afternoon, after a critic wrote that her performance was “technically brilliant but emotionally hollow,” she lost it. “He doesn’t know anything! He’s just jealous!” she screamed, tearing my latest scores into confetti. The paper drifted down like snow. “Everyone is just a hack! They want to tear me down!” Mom rushed to comfort her, cradling her like a wounded child. “Don’t listen to them, honey. They’re just commoners. They can’t comprehend your level of art.” Dad, looking for a scapegoat, turned on me. “Callie! Have you been saying something to your sister? You’re always lurking around with that gloomy face, dragging down the energy in this house!” I looked down, my shoulders trembling as I put on my best “victim” face. “I didn’t do anything. I was just trying to help.” “Help? You’re probably praying for her to fail!” Dad spat. Brianna sobbed harder, burying her face in Mom’s chest. “They’re all against me, Mom! They want to take it away!” I watched the performance with a cold heart. The play was reaching its second act. I stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on Brianna’s back, my voice a soothing silk. “Brianna, ignore them. In my eyes, you’re the only one who matters. You’re a once-in-a-generation talent. No one can ever take that title from you.” Her sobbing slowed. She looked at me with red, puffy eyes—eyes filled with a desperate, frantic dependency. She was hooked. She couldn’t breathe without my music. From that day on, she demanded more. “Callie, I have a charity gala next week. I need something ‘healing’ and ‘warm.’ You get me?” “Callie, the theme for the festival is ‘Fracture.’ Give me something that sounds like glass breaking.” “Callie, I’m over my credit limit. Give me your card.” She stole my thoughts, my work, my identity. She even found my old childhood journals once and ripped them up in front of me. “Why keep this trash?” she’d sneered. I gave her everything. I even helped her craft her “musical philosophy” for interviews, teaching her the hollow, flowery words she needed to mask her empty soul. My parents saw her becoming more “professional” and felt more confident than ever. They were already dreaming of Carnegie Hall. And I stayed in the dark. Even the housemaid pulled me aside once. “Callie, dear, you’re so good to her. Why is she so cruel to you?” They didn’t understand. My “kindness” was just arsenic dipped in honey. 4 For Brianna’s eighteenth birthday, my parents rented out the city’s premier concert hall for a massive debut recital. It was a coming-of-age celebration and a launchpad for her international career. The program featured ten original compositions, every single one credited to: Brianna Voss. Every single one was a piece of my marrow. The night was a gala event. The titans of the music world were there—critics, scouts from the top conservatories, and the man everyone feared: Alister Crowne. Crowne was a world-renowned conductor with an ear that could detect a lie in a single note. In my last life, he had been the one to dismiss Brianna with four words: “Great hands, no soul.” It had ruined her career, but by then, I was already locked away, and no one believed the “crazy girl’s” claims of plagiarism. This time, I had been waiting for him. Brianna was wearing a custom gown that looked like a night sky, strutting through the backstage area like a peacock. “The sonata Breaking Light is a masterpiece, Brianna!” a donor gushed. “The way the harmony builds… I could actually see the sun rising!” Brianna smiled gracefully, basking in the stolen warmth. I stood in the shadows of the stage wing. A young journalist noticed me and walked over. “Are you Brianna’s sister? You look so much like her.” I nodded. “You must be musical too. What do you think of your sister’s work?” Before I could open my mouth, Brianna’s sharp voice cut through the air. “She doesn’t know the first thing about music!” She marched over, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind her, eyeing the reporter with suspicion. “My sister has… health issues. She lives a very sheltered life. She’s completely tone-deaf. Please don’t bother her.” She was terrified I’d steal even a second of her spotlight. The reporter looked embarrassed and shuffled away. Brianna leaned into my ear, her voice a frozen blade. “Callie, I told you. Stay in your lane. Do not embarrass me tonight, or you’ll find out exactly how far I can push you.” I bowed my head. “I understand, Brianna.” Suddenly, the room went silent. Alister Crowne had arrived. He was in a charcoal suit, his hair perfectly silver, radiating an aura of absolute authority. He didn’t mingle. He walked straight to the large promotional poster of the program pinned to the wall. His eyes lingered on the final piece of the night, a world premiere: Scorched Sun. He stared at the title, his gaze deepening. Brianna’s breathing became ragged. My parents rushed over, wearing their most sycophantic smiles. “Mr. Crowne, what an honor. Our daughter is a bit shy, please excuse her if she’s nervous.” Crowne didn’t look back. He kept his eyes on the title. After a long silence, he spoke. “This piece. Scorched Sun.” Dad nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, it’s Brianna’s latest. The inspiration came from—” Crowne held up a hand. His voice was calm, but it carried to every corner of the room. “There is a problem with this song.”

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When I pushed open Ethan’s office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video. They were so close, you couldn’t even slip a piece of paper between them. They were practically kissing. I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I’d brought him. “Ethan, can you explain this?” He turned his head to look at me, no panic, barely even shifting his posture. “Grace, can you stop always thinking the worst?” He turned back to the screen, dismissively adding,”You wouldn’t understand academic stuff.” I’d heard that line too many times. He’d said it when I gave up my PhD. He’d said it when he put Serena’s name on my research paper. I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left. My phone vibrated. A notification popped up from an unknown app— [Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace Smith left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] Grace POV The third time I pushed open Ethan’s office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video. They were so close, you couldn’t even slip a piece of paper between them. On the screen was a replay of a hip replacement surgery. Serena pointed at a specific frame and said something. Ethan tilted his head slightly, almost touching her forehead as he looked. I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I’d brought him. The steam from the meal box was slowly fading away. “Ethan.” He turned his head only when he heard my voice. No panic, no evasion, he didn’t even adjust his posture much. Serena did shift slightly to the side, but it was a minimal movement, almost like she was doing it just for show. I stared at the flimsy distance between them and asked,”Can you explain this?” Ethan frowned. “Grace, can you stop always jumping to conclusions?” He turned back to the screen, dismissing me with,”You wouldn’t understand academic stuff.” I’d heard that line too many times. He’d discuss research topics late into the night with Serena. When I asked about it, he’d say I wouldn’t understand. He’d take Serena on business trips for academic conferences. When I asked, he’d say I wouldn’t understand. He’d put Serena’s name as the second author on a paper, a paper whose data *I* had compiled. When I asked, he’d still say, I wouldn’t understand. It was as if those three words were a wall, forever keeping me out of the world he truly cared about. I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left. Silence followed me. As I reached the end of the hallway, I glanced down at my phone. A new notification. It was from an app I’d never downloaded. The icon was a gray circle with a thin electrocardiogram waveform inside. The name was just one word: Observer. The notification content was a small line of text. [Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] I stared at the words for a long time. He was silent for 4 minutes and 12 seconds. And then what? I looked back down the hallway. His office door was still closed, the light shining through the frosted glass showing two figures, one tall, one short. The video was probably playing again. I pulled my gaze away, tucked my phone into my pocket, and headed for the elevator. … I first met Ethan during my senior year internship. He was two years ahead of me, already a resident doctor in Orthopedics, famous throughout the medical school for two things: his excellent surgical skills and a terrible temper that made no one want to assist him. He always had a stern face during rounds, and spoke incredibly little. When teaching, he’d say things once, and if you couldn’t keep up, that was your problem. Everyone was scared of him. Only I thought he wasn’t truly cold, just unsure how to interact with people. Because I noticed a detail: every time he finished a night shift, he would secretly drink the nearly expired yogurt from the department’s public fridge, then buy new ones to replace them. He seemed to not want others to drink expired things, but he would also never proactively say, “This is about to expire, don’t drink it.” All his kindness was like that, quiet and unacknowledged, like hiding something in your pocket; as long as it fit, no one else needed to see it. I thought such a person was actually very soft. So I started to actively approach him. Ethan initially completely ignored my pursuit. I persisted for a year and a half. In that year and a half, I brought him countless meals, copied three volumes of his surgical notes, and helped him organize study materials during exam week, though he never used them. Until one day, he finished a seven-hour emergency surgery. It was almost dawn when he came out of the operating room. I was sitting on a bench in the hallway, clutching a cup of cold coffee. He saw me, stopped for a moment. Then he walked over, took the coffee from my hand, and took a sip. It was cold. He frowned, but didn’t say anything, and continued drinking. After he finished, he handed me the empty cup and said,”Don’t wait for me anymore.” But the next day, on my internship evaluation form, he gave me the highest score in the department. The remarks read: “Solid fundamentals, diligent attitude, recommended for hospital residency.”

Grace POV It was from that evaluation form that I became certain: what Ethan said and what he thought were never the same thing. Later, we got together, and then, we got married. The year we got married, my mentor helped me secure a fully-funded PhD scholarship in sports medicine, a field I dreamed of pursuing. When I told Ethan, he was looking at literature, not even raising his head. “Someone in the family needs a stable career.” That sentence nailed my PhD dreams in place. I wanted to say I could manage both, but he added,”Look at all the female PhDs in the department right now; they’re all a total mess.” He wasn’t talking about others; he was making decisions for me. I didn’t argue further. Because back then, I still believed that even if his words weren’t pleasant, they were always for my good. Later, to circumvent the hospital policy against spouses working in the same clinical department, I transferred from Orthopedics to the administrative office. He said,”Anyway, going into administration isn’t a loss for you. Nine-to-five, much easier than clinical work.” The day I moved my personal belongings from Orthopedics, the head nurse held my hand and said,”Grace, are you sure about this? Your surgical skills are among the top three young doctors in our department.” I smiled and said I was sure. I didn’t tell her that when I got home, I cried in front of the mirror for a long time. I truly loved the feeling of standing at the operating table. The precision of millimeter-level operations, the urgency of racing against death, the post-surgery patients holding my hand and saying thank you. All those things vanished after I transferred. Replaced by reports, meeting minutes, and research grant applications. And Ethan’s dismissive comment every time he mentioned my work:”Anyone could do what you’re doing now.” Anyone could do it. He probably never knew how heavy those four words were. Because I gave up something only I could do, to do something anyone could do. And all of it, because of him. … It was late when I got home. The rented apartment was small, one bedroom, one living room, a place I’d temporarily found after moving out of our house a few days ago. He probably still didn’t know I wasn’t living at home anymore. Or maybe he knew, but thought I’d come back in a few days. After all, every argument before, I was always the one to back down. I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my phone. The Observer app lay quietly on the last page of my screen. I tried long-pressing the icon, wanting to delete it. A prompt popped up: [This app cannot be uninstalled.] I tried tapping into it again. The interface was simple, gray and white, with only one line at the top: [Observing: Ethan, Status: Online] Below it was a timeline, recording today’s notifications. [18:23 Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] [18:31 Ethan resumed playing surgical video, Serena still present.] [19:45 Ethan opened the meal box brought by Grace, eating duration 6 minutes, checked phone call history 1 time, lingered on Grace for 3 seconds before locking screen.] [21:17 Ethan’s Current Location: Hospital parking lot, vehicle not started, sitting still for 9 minutes.] [21:26 Vehicle started, navigation destination: 10 West 74th Street, New York.] That was the house we used to share. I looked at the notification, unsure how to feel. Maybe I should be grateful he at least remembered to come home. I turned off my phone, pulled up the covers, and closed my eyes. I used to think he just wasn’t good at expressing himself, but that he cared about me deep down. Like how he drank that cold coffee I brought him, like how he recommended me for residency on my evaluation. But tonight, as I lay on my pillow thinking about these things, I suddenly realized something: that was seven years ago. Seven years ago, he was willing to drink a cold coffee because he had nothing, and I was the only one who was good to him. Now he had the title of Head of Department, a high salary, and an academic partner like Serena. And I had gone from being his most promising student to someone sitting in an administrative office filling out forms. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me anymore. It was just that I didn’t seem important to him anymore. My phone screen suddenly lit up. I picked it up. The app pushed another notification— [22:04, Ethan found house empty, called Grace, no answer, calling a third time.] I stared at the constantly refreshing”no answer” on the screen, silent for a long time. Then I turned over and tucked my phone under my pillow. My phone vibrated continuously under the pillow. I didn’t answer. It wasn’t out of spite. I honestly didn’t know what to say to him anymore.

Grace POV The next morning when I woke up, I opened my phone. Ethan had called 11 times. There were two SnapChat messages. The first: [Where are you? Why is no one home?] The second: [Grace, did you run off to Maya’s again? Stop throwing a tantrum and come home. The food in the fridge will go bad.] He always seemed to think all my reactions were just tantrums. Arguing was a tantrum, questioning was a tantrum, even moving out was a tantrum. In his eyes, I was like a child who periodically cried, and a little coaxing would quiet me down, or if not, I’d stop eventually on my own. I didn’t reply, got up, washed my face, and left for work. When I arrived at the hospital, I ran into Chloe from the Medical Education Department in the administrative building’s elevator. She looked me up and down, then whispered,”Grace, did you know? Yesterday Ethan took Serena out for dinner at the cafeteria.” “Just the two of them, ordered four dishes, and a drink.” As she spoke, the mix of cautious gossip and sympathy in her tone made my stomach churn. I forced a smile:”Chloe, who he dines with is none of my business.” Chloe visibly paused, probably not expecting that reply. The elevator arrived, and I walked out first. It wasn’t until I sat down at my desk that I realized my hands were shaking. I suddenly remembered something else. Late last year, I spent a whole month organizing clinical data for Ethan. Every day after work, I wouldn’t go home; I’d stay in the office checking data, drawing charts, and adjusting formats. During that time, I lost six pounds, and my right eye twitched frequently from staring at the screen for so long. The day the paper was published, Ethan treated the department to a meal. Someone at the table asked him,”Ethan, the data for this paper is impressive. Who helped you with it?” He held his water glass and said,”Serena was involved throughout. Hard work for her.” Serena sat beside him, smiling and waving her hand,”It was nothing, just teamwork.” I sat at the very end of the table, my fork suspended mid-air. No one looked at me. Including Ethan. Later, on the way home, I asked him,”I clearly did that data, why did you say it was Serena?” He seemed unconcerned, casually remarking,”You weren’t an author anyway. No one knows your name, what good would it do to mention you?” What good would it do? Because I was just Grace from the administrative office, not an orthopedic doctor anymore. My name appearing in the paper’s acknowledgments section would be too much, let alone in any important context. What I did was invisible. Just like I was invisible in his world. … That morning, I was distracted. I flipped through the research grant application three times, but not a single word registered in my mind. At 10:30, my phone lit up. An app notification. [10:27 Ethan arrived on the first floor of the administrative building, lingered in the lobby for 1 minute 42 seconds, then took the elevator up, target floor 3.] The third floor was my office. I instinctively sat up straight. Then I felt ridiculous for reacting that way. We were getting divorced; if he came, he came. Two minutes later, Ethan indeed appeared at the office door. He seemed to have come directly from the department; his hair was a bit messy, like he had just finished surgery. He glanced at the others in the office, walked up to me, and whispered,”Come outside with me.” I looked up at him. Before, when he used that tone, I would immediately stand up and follow him. Now I said,”Say whatever you need to say right here.”

Grace POV Ethan’s expression froze. He glanced around; my colleagues, though looking down, clearly had their ears perked up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lowering his voice even further:”Last night you weren’t home, I looked everywhere for you.” “If you’re mad, let’s talk at home, don’t make a scene like this.” “I moved out,” I interrupted him. His words caught in his throat. I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, I felt something beyond coldness in them. It was confusion. He seemed completely unable to grasp it, as if thinking, *how could I actually move out?* I didn’t give him time to process. “Go back, don’t block people where I work. It doesn’t look good.” Ethan didn’t leave. He stared at me for a long time, long enough for my colleague next to me to uncomfortably shift her chair. Finally, he said something. “Grace, do you think moving out will solve anything?” He seemed convinced I wouldn’t last long living elsewhere, as if he believed I would soon come back on my own, that I was nothing without him. Just as he thought that cold coffee would always be waiting for him in the hallway. I looked at him and suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion. “It’s not about moving out.” His brows furrowed. I didn’t want to explain anymore. I took out his car keys, which he’d left at home last week, from my drawer and pushed them across the table. “Your keys.” Ethan glanced down at the keys, then at me, his lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing. He took the keys, turned, and left. The back of his lab coat disappeared down the hallway. My phone lit up. [10:51 Ethan left the administrative building. Walking speed below normal. Lingered in the first-floor lobby again for 2 minutes 08 seconds, then returned to the inpatient department.] I finished reading the notification and flipped my phone face down on the desk. So what? He walked slowly, but he didn’t look back. … At noon, I went to the cafeteria alone. Normally, at this time, I’d be eating takeout in the office, because Ethan didn’t like me eating in the cafeteria; he thought it looked bad for colleagues to see us eating at different tables. But he himself always ate with department staff, and there was never a place for me. So his solution was for me to eat in the office. It sounded absurd, thinking about it now. I stood in front of the serving window, realizing I hadn’t had a proper meal in the cafeteria for almost two years. Anna, the cafeteria lady, still remembered me:”Grace, you haven’t been here in a while! The roasted ribs are great today, I’ll give you an extra piece.” I carried my overflowing tray to a window seat. The sunlight fell perfectly on the back of my hand, warming it, almost unreal. Halfway through my meal, I heard someone chatting nearby. “Did you see the notice from Orthopedics? Serena’s federal research grant project passed the preliminary review.” “Really? She’s only in her second year of postdoc, isn’t she? Her capabilities are too strong.” “She’s capable, but everyone says Ethan helped her a lot.” “Helped her? He directly shared his data resources with her. Who gets that kind of treatment…” My fork paused in mid-air. His data resources. How much of that data had I stayed up late organizing? Suddenly, I lost my appetite. I put down my fork and took my tray to the return counter. Walking out of the cafeteria, the sun was still shining, but I no longer felt warm.

Grace POV At 2 PM, Professor Miller called me. Professor Miller was my graduate school advisor and a highly respected expert in sports medicine. After graduation, we occasionally kept in touch, but ever since I transferred to administration, we talked less and less. His call surprised me. “Grace, this year there’s a fully-funded clinical medicine scholarship for studying abroad, at ETH Zurich in Switzerland, in sports medicine. I checked the requirements, and it needs academic paper publications and clinical background.” He paused. “You perfectly meet the criteria.” My hand tightened around my phone. Professor Miller continued,”I know you’ve changed roles these past few years, but those two papers you published are solid, and I know your clinical foundation best.” “This opportunity doesn’t come every year. I can write you a letter of recommendation.” My heart suddenly sped up. My throat felt dry. It took me a while to squeeze out,”Professor Miller, this program… how long is it for?” “Three years. If you pass the assessment, you can directly transition into a PhD degree upon return.” I was silent for a long time. Professor Miller probably sensed my hesitation, sighing,”Grace, you were one of the most brilliant students I ever taught. You shouldn’t waste away in an administrative office.” “You’re only twenty-eight, there’s still time.” That sentence hit harder than anything Ethan had ever said. Clutching my phone, my voice trembled slightly:”Professor Miller, I want to go.” He chuckled on the other end:”Good. I’ll submit your recommendation materials today. Send me your resume and paper list tonight.” After hanging up, I sat at my desk for a long time. Then my phone lit up again. It was an Observer app notification. [14:38 Ethan’s Current Location: Operating room, mid-surgery status, all vitals normal. He still doesn’t know.] Those last five words felt like a self-added note from the app. He still didn’t know his wife had just received a call, a call that could uproot her from here. He was on the operating table, mending other people’s bones and tendons. And I was preparing to cut him out of my life. … After work that evening, I met up with Maya. Maya was my college roommate, now a lawyer specializing in medical malpractice. We met at a coffee shop across from the hospital. She arrived before me. As I sat down, she looked me up and down:”Did you and Ethan argue?” I shook my head. “I’m considering divorcing him.” Maya’s hand, holding her cup, froze. She put down her cup and looked at me seriously:”Tell me everything.” I briefly recounted the events of these past few years. Without any embellishment. Giving up my PhD, transferring to administration, organizing his data without credit. Waiting for him late at night in the hallway when he didn’t come home, taking a taxi to the ER alone for appendicitis. And Serena. Maya listened without interrupting. Only after I finished did she speak, her voice much lower than before. “Grace, every single thing you just mentioned, taken individually, might not seem like a big deal.” “But do you know, domestic abuse isn’t just about physical violence. What you’re describing, in legal terms, is called emotional neglect.” She looked into my eyes. “You’re not throwing a tantrum; you’ve been drained.” My nose suddenly stung. I held back the tears. I’d cried enough these past few years, always alone in my room, wiping my face clean afterwards and pretending everything was fine. Maya then asked,”How do you plan to handle it? Will he agree to a divorce?” “I haven’t told him yet.” “Does he have any leverage over you? What about finances?” I thought for a moment:”The house is his, the car is his. We don’t have joint savings; we keep our finances separate. When we got married, he gave a wedding gift, but my mom returned it intact.” Maya nodded:”That makes things cleaner. If he doesn’t agree, we still have options.” She patted my hand:”Do what you want to do. Leave the legal stuff to me.” Looking at her, I suddenly remembered college, the four of us crammed onto the balcony eating snacks. Maya had said she wanted to be a lawyer and specially fight for those who’d been wronged. Back then, I’d said,”Then I’ll come to you if I ever get wronged.” She’d replied,”No way. With your personality, who would dare bully you?” Turns out I was right. It wasn’t someone else bullying me; I had slowly, bit by bit, worn down my own spirit.

Grace POV It was dark when I left the coffee shop. I stood by the roadside, hesitated for a few seconds, then dialed another number. “Mom.” “Grace? Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?” My mom’s voice carried that particular motherly alarm. I smiled:”Nothing, just letting you know I might be making a decision soon.” “What decision?” “I have an opportunity to study abroad, a full scholarship, for three years.” There was silence on the other end for a while. My mom asked,”What about Ethan?” I didn’t answer directly, just said,”Mom, this is my own decision.” More silence. Then my mom said something, her voice much softer than usual. “Grace, when your dad was hospitalized a while ago, Ethan didn’t even call once.” “You think I don’t know, but I know everything.” I stood under the streetlamp, my eyes suddenly welling up. Three months ago, my dad had been hospitalized for a week due to a herniated disc. I took time off to care for him. Ethan knew about it. He only said, “Your dad’s not serious, conservative treatment is enough,” and then there was no follow-up. He never called to ask once. My mom had never mentioned it. Turns out, she had remembered all along. “Mom…” My voice was hoarse. “Alright, don’t cry,” she said.”Go if you want to. Your dad and I didn’t put you through a master’s degree just for you to fill out forms for someone else.” After hanging up, I stood by the roadside for a long time, until my tears dried before I moved. My phone screen lit up. An app notification. [21:15 Ethan’s Current Location: 10 West 74th Street, confirmed house empty again, called Grace, no answer.] [21:16 Called Grace’s mother, call duration 12 seconds, recipient hung up.] He called my mom. And my mom only spoke to him for 12 seconds. I didn’t know what my mom said in those 12 seconds, but I guessed it was probably just one sentence: “Ask yourself.” I smiled. Thanks, Mom. I opened my phone, organized the resume and paper list Professor Miller needed, and sent them. After sending, I sent a message to Maya. [Please prepare the divorce papers for me.] Maya replied instantly: [Already done.] I took a deep breath. Grace, from tomorrow, you make decisions only for yourself. For the next two days, I worked during the day and reviewed professional materials at night. Although I had been out of clinical practice for three years, I had always maintained the habit of reading literature. I read at least two new papers in my field every week; my notes filled three folders. Ethan didn’t know about this. He thought I was binging shows on my tablet every night. Once, he walked past the living room, glanced at my screen, and said,”Stop watching useless stuff.” He didn’t even see what I was watching. But it didn’t matter anymore. These two days, Ethan hadn’t come to block me at the administrative office, but the number of missed calls on my phone grew daily. I didn’t answer a single one. The app, however, faithfully recorded his every move. [Ethan called Grace from the hospital parking lot, no answer, then sat in the car for 4 minutes.] [Ethan scanned the entire cafeteria, did not find target, left early, eating only 40% of his usual amount.] [Ethan drove to the vicinity of 10 West 74th Street, circled twice, then drove away.] [Ethan is in a state of insomnia, phone screen repeatedly lights up, lingering on Grace’s social media profile, browsing duration 47 minutes.] He was looking at my social media for forty-seven minutes past one in the morning. But my last post was two months ago. What was he even looking at? I closed the app and continued reading the literature review in my hand. I didn’t want to know the answer anymore. What good would knowing do? His insomnia couldn’t cure my three years of disappointment.

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The day I was told I was dying, Ethan was planning to propose to Audrey. “Summer, your heart failure is end-stage. At most… you have only one month left,” the doctor said. I calmly tucked the diagnosis report into my pocket and returned to Ethan’s apartment. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Audrey’s gasps drifted out from inside. “Ethan, be gentle. It hurts.” Then came a man’s low, husky chuckle, filled with satisfaction. “What, afraid Summer will hear? You’re the woman I love most. What is there to be afraid of? I only see Summer as a maid.” As the “maid,” I stood outside the door, enduring the pain in my heart, still clutching the bouquet of roses he’d had someone deliver that morning, asking me to pass them to Audrey. 999 roses. The card read: “Audrey, marry me.” I lowered my head, looked at the flowers, then at the diagnosis in my pocket, reminding me of my expiration date. A month later, the day he married her. That would also be the day I had chosen for my own passing.

Summer POV New York City’s main library, top-floor VIP reading room. I stood before the shelves, carefully wiping down precious, out-of-print books and re-shelving them. I was a librarian. The pay was minimal, the work tedious, but I’d been here for three whole years. Because this reading room, on this very floor, was once built specifically for me by Ethan. “This floor has the best lighting. Let’s clear out all the old books.” Audrey spoke softly, her eyes slightly reddened as she looked at the man beside her. “Ethan, I want to turn this into a memorial gallery for Zach, to display his favorite models and paintings from when he was alive, okay?” Ethan stood with one hand in his pocket, his gaze darkening slightly when Audrey mentioned Zach. He subconsciously glanced at me, dressed in my thin work uniform not far away, a barely perceptible frown on his brow. Then, he looked down at Audrey, his tone flat. “Alright, whatever you wish.” My wiping motion paused. I turned around. At the entrance to the reading room, Audrey, in a designer red dress, was pointing at the surrounding bookshelves and issuing commands. Beside her stood Ethan, tall and striking in a tailored black suit. His tone with Audrey was the familiar indulgence I once knew so well. My heart sharply clenched, a searing pain spreading through my chest. I instinctively tightened my grip on the cleaning cloth. Once upon a time, Ethan had indulged me in the same way. Back then, we were still in college. I’d casually mentioned I liked reading, and Ethan had leased an entire floor in the best part of New York, scouring the world for out-of-print books to build this library, just for me. He would drive all night, back and forth, just to buy me a limited-edition coffee from Boston. He would carefully carry me into his arms and wrap me in his coat when I fell asleep reading. He once placed all his bank cards, property deeds, and this very library key into my hand, smiling. “Summer, I’ve given my life to you. You can only ever be my Mrs. Blackwood.” But now, he was destroying this place, once filled with our memories, to give it to another woman. “Ethan.” I walked up to him, my voice a little hoarse. “Many of these books are out of print; moving them might damage them. Could you…?” “No.” Ethan cut me off coldly, his eyes devoid of warmth, even holding undisguised disgust. “Audrey is holding an exhibition. Nothing from this place is allowed to remain.” I looked at his icy eyes, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with wet cotton, aching with the blockage. Three years ago, a yacht explosion completely destroyed everything between us. Ethan’s most beloved younger brother, Zach, died in that accident, and I was the sole survivor. Ethan was convinced that, to save myself before the explosion, I had locked the cabin door, trapping Zach in the fire. From that day on, the Ethan who had doted on me ceased to exist. What lived on was a devil who hated me to the bone. He didn’t send me to prison. Instead, he kept me by his side in the most cruel way. He not only withdrew investment from my father’s company, leading to its bankruptcy, but also forced me to stay at this library, working as a bottom-tier administrator, earning a meager salary, watching him parade around with different women every day. And Audrey was the girl Zach loved most when he was alive. Ethan poured all his guilt over his brother’s death into compensating Audrey. “Summer, what are you still standing here for?” Audrey walked up, looking down at me, a malicious smile playing on her lips. “Didn’t you hear Ethan? Hurry up and clear out all your trash. My team is coming in tomorrow to set up the exhibition.” I took a deep breath, suppressing the increasingly fierce dull ache in my chest, and said softly. “Okay, I’ll finish moving everything today.” I didn’t argue. This dead-eyed submission seemed to inexplicably ignite a nameless rage within Ethan. He walked over, his gaze falling on my reddened hands from moving books, his throat bobbing. But when he spoke, his voice was laced with ice. “What? Feeling wronged? Summer, you owe Zach your life. Is clearing a room too much to ask?” I looked up, my eyes as vacant as empty wells. “I know. Ethan, I’ll move them.” I didn’t, as I had three years ago, cling to his sleeve with red-rimmed eyes, trying to explain. Ethan looked at my expressionless face, and a fresh wave of annoyance rose in him. He sharply averted his gaze, as if looking at me any longer would sting him with that dead silence. “Summer, who are you putting on this lifeless act for?” Ethan gritted his teeth, his voice low, only audible to the two of us. “Do you think playing the victim will make me soften? You owe Zach a life; you’ll never be able to repay it!” My chin was squeezed painfully, but I didn’t even flinch. I just calmly looked at Ethan, my eyes as vacant as empty wells. “I know,” I said softly. “I’ll move them. Ethan, please let go.” Ethan looked at my unmoving face, and his frustration grew. He abruptly threw my hand away, as if discarding something dirty and worthless. “If there’s still a single book here by sundown, I’ll have them all burned.” With that, he didn’t even glance at me again. He turned, took Audrey’s hand, and strode out of the reading room. The footsteps gradually faded until they disappeared completely. I finally couldn’t hold myself up, my legs buckling. I collapsed onto the cold floor. I clutched my chest, gasping for air, cold sweat instantly soaking my shirt. My heart beat extremely slowly, each throb accompanied by a tearing pain, as if a rusty knife was twisting inside my ventricle. My trembling hand fumbled for a white pill bottle in my pocket, shook out two pills, and swallowed them dry, without water. A bitter taste spread in my mouth, but it was nowhere near a fraction of the bitterness in my heart. I leaned against the bookshelf, looking at this reading room that held all my youth and love, tears silently streaming down my face. Ethan, you don’t need to chase me away. I will soon disappear completely from your world.

Summer POV New York First Hospital, Cardiology Clinic. I sat in the chair, my face pale, almost translucent. The doctor looked at the test reports in his hand, his brows furrowed, his voice heavy. “Summer, your heart failure is end-stage. Have you been experiencing frequent chest pain, shortness of breath, or even fainting spells recently?” I nodded calmly. “Yes.” “You’re not taking your health seriously enough!” The doctor sounded pained and exasperated. “Given your condition, if you don’t immediately get admitted for conservative treatment and get on the waiting list for a heart transplant, you have at most… at most one month left.” One month. My heart skipped a beat, but quickly returned to that dead-eyed calm. So, my life had only thirty days left. “What if I refuse treatment?” I asked softly. The doctor was stunned, his face full of disbelief. “You’re only twenty-five! Giving up treatment is just waiting to die! While heart donors are hard to come by, there’s still hope if you’re hospitalized and maintained with medication!” “I don’t have the money for hospitalization, and I don’t have the time to wait.” I stood up and bowed slightly to the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor. Please prescribe me some strong painkillers.” I refused the doctor’s earnest pleas, took a new bottle of painkillers, and walked out of the hospital. The sun outside was blinding, but I felt cold all over. I wasn’t afraid to die. I should have died three years ago in that explosion. I just felt a pang of regret that, in this last month, I wouldn’t get to see Ethan let go of his hatred. It was afternoon when I returned to the library. The top-floor reading room was a mess. Several workers were roughly dismantling bookshelves, hundreds of precious books were carelessly tossed on the floor, like abandoned piles of trash. Audrey stood by, directing the workers. “Hurry up! Throw these junk books directly into the trash truck downstairs, don’t dirty my space!” My pupils constricted. I rushed forward. “Stop! You can’t throw them away!” I threw myself into the piles of books, desperately shielding them with my body. Many of these were rare, out-of-print editions that Ethan had personally found for me, traveling to a dozen European countries. “Oh, Summer’s back?” Audrey crossed her arms, a cold smile on her face as she walked over. “These garbage books are taking up my space. Am I supposed to keep them for Christmas?” “I told you I’d move them myself!” My eyes were red as I clutched the books in my arms. “You’re too slow. I can’t wait.” Audrey looked at me contemptuously. As she spoke, several workers roughly swept books into cardboard boxes. An foreign poetry collection happened to fall to the ground, its pages fanning out, and a hand-drawn ginkgo leaf bookmark fluttered out. Ethan had stayed up two nights in college to draw that for me. The worker’s cart wheel was about to roll over it. “Don’t touch it!” I lunged forward, protecting the bookmark. My elbow hit the concrete floor hard, scraping a patch of skin raw. Standing at the door, Ethan’s pupils constricted, and he instinctively took half a step forward, his fingers at his side clenching. But the next second, he stopped himself. He watched me fiercely clutch the dirty bookmark to my chest, his heart stinging as if something had stung him. “A piece of scrap paper worth such an act?” Ethan looked down at me, his voice cold. “Throw it away. We don’t need any of your trash here.” “No!” I cried out, reaching to snatch it. Just then, a long, strong hand suddenly reached out, grabbed my wrist, and roughly threw me aside. I fell heavily to the ground, my elbow hitting a splintered piece of wood, instantly drawing blood. I looked up and saw Ethan’s face, cold as frost. “Ethan…” My voice trembled. I pointed at the trampled poetry collection on the floor. “You gave that to me… You said there was only one copy in the world…” “Did I? I forgot.” Ethan looked down at me, his eyes full of mockery and coldness. He raised his foot and, in front of me, stepped on the poetry collection again, pressing down hard. The exquisite cover instantly tore, pages scattering across the floor. “Summer, are you still living in the past?” Ethan’s voice was like an ice-cold knife. “Do you think protecting these old books proves anything? I gave you those things, and now they disgust me. Just like you, you utterly disgust me.” I stared blankly at the shattered poetry collection on the ground, large tears splashing onto the floor. Before, when I got tired from reading, Ethan would hold me on his lap, open this poetry collection, and read to me, line by line, in his deep, pleasant voice. He’d said, “Summer, my world was once barren. You brought me spring.” But now, he had personally crushed that spring. “Clear out all this junk.” Ethan coldly ordered the workers, then turned to me. “If you dare to interfere again, or upset Audrey, I promise you, your father’s days in the nursing home will be ten times worse than they are now.” He was using my father’s life to threaten me. I closed my eyes, swallowing the metallic sweetness that rose in my throat. “Okay.” I released my grip, slowly got up from the floor, not looking at the books on the ground, nor at Ethan. I turned, dragging my heavy steps, and walked out of the reading room, one step at a time.

Summer POV The cleanup of the top-floor reading room continued for three whole days. I no longer resisted, working like a machine that had lost its sense of pain, silently packing and boxing the books that held the memories of my youth. The heavy cardboard boxes bit into my thin fingers, leaving bright red marks, but I seemed completely unaware. My heart’s burden was nearing its limit. These past few days, my painkiller frequency had gone from twice a day to four times a day. In the afternoon, Audrey brought several designers to the site to confirm the dimensions for the gallery. She wore a refined skirt suit, her fingertips tracing outlines in the air, occasionally turning to flash a sweet smile at Ethan beside her. “Ethan, Zach used to love ocean blue. Should we paint this wall blue?” Ethan had one hand in his trouser pocket. I could feel his gaze involuntarily pass over Audrey’s shoulder and fall on my back. I was too thin. The oversized gray work uniform hung loosely on me, as if a gust of wind could snap my spine. What would he think? I, who used to playfully ask him to open a bottle cap, now lifted dozens of pounds of cardboard boxes without a single groan. Just then, while sifting through an old cardboard box, Audrey accidentally grazed her finger on a sharp edge. Audrey let out a small cry, a tiny bead of blood oozing from her fair fingertip. Ethan’s thoughts seemed to snap back instantly. He strode over, his brow immediately furrowing. He grabbed Audrey’s hand. “How could you be so careless? Go sit over there; don’t touch these dirty things.” His voice was full of concern. He immediately told his assistant to get a first-aid kit. Meanwhile, in a corner not far away, I, who had been moving heavy objects for two hours straight, finally reached my physical limit. A fierce, wrenching pain exploded without warning from my heart, like a barbed knife violently twisting in my chest. My vision suddenly went black, and I collapsed weakly onto the dusty floor. I clutched my chest, breathing in short, shallow gasps, cold sweat instantly drenching my shirt. My face was ashen, like a thin sheet of paper, showing a deathly pallor. The dull thud of something heavy falling made Ethan turn his head. Seeing me curled up on the ground, Ethan’s pupils suddenly constricted, his fingers at his side unconsciously clenching. “Summer, Audrey just scratched her hand, and you’re here faking a faint?” Ethan sneered, his voice laced with ice shards, trying to use the most vicious words to mask a flicker of panic in his heart that even he found absurd. “Haven’t you worn out your pity play in these three years?” I was in so much pain that every breath felt like swallowing shattered glass; I had no strength to retort. I bit down hard on my pale lips, my trembling hand reaching into my pocket, trying to find that life-saving pill bottle. Ethan looked at my miserable state and coldly tossed out a sentence. “Fake death, and I’ll dock this month’s salary.” With that, he pulled Audrey and walked out of the reading room without looking back. The heavy glass door closed behind them, cutting off all footsteps. In the vast space, only I remained. I finally pulled out the pill bottle from my pocket, shook out two pills, and swallowed them dry. A bitter taste spread in my mouth. I leaned against the cold wall, looking at the closed door, tears mixing with cold sweat, silently splashing onto my dusty hand. I wasn’t faking. Ethan, I was truly dying.

Summer POV Two days later, Boston, The Meridian Club. Today was Zach’s death anniversary. Every year on this day, Ethan would book this place, gathering all his friends from our old social circle to commemorate his deceased brother. And I, as the supposed culprit who caused Zach’s death, was forced to come along every year by Ethan, like a live target for people to vent their resentment on, standing in the darkest corner of the private room. Pushing open the heavy door of the private room, the noise inside quieted for a moment at my appearance, then erupted into even more unrestrained mockery. “Well, if it isn’t Summer? What happened to you, you look like a ghost?” A wealthy scion who once pursued me spoke with a snide tone. “What Summer? Her family went bankrupt ages ago. Now she’s just a dog at Ethan’s heels.” Another person chimed in. “Killed Zach and still has the nerve to live in this world. She’s got some thick skin.” Those who used to treat me courteously now attacked me with the most malicious words, all to curry favor with Ethan, who sat at the head of the table. I wore a faded old coat, my face ashen, ignoring their taunts. My gaze cut through the crowd, landing on Ethan. Ethan lounged on the sofa, twirling a silver lighter in his hand. Audrey nestled beside him, their bodies close. Seeing me enter, Ethan didn’t even look up. The lighter made a crisp click. A flame flickered, then he pressed it out without a change in expression. He didn’t stop the taunts. I knew he was waiting. Waiting for me to walk up to him with red-rimmed eyes, as I did three years ago, clutching his sleeve, pleading tearfully for him to take me away. But I had no strength left. I just stood there quietly, my eyes as vacant as if watching a drama unrelated to myself. “Summer, Zach is so cold underground. It’s only right that you drink this toast to apologize to him, isn’t it?” The wealthy scion grew bolder when Ethan didn’t stop him. He poured a full glass of strong whiskey and slammed it onto the edge of the table. A chorus of jeers immediately filled the room. I looked at the amber liquid, my stomach revolted. In my current physical state, even walking a few steps could trigger heart failure, let alone drinking such potent whiskey. Drinking it would be no different than accelerating my death. However, if I didn’t drink, this humiliation wouldn’t end. I was too tired; I was almost out of strength just to stand. Under the gaze of everyone watching for a show, I slowly walked forward. I didn’t look at Ethan, nor at the drink. I just calmly asked the wealthy scion, “If I drink this, I can leave, right?” At these words, I saw Ethan’s hand, which had been toying with the lighter, suddenly freeze, his brows tightly furrowing. “Of course! As long as you finish it, we’ll let you off today!” I didn’t hesitate. I reached out a pale, slender hand, picked up the full glass of whiskey, tilted my head back, and drained it in one gulp. The fiery liquid flowed down my throat into my stomach, instantly burning like a raging inferno within my organs. Immediately after, a fierce, tearing spasm gripped my heart. I clutched my chest, my frail body swaying uncontrollably. Large beads of cold sweat rolled down my forehead, and my already pale face was now utterly bloodless, showing a deathly pallor. “One glass isn’t enough? How much Zach suffered in that fire, what’s a little drink compared to that!” Seeing my state, the man didn’t stop. Instead, he picked up the bottle, preparing to pour more into the glass. Bang! A loud crash exploded in the private room. Ethan violently grabbed the glass ashtray from the table and slammed it hard at the wealthy scion’s feet. Glass shards flew everywhere, and the room instantly fell into a deathly silence. Everyone was startled into silence by his sudden rage. Ethan’s face was terrifyingly dark, his eyes swirling with chilling malice. He strode over, grabbed my icy wrist, his grip so powerful it almost crushed my bones. “Who told you to drink?!” Ethan gritted his teeth, his voice a hoarse roar forced from his chest. “Do you think drinking a glass of wine can atone for your sins? What right do you have?” He cursed me harshly, but the hand clutching me trembled slightly. The moment I felt my legs weaken from the pain, almost falling, he instinctively reached out an arm, holding my back firmly. I leaned against his rigid arm, breathing with difficulty. I looked up at Ethan’s face, slightly distorted by anger, and actually managed a faint smile. “Ethan… I drank the whiskey… can I go now?” My lifeless compliance seemed to fill Ethan with dread. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Ethan suddenly released my hand, as if to hide his loss of composure. I leaned on the wall, walking out of the private room with slow, staggering steps. I heard Audrey walk up, trying to link arms with him, but Ethan impatiently avoided her touch. He turned around, looked at the bewildered faces in the room, and spoke coldly, his voice loud enough for me to hear even in the hallway. “The eighteenth of next month, Audrey and I are getting engaged. I hope everyone will come and witness it.” In the hallway, my frail figure paused for only a fraction of a second. Then, I said in an extremely soft, calm voice, “I wish you both eternal happiness.” No crying, no breakdown. Only the calm of still water.

Ethan POV Late night, a luxury apartment in New York. This apartment was one of my properties. Three years ago, Summer was forcibly brought here and assigned the darkest, narrowest guest room. For these three years, she lived like a ghostly shadow, barely surviving. When I pushed open the door, reeking of alcohol, only a dim floor lamp was on in the living room. I’d drunk too much at the anniversary gathering. My stomach felt like it was on fire, the pain making me break out in a cold sweat. For the past three years, no matter how cold I was outside, when my stomach pain flared up, I would instinctively return here. Because I knew that whenever I came back, no matter how late, Summer would silently go into the kitchen and cook me a steaming bowl of spaghetti, topped with a fried egg with golden-brown edges. That was the only warmth from the past I could extract in this toxic relationship. Faint sounds came from the kitchen. Before long, Summer came out carrying a steaming bowl of spaghetti and placed it on the dining table. She didn’t say anything. She set the bowl down and was about to turn back to the guest room. “Stop.” I sat in the dining chair, rubbing my throbbing stomach, my voice hoarse. Summer paused, her back to me. I picked up a fork and took a bite of the pasta. The warm sauce flowed down my esophagus into my stomach, instantly soothing the spasms. My tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly, and the volatile emotions in my heart miraculously calmed down. I looked up, my gaze casually sweeping across the living room, but then I suddenly froze. In the corner of the living room, the trash can was overflowing. On top, there was a sketchbook I had given her in college, along with several of the library design blueprints I had personally drawn, now torn into shreds. My hand, holding the fork, stiffened. The warmth in my stomach was instantly replaced by a huge wave of panic. “What are you doing?” I suddenly stood up. The abrupt movement knocked over the bowl of spaghetti on the table. Hot broth splashed onto Summer’s hand, instantly reddening a patch of skin. But she didn’t even flinch. She just turned around, pulled out a few tissues, and calmly wiped up the mess on the table. “Cleaning up trash.” Summer’s voice was flat, without any fluctuation. “Ethan is getting engaged next month. I’m clearing out my things here, so Audrey won’t be annoyed when she moves in later.” Her calm tone struck me as incredibly grating; I even felt an unprecedented fear. “Who allowed you to clean?!” I strode over, grabbing her shoulder with surprising force. I stared fixedly into her vacant eyes, my voice a hollow, hoarse whisper. “Summer, what kind of reverse psychology are you playing now? What, you think if you act like you’re leaving, I’ll soften?” Summer was forced to look up at me. Once, these eyes were filled with love for me; later, they showed pain and despair. But now, there was nothing in them. Only a dead silence, a lifeless pallor. “You’re not allowed to go anywhere until I tell you to!” I gritted my teeth and roared, as if to embolden myself. “You haven’t paid your debt for Zach’s life yet. You’re destined to rot here forever!” That smile was exceptionally pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief. That smile was incredibly pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief. “Okay,” she said softly. “Rot here.”

Summer POV In the following days, Ethan didn’t return to the apartment. In the empty room, the only sound was the growing weakness of my own heartbeat. I used the last of my remaining strength to visit New York First Hospital. In the Chief of Cardiology’s office, the smell of disinfectant was pungent and cold. I calmly took the pen and, with steady strokes, signed my name on the “Do Not Resuscitate Order” and “Organ Donation Agreement.” My fingertips were faintly bluish-white from the pressure, but my handwriting was remarkably steady. “Summer, are you really not going to reconsider?” The chief took off his glasses, looking at my thin figure, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. “While hope is slim, if you’re willing to be hospitalized and maintained with medication, there’s still a chance to wait for a donor. You’re so young.” “No, thank you.” I put down the pen, a relieved smile on my pale face, as if I were handing over not my life and death, but a long-sealed old item. “My corneas are still healthy. If someone needs them, I hope they can help. I need to leave something behind, to prove I was here.” Walking out of the hospital, the bitter cold wind of early winter mercilessly cut through my thin coat, like a knife cutting into my skin. But I felt it was just right. At least it kept me soberly aware that I was still alive. I didn’t return to that apartment, filled with suffocating memories. Instead, I turned and went to the city library. The top-floor reading room had been completely transformed into Zach’s memorial gallery. I stood at the entrance, not far away, looking at the newly arranged space. His keepsakes, photos, meticulously placed in his favorite spots, as if he had never left. I watched silently for a long time, but I didn’t step inside. I turned and went to the management office on the first floor, placing a clearly itemized handover list, the library access card, and the keys to that apartment neatly on the table. They made a soft thud as they hit the wooden table, like the last echoes of me in this city, now cleanly severed. After doing all this, I took out my phone, opened the memo app, and, using the last of my strength, wrote a short letter. No accusations, no pleas, just a calm statement. Three years of heartache, crushed into these few dry lines of text. “Ethan, When you read this letter, I will no longer be in New York. Three years ago, during the yacht explosion, I didn’t lock the cabin door. I fought with all my might to save Zach, but I failed. I know you don’t believe me, but this is my last explanation. For these three years, I’ve accepted all the punishments you’ve given me. Now, my heart has completely failed. The doctor says I won’t live past this month. I am paying for Zach’s life with my own. We are completely even now. I wish you and Audrey a happy engagement.” I set this letter for timed delivery, scheduled for my twenty-sixth birthday, also the day of his and Audrey’s engagement. That was his happiest day, and the countdown to the end of my life. It would be my last birthday gift to myself. Then, I removed my phone’s SIM card. I snapped it, and threw it, along with all the ties and potential calls from these three years, into a roadside trash can. At dusk, I boarded a bus alone, heading for a remote coastal town in Maine. It was where my mother had grown up, where a dilapidated but quiet old house stood. There was an empty coast there, salty sea breeze, no Ethan, and no endless torment. I wanted to quietly live out the last leg of my life there. The bus slowly pulled out of New York, the cabin dim and bumpy. I leaned against the cold window, watching the city that had trapped me for three years gradually recede in the sunset, the skyline merging into the twilight, eventually becoming a blurred halo of light. I slowly closed my eyes, my broken heart beating faintly and peacefully in my chest. Goodbye, Ethan. If there’s a next life, I hope we never meet again.

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“Audrey, marry that paralyzed guy from the Hayes family instead of Skylar. Then we’ll get the special medicine for your mom right away.” I agreed to my father’s demand. On my way back to my room, at the turn of the stairs, through the partially open door, I saw my former fiancé pinning another woman against the wall. His voice was hoarse and full of tenderness. “Skylar, you’re the only one I love.” A few minutes later, he walked out of the room, glancing at me as if I were a servant. “The sheets are dirty. Go clean them up.” I stood my ground, my fingernails digging into my palms. He raised an eyebrow. “What, you won’t?” I stared into his eyes and then, suddenly, I smiled. “Liam, I’m marrying someone else in two weeks. You should probably ask Skylar to wash those sheets herself.” Audrey POV “As long as you’re willing to marry that shut-in, practically dead man from the Hayes family instead of Skylar, your mom will get the special medicine right away. Are you willing?” I nodded seriously. “I am.” Once I was married, I would never have to be entangled with Liam again. In two weeks, I’d be marrying another man. I walked out of my father’s study and turned to go upstairs, only to hear Skylar’s soft voice mingling with a man’s heavy breathing. Through the door, left ajar, I saw everything inside. “Liam, I suffered so much growing up, never had a good life. And now, I can’t even keep you.” “Ever since I came back to this house, Audrey has bullied me. Now she’s even stealing you away with an engagement.” Skylar sounded on the verge of tears. Liam gently comforted her. “I would never marry a woman I don’t love. You’re the only one I love.” Suffered outside? A rough life? My womanizing father had spent a fortune on that mother-daughter duo over the years. I stood outside the door, lost in thought, until Liam appeared before me, bringing me back to reality. “So you love eavesdropping? Perfect. The sheets are dirty, go clean them up.” Liam’s casual tone made it sound like the most normal request. My hands involuntarily clenched. “Do you really need to humiliate me like this? We grew up together for so many years, did it truly mean nothing?” Liam raised an eyebrow, seemingly mocking me. “Sure it did. If you promise to never bully Skylar again, I’ll marry you.” No sooner had he spoken than Skylar appeared beside him, linking her arm through his. “Audrey, I know you’re used to taking my things, but you and Liam aren’t married yet. I won’t give him up to you.” Skylar’s feigned distress was obvious, and Liam looked at her with doting pity. A dull ache throbbed somewhere deep inside me, as past memories flooded back. Liam and I grew up together, the perfect couple everyone in our circle acknowledged. Liam had planned nine hundred and ninety-nine surprises, each one public and city-wide news. I should have had a happy family and a successful career. But everything changed when Skylar’s mother showed up at the Bennett estate with Skylar, causing a scene. My mother couldn’t accept that her husband had an adult illegitimate daughter. She fell gravely ill and needed long-term treatment. With his wife near death, my father simply moved Skylar and her mother in. Even my own fiancé was completely smitten with Skylar. Now, disregarding our engagement and years of shared history, he was determined to be with Skylar. The once privileged Bennett daughter now had to rely on others. And then, to make things worse, the Bennett family company faced a financial crisis. The infamous Hayes family in New York specifically requested a Bennett daughter. Marry into their family, and they would help the Bennett company overcome its crisis. But the billionaire Mr. Hayes was rumored to be a sickly shut-in, practically a dead man walking. Seeing that Skylar was now the favored daughter, my father naturally couldn’t bear to sacrifice her. My marriage would solve all their problems. My only condition was that my father keep his word and save my mother. I just never expected to be humiliated by these two betrayers, right before I left. Seeing my silence, Liam smiled faintly, looking at Skylar with feigned affection, then turned his gaze to me. “If you’re really lonely, you can come join us.” Skylar laughed, trembling slightly. “You and Audrey were together for so long, and she never let you touch her. How could someone so uptight possibly join us?” Skylar’s contemptuous gaze was undisguised, making me incredibly uncomfortable. I bit down hard on my lower lip, my voice trembling as I finally managed to speak. “No thanks. You two just have fun…” Liam gave me a cold glance, then picked up Skylar, and they walked toward the bedroom. I watched their retreating backs. In two weeks, all this love and hate would finally be over.

Audrey POV I stood outside the door, listening to the increasingly uninhibited sounds from inside. This time, it seemed they knew someone was listening; Liam grew more enthusiastic, and Skylar’s voice grew louder. It was only now that I truly understood the kind of person I had once loved. Since he showed no regard for our past feelings, abandoning me so decisively, then I had no reason to cling to anything either. From now on, this debauched man would have absolutely nothing to do with me. All I wanted was to escape this place. Instead of listening to their lovemaking, I’d rather go see Mom at the hospital. That afternoon, I took a taxi to the hospital. Ever since Skylar and her mother moved in, I’d not only had to guard against them poisoning my father’s ear but also search everywhere for new treatments for Mom. It had been a while since I last visited. But just thinking that in two weeks, Mom would finally get the special medicine, I couldn’t help but feel happy. I held Mom’s hand and talked for a while before reluctantly preparing to leave. “Mom, I won’t give up on you.” “Miss Bennett, your mom might need to switch rooms,” the hospital nurse appeared at the door. “We have a VIP arriving today, and the hospital’s most luxurious private room is the one your mother is currently in.” I froze for a moment, then immediately reacted. “Is it about the medical fees? I’ll pay immediately. Please don’t move my mom. She can’t handle any more stress right now.” As I spoke, I pulled my bank card from my bag. The nurse’s expression grew increasingly troubled. “Miss Bennett, a powerful and influential figure is arriving today. We really can’t afford to offend them. Please don’t make this difficult for me; you should pack up your things soon.” No sooner had the nurse finished speaking than a flurry of hurried footsteps drew my attention. The man who had been intimately entangled at home just moments ago was now standing right before me. My heart sank, and the bank card slipped from my hand to the floor. Liam looked serious, standing beside Skylar, clearly there to back her up. Skylar linked her arm through Liam’s. “Liam, I heard Audrey’s mom is using the best private room in this hospital. My mom is coming for skin therapy soon, and since you love me so much, you’ll definitely want to give me the best, right?” She finished, giving Liam a sweet smile. Liam looked a bit hesitant, as he was aware of my mother’s condition. He finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course I love you, it’s just…” Before Liam could finish, Skylar pouted and whined. “Whether I can marry you depends on my mom’s approval. Are you really so reluctant to be nice to her?” At that, Liam’s hesitation vanished completely, and his cold voice rang out. “Clear out the best private room.” As Liam spoke, a group of nurses from the hospital rushed into the room, preparing to clear it out. The moment a nurse touched the breathing machine, I reacted as if I’d been shocked, rushing forward to fiercely protect it. No one knew better than me that the breathing machine was Mom’s life. Skylar saw my distress and couldn’t help but laugh. “Audrey, you were raised in the Bennett family. How can you be so rude? If others see you like this, they’ll think you lack manners.” I couldn’t be bothered to argue about such things. All I wanted was to protect Mom. Liam saw that I had no intention of moving and began to coax me. “Audrey, Skylar’s mom will be here soon. You have to clear out the room. Don’t delay her therapy.” I knelt by the hospital bed, sobbing and gasping for air. “Skylar, you already have so much. Why do you have to take away my mom’s last hope of living?” Skylar lowered her head, her voice full of grievance. “Liam, it’s okay if I don’t get the room. After all, I’m used to having things taken from me since I was little.” With just a few words, Skylar had Liam wrapped around her finger. He gave a look, and the bodyguards beside him immediately understood, rushing straight in. Ignoring my screams, they forcibly pulled me away from the hospital bed. I struggled, but I couldn’t break free from the two men’s grasp. I could only watch helplessly as the nurses took the opportunity to wheel Mom out.

Audrey POV My mother and I were wheeled into a regular hospital ward, not a private room. The moment I stepped in, the strong, pungent smell of smoke made me recoil. The hospital beds inside were simply separated by curtains, and six people were crowded into one room. I turned to leave, but the nurse behind me spoke. “Hospital beds are tight lately. Even this one was hard to get.” I hesitated, then turned back. Mom’s face was a little purple from being off the breathing machine for a few minutes. I meticulously cared for her, making sure the bed was spotless. Just as I was about to go out for some hot water, I found Skylar waiting by the hot water dispenser. “Someone who’s practically dying doesn’t deserve a deluxe private room, does she? I came, and she still had to make way for me.” My fingertips dug into my palms, a searing pain shooting through me. I forced myself to calm down. It was better to avoid trouble now; taking care of Mom was most important. My kettle filled with water, I prepared to leave, but Skylar wasn’t going to let me off that easily. “Everything you have now should have been mine! Why did you get to live such a good life for so many years?” She spoke faster and faster, almost frenzied by the end. “As long as you’re dead, the entire Bennett Corporation will be mine, and Liam will be mine alone.” With that, Skylar snatched the kettle from my hand and threw it at me. In an instant, the kettle shattered, and most of the freshly boiled hot water splashed onto me. Skylar wasn’t spared either. The splashing hot water made Skylar scream. Liam, who was searching for Skylar, happened to pass by. He heard Skylar’s screams and saw her exposed skin turn red from the burns. Ignoring everything else, he scooped up Skylar and ran towards the emergency room. He didn’t even spare me a glance. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Was I really expecting him to abandon Skylar and tend to me?” I used all my strength to walk to the nearby sink. I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over my burned skin. Only when the burning sensation slowly subsided did I rush to the examination room. “With water that hot, it’s a good thing you rinsed it with cold water immediately. The scars shouldn’t be too noticeable.” The doctor applied burn cream to the wound, and the pain in my arm became increasingly obvious. I gritted my teeth, enduring it. I couldn’t collapse; Mom still needed me to take care of her. Tiny beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the floor. The pain of the application felt incredibly long. The door to the examination room was kicked open by Liam, his face a mask of barely suppressed fury. “What did you do to Skylar? You venomous woman, you’re clearly jealous of her! Do you know her leg is going to scar!” I looked up, my face pale, my lips trembling, barely able to meet Liam’s gaze. “You believe everything Skylar says? What about me? If I wanted to harm her, why would I hurt myself so badly?” Speaking that sentence almost used up all my strength. Liam was about to speak when Skylar’s pained scream from outside the door, where she was having her dressing changed, interrupted him. “You better pray Skylar is okay.” Throwing out that threat, Liam turned and left. I watched his retreating back, closing my eyes, remembering our time together. I used to squat by the roadside, feeding stray cats, and Liam would say I was the most beautiful girl in the world. After I bought flowers from a flower girl, Liam would hug me and say I was so kind. When I went to the orphanage to do charity work, Liam would look at me with a smile. … And now he could say such things to me. It was so obvious when love was gone. After enduring the dressing, I dragged myself towards the ward. Passing by a room, I heard Skylar’s voice. “Liam, it hurts so much, but as long as you’re by my side, I don’t feel the pain.” Liam kept his lips tight, his expression grim. He seemed to be staring intently at Skylar’s wound. Skylar kept talking, and then Liam suddenly leaned down and kissed the burned spot on her leg. His eyes seemed to hold an undisguised tenderness. Liam, so this is how you love someone. When I was with him, I never saw him care for someone so deeply. A wrenching pain shot through my chest.

Audrey POV I returned to the hot water dispenser room and cleaned up the broken shards on the floor. Just as I turned around, I saw Liam standing behind me. “Skylar said she won’t pursue this, but I have to make you pay a price, so you don’t make a habit of bullying her.” Liam’s face was grim, as if he wanted to devour me. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I straightened my back and met his gaze. “You came to find me, and Skylar doesn’t know, does she? If she knew, she definitely wouldn’t let you come. Because she knows better than anyone whose fault it was this afternoon.” Liam frowned. “What do you mean? Skylar wouldn’t falsely accuse you.” I didn’t answer him, just grabbed his sleeve and walked towards the security room. “See the surveillance footage for yourself, everything will be clear.” The security guard nearby pulled up the afternoon’s footage, high-definition, panoramic, and with audio. In a few minutes, everything was crystal clear. Liam’s expression still seemed unchanged. I spoke up proactively. “If I were to call the police, would this count as intentional assault? Spending ten days or half a month in jail shouldn’t be an issue.” Only when Skylar was mentioned did Liam’s expression finally show a ripple. “What do you want to keep you from doing that?” My heart skipped a beat. So Liam actually had to plead with me. But this was indeed my goal. I took a deep breath. “You injured me this badly; you owe me medical expenses, right? Five million, no negotiating.” Liam glanced at me, then pulled a bank card from his wallet and tossed it on the floor, speaking coldly. “The PIN is Skylar’s birthday. I can’t believe you’ve become so money-grubbing now. I don’t know what makes you any different from those gold diggers. Do you even deserve to be a Bennett girl alongside Skylar?” Liam gave me the money but still didn’t forget to humiliate me. Even though this was compensation for me. “Pick it up. Don’t you love money?” Liam’s voice carried a hint of contempt. I picked it up almost without hesitation, faking a casual smile. “Thanks, Liam.” Liam snorted coldly. “Audrey, you’re truly despicable, losing all your dignity for a bit of cash.” With that, he turned and left, leaving me alone. I looked at myself in the mirror, pulling a self-deprecating smile. In the past, when I was the favored Bennett girl, I wouldn’t have even looked at this amount of money. But ever since Mom entered the hospital, Dad wouldn’t even pay her medical bills, let alone give me pocket money. What was my dignity compared to Mom’s well-being? I just wanted her to be okay, to have the best medical care. I pulled myself together, returned to the ward, and contacted another reputable hospital to transfer Mom. Now that I had the money, I no longer feared being kicked out. After transferring her to the new hospital and arranging everything, seeing Mom’s face look much more peaceful on the bed, I finally left with peace of mind. By the time I returned home, I was so exhausted I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Half-asleep, I heard urgent footsteps downstairs, and I couldn’t help but step out to see what was happening. All the servants in the house were at the entrance, ready to welcome someone. “Hurry up, Skylar will be back soon. She injured her leg and can’t move easily, so be sharp.” No sooner had the words fallen than the roar of an engine stopped at the door. The servants stood in two rows, and Liam carried Skylar, walking through the middle under everyone’s gaze, straight upstairs. Skylar buried her face in Liam’s chest, her face flushed with shyness. As they passed me, I met Skylar’s challenging gaze. I vaguely heard Skylar’s feigned angry complaint. “What are you doing? So many people are here. Put me down quickly.” Liam freed one hand and held her firmly, his voice hoarse. “Don’t move.” Skylar, who had been slightly struggling moments before, now lay comfortably and securely in Liam’s arms.

Audrey POV I’d seen this kind of sweet scene plenty of times at home. I went back to my room, hoping to pick up where I left off sleeping. But the room’s soundproofing was terrible, and I could hear everything next door clearly. Skylar’s whining voice was as if she were right next to my ear. “Liam, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Will you kiss me?” “I just had a skin treatment a few days ago. Will you hold me?” Skylar tried every trick to keep Liam there, but the man remained silent. I decided to leave my room and go to the study, which was the farthest away, to rest. As soon as I stepped out, a quick glance showed Liam kissing Skylar’s lips, his eyes seemingly sincere and passionate. “Skylar, whatever you want, I’ll unconditionally stand by you and protect you from any harm, always.” Liam’s gaze was more serious than I had ever seen. As solemn as if he were reciting wedding vows. I left without looking back. I should have stopped expecting anything else long ago. The next day, I was in my room sorting through my belongings. I was getting married and leaving this house in a little over ten days. When Mom was well, this was home. Now, I just wanted to escape this place. I inventoried what I had left. Part of the wedding fund Mom had prepared for me had already been spent on her medical treatment. From my dwindling wedding fund, I found a diamond necklace. Mom had worn it on her wedding day. She gave it to me when she found out Liam and I were dating. Mom still remembered. “Audrey, wear it on your wedding day for a lifetime of happiness.” Before I could pull my distant thoughts back, the necklace in my hand was snatched away. “You actually hid things from me? Don’t you know the company is facing a financial crisis, and we can barely afford to eat? How dare you buy jewelry?” I instinctively tried to snatch it back, but the necklace was too delicate, and I was worried Skylar’s agitated state would break it. I calmed down. “Give it back to me.” Skylar became even more emboldened, “What’s yours is the Bennett family’s, and I have a share in the Bennett family’s things.” She held it in her hand, looking it over and over. I silently prayed Skylar wouldn’t take a liking to it. After a few glances, Skylar found it uninteresting. “What an old-fashioned thing, why do you treasure it so much? Clearly, you’ve never seen anything good. Liam just brought me back a ruby from the auction house a few days ago. Why would I care about a broken necklace?” I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to take it back, watching intently, Skylar’s hand suddenly slipped, and the necklace fell directly to the floor. The diamond necklace, which had been perfectly fine moments ago, shattered into pieces, diamonds scattered everywhere. I froze for a moment, then immediately knelt, trying to pick up the diamonds with my hands. Some sharp fragments cut my hand, but I didn’t even feel it. I kept murmuring. “Mom left this for me.” Skylar stood by, making sarcastic remarks. “It’s just a necklace? Is it that big a deal? You’re so petty!” Hearing that, I felt like I was going crazy. “This is different! You have everything now, why do you still have to take my things?” My voice was trembling uncontrollably. “I’ve already agreed to marry that Hayes family man in your place, why won’t you leave me alone! Once I’m gone, Liam will be all yours, why couldn’t you just wait a little longer!” My anguished shouts were met only with Skylar covering her ears, annoyed by the noise. The commotion in the room drew Liam in. He entered, immediately checking Skylar from head to toe, then asked with concern. “She didn’t hurt you, did she? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” Skylar shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes out of nowhere. Liam looked heartbroken. The moment he turned towards me, it was as if he was a different person. “If you have grievances, take them out on me! Why do you always take it out on Skylar? You only dare to bully her when I’m not around.” My throat felt like it was on fire, and I didn’t want to see these two who betrayed me acting so affectionate in front of me again. I pointed towards the door. “Both of you, get out!” Liam scanned me from head to toe with a look of disgust, then pulled Skylar and walked out the door.

Audrey POV Only I was left in the room, crying silently. I sat weakly on the floor, clutching the broken necklace tightly in my hand. This was the only thing Mom had left for me, and now Skylar had carelessly broken it. Without even an apology. I wiped away my tears. Mom didn’t know when she would wake up, and I absolutely couldn’t leave the wedding fund she had painstakingly saved for me to this family. This was Mom’s life savings; it absolutely couldn’t go to anyone else! It was like something clicked in my mind. I stood up from the floor and rushed straight to my father’s study. I gently knocked on the door, and a deep voice from inside said, “Come in.” I composed myself, took a deep breath, and placed my hand on the cold doorknob. From the anxious expression on my father’s face, I knew our family company was in a very dangerous situation. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be arranging a strategic marriage for his daughter to save the company. I didn’t speak, and the room fell silent. Only the sound of my father flipping through papers and sighing could be heard. It wasn’t until my father happened to look up that he noticed I had appeared in the study. I spoke first, breaking the heavy atmosphere. My voice was a little strained. “Dad, I’m getting married soon. My mom left me a trust fund. That’s twenty percent of the company’s shares.” Hearing about the shares, my father’s hand visibly paused. He closed the documents in his hand and stared intently at me. “Audrey, you know the company hasn’t been doing well lately.” “You don’t need these shares. When I manage the company well, I’ll give you more later.” I still didn’t back down, instead, I seized his weak point. “Dad, since you admit this is the trust fund my mom left me, when I want it is my business.” “You wouldn’t want everyone in the city to know on my wedding day that our family can’t even produce assets, would you?” “It would only make you lose face then, wouldn’t it?” I was like a snake now, tightly wrapped around what was rightfully mine. My father’s words sounded good now, but if I actually got married, the shares might not end up in my hands. I insisted on getting them now, and a few sentences put my father in an awkward position. While my father was hesitating, I added fuel to the fire. “Dad, only if we create profit for the Hayes family in New York will they be willing to help us.” I knew that the entire company was now focused on my marriage, hoping to quickly connect with the billionaire Mr. Hayes and alleviate the financial crisis. My father pondered for a few seconds, then took out his phone and called his assistant. “Bring me the share transfer agreement.” Before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, the study door opened. Liam walked in, holding Skylar’s hand, looking every bit like an affectionate couple. Liam glanced at me with obvious disdain. He stood to the side and spoke casually. “So you’re that cunning after all? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fight for anything?” “Now you’re secretly asking Dad for something behind Skylar’s back?” I looked at my father, but he always preferred to avoid conflict, completely ignoring my gaze. I knew he was always unreliable in critical moments. “Yes, I am fighting for it. I’ve done a lot for the company over the years. I’m just taking what’s rightfully mine.” “Why would I be a fool and not take money when it’s offered?” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with them. Just as I was about to turn and leave the study, my wrist was pulled back by an unknown force. Liam’s face had turned grim, his eyes seemingly bloodshot. “Skylar doesn’t even have that, what makes you think you deserve it?” I met his gaze, unafraid, only feeling the righteousness of what I deserved. “Why? Because my mother married into this family all those years ago, and the Bennett family’s company value increased hundreds of times over!” For a moment, the two of us stood there, locked in a silent standoff. Liam was so stunned by my words that he couldn’t utter a single sentence. My father, seated at the desk, had a sullen expression. Suddenly, a soft whimpering sound broke the silence. It was Skylar. “Dad, I know you’ve always favored Audrey. After all, she’s the one who grew up with you.” “I’m just an illegitimate daughter who was out there, living in the shadows. It’s only natural for you to treat her well.” The more Skylar spoke, the heavier her sobs became. The guilt on my father’s face deepened. Then, as if her pent-up grievances had reached their peak, she covered her mouth and ran out. My father, without thinking, chased after her. Only Liam and I remained in the study.

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After signing the multi-billion dollar contract with Robertson Corp., our company held a celebration dinner. When a roast chicken was served, Chloe Belle’s assistant, Ethan Calderon, deliberately cut out the fatty, greasy piece of the roast chicken and put it on my plate: “You’re just a lazy, good-for-nothing freeloader.” “All you do is hide in your office, enjoying the AC and sipping coffee, while we do all the hard work and accomplishments.” “This chicken tail is perfect for you, isn’t it?” “After you’re done, go clean out your office. Miss Belle says she needs that spot for someone more capable.” I turned to Chloe Belle, her eyes offered only silent confirmation. I chuckled, then casually picked up the chicken tail and stuffed it into Ethan Calderon’s mouth. Immediately, I pulled out my phone and made a call: “Get the contract back. I’m canceling our partnership with Belle Corp.” I helped Chloe Belle grow her small company into the large corporation it is today. I worried she might get bullied by competitors when I wasn’t always by her side, so even though Belle Corp. wasn’t quite qualified to partner with Robertson Corp., I agreed to it for her protection. But she didn’t know I was the actual head of Robertson Corp. I planned to tell her on her birthday. Who would have thought that after the contract was signed, every time I tried to order a dish, her assistant, Ethan Calderon, would say it was too expensive. The third time, I looked up at him, annoyed: “Ethan Calderon, what exactly do you mean by that?” The air crackled with unspoken tension. “Are you out of your mind? Can’t you see?” He shook his head and chuckled, meeting my gaze. “Certain people deserve certain things. And the dishes you ordered? You don’t deserve them.” Just then, a waiter brought a roast chicken to the table and said to Ethan Calderon: “Sir, all your dishes have been served.” He picked up a fork and reached for the roast chicken, cut off the chicken tail, and placed it on my plate. “James, you’re just a lazy, good-for-nothing freeloader.” “All you do is hide in your office, enjoying the AC and sipping coffee, while we do all the hard work and accomplishments.” “You think a good-for-nothing like you deserves to eat well?” “Here. Eat up! The chicken tail is plenty greasy; it’s perfect for you.” “Oh, and by the way.” “After you’re done, remember to hurry back and clean out your office. Miss Belle said she needs that spot for someone more capable.” I looked at the chicken tail on my plate, but I didn’t get angry. Everyone watched, tense and fearful, as if a battle was about to erupt between us. I turned to Chloe Belle. She was wearing a tight professional dress today, accentuating her devilish figure. But she was sitting so close to Ethan Calderon, they looked like a couple no matter how you sliced it. Everyone exchanged glances, not daring to breathe. Everyone knew Chloe and I were married, but her excessive intimacy with Ethan Calderon truly humiliated me in public. “Chloe…” “It’s Miss Belle!” “At this company, no one is allowed to pull strings or try to cozy up to me, and that includes you. You must call me Miss Belle.” Her voice was loud, every word reaching everyone’s ears. “Miss Belle!” My voice turned several degrees colder. “Is what Ethan Calderon said true?” She didn’t answer me directly; her gaze was dismissive. Her silent confirmation only fueled Ethan Calderon’s arrogance. He slammed the table and stood up: “Since you know Miss Belle’s stance, why aren’t you hurrying back to clean out your office…” “You’re really annoying!” I picked up the chicken tail with my hand and shoved it directly into his mouth.

I ignored the gasps from the entire room, even Chloe Belle’s cold stare. I picked up a napkin from in front of me, wiped my hand, and smirked. “Is the chicken tail tasty?” I tossed the napkin onto the floor, my anger flaring. “James, you’ve gone too far.” “How dare you publicly force such a dirty thing into Ethan Calderon’s mouth?” “Ugh!” Ethan Calderon bent over, gagging and then ran towards the restroom. But before he ran off, he shot me a fierce glare, as if to say he’d settle the score later. I sat back down, shedding my usual approachable demeanor. My cold gaze stunned Chloe Belle for a few seconds. “How have I gone too far?” “Isn’t this chicken tail the exquisite delicacy Ethan Calderon had delivered? If I eat it, it’s normal, but if Ethan Calderon eats it, it’s a crime? Chloe, you really have double standards!” Ethan Calderon’s retching could still be heard from the restroom, and Chloe Belle was again left speechless by my retort. “James, I’ll deal with you later.” She rushed into the restroom, in a posture of a wife most concerned for her husband, to wipe Ethan Calderon’s mouth, wash his face, and straighten his tie. They were so close, their noses almost touching. Ethan Calderon deliberately stumbled, falling right on top of Chloe Belle. “Miss Belle, are you alright?” “I’m fine, you caught my waist, didn’t you?” “My waist? Oh! I forgot, you were so wild on top of me last night…” He said it loudly, making sure I could hear every word. He didn’t finish the rest of his sentence, letting clever people guess what he meant. My hand clenched into a fist, but I released it two seconds later. I pulled out my phone and made a call: “Get the contract back. I’m canceling our partnership with Belle Corp.” I had done so much for her, yet she repaid me with infidelity and by trying to force me out. If I let that good-for-nothing Ethan Calderon walk all over me, I wouldn’t be James. Chloe Belle and Ethan Calderon walked out, clinging to each other, just as they heard me speak. Ethan Calderon scoffed at me on the spot, his face full of disdain. “James, you think you’re the boss of Robertson Corp.?” “What makes you think you can cancel the partnership with Belle Corp.?” Everyone else also gave me doubtful glances; they wouldn’t believe me. I leaned back in my chair, watching Ethan Calderon with the most languid posture. He wasn’t to be outdone, looking down at me condescendingly. “Because I am the head of Robertson Corp.!” The private room went silent for a few seconds, then erupted in laughter. “You say you’re the head of Robertson Corp.?” “Ha! Since when?” “If you’re so awesome, why are you working at Belle Corp.?” “Are you out of your mind, or do you just think we’re playing us for fools?” One sentence ignited the anger of all the senior executives. They hadn’t spoken earlier because they respected my marital relationship with Chloe. Now, seeing that Chloe was clearly siding with Ethan Calderon, they knew currying favor with him would be beneficial. “I didn’t treat anyone like a fool!” “Those were your words.” “Wait ten more minutes; you’ll know when the Robertson Corp. representatives return.” “Enough, stop spouting nonsense here.” “There’s no place for you at this meal. Stand up and go back to clean out your things immediately so Ethan Calderon can sit there.” “After all, he brought us closer to the Robertson Corp. partnership, so he absolutely deserves the Vice President position.” Ethan Calderon helped Belle Corp. partner with Robertson Corp.? I turned my head and looked coldly at Ethan Calderon. He looked back at me with immense pride. “Who else if not me?” “I know you’re probably unhappy about giving up your position.” “How about this, we’ll decide by vote.”

Chloe Belle looked at Ethan Calderon with an admiring gaze. “James, did you see that? That’s what a truly intelligent person says!” “Unlike you, all talk and no action, just making a fool of yourself.” I didn’t speak, waiting to see how Belle Corp.’s people would react. Chloe Belle shifted her gaze to everyone else, her voice carrying an undeniable authority. “You all heard what was said, didn’t you?” “So I’ll get straight to the point.” “Do you support Ethan Calderon as Vice President? Or James as Vice President? Let’s decide by a show of hands.” “Now, those who support Ethan Calderon as Vice President, please raise your hands!” Everyone saw that Chloe Belle highly valued her assistant; who would dare to defy her and not raise their hand? Everyone in the room, except me, raised their hands in approval. Ethan Calderon smirked, very pleased with the scene before him. Chloe Belle curled her lips into a smile, nodding with equal satisfaction. I instantly understood; she was humiliating me in public. “Those who support James remaining as Vice President, please raise your hands!” Everyone exchanged glances; no one raised a hand. Ethan Calderon scoffed and raised his hand, and even Chloe Belle looked a bit bewildered. Only I knew why he raised his hand. “Oh, my! How can you treat our current Vice President this way?” “At least one person could raise their hand so James wouldn’t lose face completely, right?” My confusion vanished, and his mockery grew stronger. “I’m such a considerate person; seeing James so pathetic, I just had to raise my hand.” “Oh, James! Don’t be sad, I’ll hold onto that position for you really well.” He looked at me with a fake smile. I didn’t get angry; I just lightly tapped the table. “Chloe, it’s not that I underestimate your abilities.” “Belle Corp. is a legitimate company, after all. You’re dismissing a Vice President by letting a bunch of nobodies make the decision? Without the shareholders’ input?” I was going to leave, but not by being casually dismissed by this bunch of worthless people. Honestly, without me, Belle Corp. would probably be close to bankruptcy. “James, are you looking down on us?” Someone slammed the table and stood up, starting to openly oppose me, seeing I was at a disadvantage. “Exactly! We are senior executives of Belle Corp. Don’t we have the right to vote?” I pulled out my phone, sent a message, and then stood up. “Yes!” “Simply put, to fire me, you need the support of the board of directors.” Seeing me about to leave, Ethan Calderon called out, smiling. “Wait!” “Didn’t you say Robertson Corp. representatives would bring a contract to cancel the deal?” “What, can’t keep up the act anymore?” “See! That’s the kind of competence our Vice President uses to help Belle Corp. thrive.” “Laugh all you want!” “Anyway, everyone gets arrogant when they’re in power.” “The partnership between Robertson Corp. and Belle Corp. depends on tomorrow’s board meeting.” If they want to dig their own grave, I won’t stop them. After my figure disappeared through the door, everyone stopped laughing. My departure didn’t cause a ripple; instead, they continued ordering food and occasionally mocked me for entertainment. Back home, I washed away the day’s fatigue. Holding a bottle of red wine in one hand and a glass in the other, I lay on the single sofa on the balcony, poured myself a glass, and slowly savored it. Just then, my phone vibrated.

I glanced at the caller ID, and knowing it was Ethan Calderon, I didn’t answer. He seemed to enjoy it endlessly, calling again and again. I’m not one to lose my temper easily, so I let him call as much as he wanted. Until, getting bored, he sent me a video and a voice message. It showed him in Chloe Belle’s bed, hugging and kissing her wildly, engaging in intimate acts. He thought provoking me would make me furious. Instead, I immediately downloaded their video and sent it to everyone in the company. I thought my heart would feel a little sad, but surprisingly, it didn’t. The next day, when I returned to the company, everyone gave me strange looks. “Did you all get it last night?” “Mr. James actually sent me an intimate video of Miss Belle and Assistant Ethan Calderon in bed!” “You got it too? Holy hell, I got it too!” “Me too…” “How did everyone get it? What’s Mr. James playing at?” “His fiancée getting intimate with another man, and he’s not angry? He even has the energy to send that kind of video to all the employees.” “Quiet down, Miss Belle is coming.” As soon as the words fell, Chloe Belle, clicking in high heels, strode towards me. When she got close, she raised her hand, ready to slap me. I caught her hand: “Still so angry first thing in the morning?” “Are you not man enough for Chloe? Is that why you couldn’t satisfy her?” Ethan Calderon’s face instantly flushed red; it seemed my counterattack had made him furious. “James, you’re disgusting.” “Why would you send my intimate photos to every employee in the company?” I smiled, shook off her hand, then straightened my collar. “Guess why I have a video of you two in bed together?” The hall instantly fell silent; everyone was curious. “Well, it’s all thanks to Assistant Ethan Calderon.” “He sent me your intimate video, but he didn’t tell me the details. I thought, such good benefits, I shouldn’t hog them all, right?” “So, I made sure every employee in the company got a copy.” Chloe Belle looked at Ethan Calderon in disbelief, but he denied it with a distraught face. Just then, the shareholders in the conference room sent word. They had been waiting for a long time; if we didn’t go in soon, they’d leave. Ethan Calderon certainly wouldn’t let them go, as he hadn’t formally taken my position yet. As soon as I walked into the conference room, I became the center of attention. Chloe Belle, with Ethan Calderon beside her, walked arrogantly to her seat. She pointed at the seat that belonged to me. “Ethan Calderon, this position is yours from now on. Go sit.” “Alrighty!” Ethan Calderon beamed and quickly walked over, sitting down without hesitation. “Indeed, the Vice President’s chair is so comfortable.” The chairs were all identical, yet everyone present understood the deeper meaning behind his words. Someone couldn’t help but stand up and ask: “Miss Belle, you’re letting an assistant sit in the Vice President’s position? Where will Mr. James sit?” Chloe Belle smiled: “That’s why! That’s why I called all of you here.” Ethan Calderon immediately straightened his clothes, and Chloe Belle instantly announced to all the shareholders. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement today.” “I am dismissing James and formally appointing Ethan Calderon to the position of Vice President.” Except for Arthur Franklin, the old shareholder who spoke, no one seemed surprised. It seemed that last night, besides their intimate activities, they had also been busy winning over supporters. Arthur Franklin was dissatisfied with the outcome and confronted Chloe Belle. Ethan Calderon picked up a teacup and smashed it on his head: “Old fool, if you can’t bear to part with James, then get lost with him!” “Sell your shares! Belle Corp. might be better off without a stubborn old man like you!” I walked in and helped Arthur Franklin up. I, who was usually calm and composed, finally erupted in anger. “Do you all support Miss Belle dismissing me?” “Yes!” The reply was uniform and forceful, as if they feared I wouldn’t hear them. “Alright, then I’ll give you a gift too.” I raised my hand and clapped: “Everyone, come in!” The door opened, and several stern men in sharp suits walked in. They held a contract in their hands—the partnership agreement between Belle Corp. and Robertson Corp. “Chloe, I can raise you up, and I can cast you down to hell!” “I announce that Robertson Corp. will never partner with Belle Corp. again.”

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