Category: English

01 After exposing Debbie’s emotional affair online, the court ordered me to post a video apology every day for fifteen consecutive days. “I should not have publicized your explicit chat logs with Mr. Gary without blurring his name.” “I should not have secretly recorded your suggestive voice notes with Mr. Gary and shared them publicly.” To show my utter sincerity, I included their uncensored photos and full legal names in every post. Furious and humiliated by the public exposure, Debbie picked a massive fight with me after every single upload. By the time the thirteenth video went live, I tagged her assistant, Gary, to offer a solemn, targeted apology. Although she stormed out of the house in a rage, she surprisingly did not throw her usual tantrum afterward. I was naive enough to think she had finally recognized her wrongs and decided to save our marriage. The next day, I spent hours cooking her favorite meal and drove to her office to surprise her. The moment I pushed the heavy office door open, a suffocating wave of heavy breathing and whispered moans hit me. Debbie was pinning her flustered assistant to the couch, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips as he tried to pull away. “Since he already thinks we are doing it, we might as well go all the way, otherwise we are losing out, aren’t we?” She caught sight of my bloodshot, tear-filled eyes and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Who else can you blame, Tristan? You forced my hand.” I stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer betrayal. Debbie was defiled, and with her, our seven-year marriage lay in ruins. The glass container slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor. The hot soup I had spent all night simmering splashed over my bare ankles, the searing pain making me break into a cold sweat. “Why did you make me watch this?” My voice shook so violently I could barely form the words. She had specifically demanded that I bring her lunch today, all just to orchestrate this cruel spectacle. Debbie only smirked at my accusation, refusing to shift from her suggestive position over Gary. “You already dragged our names through the mud online. If we do not make it real, Gary here would have suffered all that slander for nothing.” He was the one suffering? In our seven years of marriage, her text replies to me never exceeded a single word. Yet, she could send endless, soft-voiced audio recordings to Gary, reading him bedtime stories. When I was burning with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, she was on the phone giggling, telling Gary how adorable his new silk pajamas looked. When I was bleeding out after a car accident, she claimed she was too busy to sign my emergency consent form, only for me to find out she had rushed across town to tend to Gary’s sick puppy, a delay that nearly cost me my right leg. The tension in the office grew suffocatingly thick. Debbie finally, reluctantly, let Gary stand up. She reached over to adjust his belt before tossing a used wrapper into the wastebasket. “Yesterday, you tagged his name under the company’s official public page and called him all those disgusting things. Did you really think I would let that slide?” I stared at the dark red mark on her collarbone, my heart hammering in my chest. “What do you want from me?” Debbie casually picked up a pair of discarded underwear from the sofa and threw them directly at my chest. “I want you to wash his clothes right here, and apologize to Gary while you do it.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she opened the blinds facing the main office floor. Dozens of employees immediately gathered outside the glass wall, whispering and pointing at the drama unfolding inside. The fabric brushed against my bare arm, and a wave of intense nausea hit me, making my stomach churn. Debbie scoffed, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You think this is dirty? When those thugs took ninety-nine private photos of you, you were a hundred times filthier than this.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, looking up at her in absolute shock. Years ago, when kidnappers took those compromising photos of me, Debbie had nearly lost her life trying to hunt them down and retrieve the film. She had held my shivering, suicidal body back then, whispering over and over, “You are not dirty, Tristan. My sweet Tristan is not dirty at all.” The exact same person, using the exact same mouth, was now ripping my old wounds open with words that made it hard to breathe. Staring at the bucket of soapy water she had her assistant bring in, I swallowed my remaining pride and knelt on the floor, rubbing the fabric together. Outside the glass, the spectators watched with looks of morbid curiosity and disgust. Driven to the edge by Debbie’s relentless mocking, I pulled out my phone and aimed the camera straight at her and Gary. “I formally apologize to Mr. Gary. I should not have barged in while he was sleeping with my wife in her office, ruining their fun.” With a sharp bang, Debbie kicked the bucket over, sending soapy water splashing across the floor, before grabbing my phone and throwing it against the wall. “Tristan, are you ever going to stop!” Soaked from head to toe, I sat on the wet floor as Debbie’s fury flared. “Is this your idea of an apology? Fine. You brought this on yourself!” She marched over to her desk, yanked open a bottom drawer, and threw a massive stack of glossy papers into the air. A single photo fluttered down, landing right beside my knee. My heart stopped. It was one of the intimate photos from my kidnapping, the very ones she had sworn to me she had burned years ago. Outside the office, the employees scrambled to pick them up, their eyes scanning the explicit images with greedy, mocking curiosity. I lunged forward, tearing the photos on the floor to shreds, screaming at the top of my lungs, “Debbie, you are an absolute monster!” For a split second, guilt flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it, turning to her security guards. “Take him home. He clearly needs to calm down.” They dragged me away and locked me in the dark basement of our house, plunging me into a panic. Years ago, on my way to the International Steinway Competition, I had been intercepted and locked away in a dark room. It was in that windowless room that those monsters took those ninety-nine humiliating photos, triggering the severe claustrophobia that had plagued me ever since. I clawed desperately at the heavy basement door, my nails tearing and bleeding as I screamed until my voice turned to gravel. Finally, the door swung open, and Debbie stood there, her face dark with anger. “I thought you would have learned your lesson by now, but you still posted that video!” On her phone screen, the final apology video was trending online, the very clip of me exposing their office tryst. I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn’t posted it, that I hadn’t even had the chance to press upload before the phone was snatched away. But before I could speak, she slammed the door shut again, letting out a cold sneer. “I am going to make you pay for this.” Minutes later, muffled groans and the creaking of weight filtered through the door, accompanied by the chaotic, jarring sounds of piano keys being struck in rhythmic succession. That piano was the last remaining heirloom of my parents, left to me before their tragic accident. On the eve of the grand competition, they had flown in from Europe just to watch me perform. But that very night, they received copies of those horrific photos from an anonymous sender, and in their panic-stricken rush to find me, their car spun out of control. I missed the competition I had trained my whole life for, and lost the two most important people in the world. And now, their sacred legacy was being used as a crude prop for Debbie and Gary’s twisted games. Gary’s breathy voice carried through the thin walls. “He is right in the basement, Debbie. What if he posts another video about this? It would be so embarrassing.” “Let him,” Debbie gasped. “Doesn’t knowing he is listening make it so much more thrilling?” The discordant, pounding notes of the piano battered my eardrums. I curled into a tight ball on the cold floor, the intense psychological trauma causing my stomach to heave as I dry-heaved repeatedly in the dark. The noise outside went on for hours. Finally, a notification buzzed on my phone, containing an old video link. It was the broadcast of that fateful piano competition years ago. On the screen, Gary stood on the grand stage, tears shining in his eyes as he held the golden trophy. “If my main competitor had not suffered an unfortunate incident right before the finals, I doubt I would be standing here today.” He blew a kiss to the camera. “I owe everything to my wonderful sponsor. She promised me she would secure the first-place spot for me, and she kept her word!” Every drop of blood in my veins ran cold. My sole rival in that competition had been Gary. When the kidnappers threatened me, they had warned, “If you dare step onto that stage, these photos go viral.” They were working for him. And the sponsor he spoke of was none other than Debbie. Before I could convince myself it was a coincidence, the camera panned to the VIP seats, revealing Debbie’s adoring, proud face. The phone felt like a hot coal in my palm, and I dropped it, shaking uncontrollably. When I was taken, Debbie had arrived with the police seemingly out of nowhere, saving me from those thugs in a flurry of violence and blood. I had spent years worshiping her as my guardian angel, believing our deep bond was the only reason she had found me so quickly. Now, the pieces fell into place. That was why she had those photos. That was why they were never destroyed. The savior who had pulled me from the abyss was the very person who had pushed me into it. Unable to bear the crushing weight of the truth, my vision faded, and I collapsed into unconsciousness. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh white light of a hospital room greeted me. Debbie was sitting by my bedside, dark circles underscoring her tired eyes. Seeing that I lay quiet, without screaming or crying, she assumed I had finally been tamed. But she was in for a bitter disappointment. “The kidnapping, the photos, the threats… it was all you, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice flat, every word carved from ice. Debbie’s eyes flickered, but there was no trace of remorse on her face. Instead, her expression hardened. “Have you been digging into my past?” “So you really used that old story to threaten Gary and drive him to a breakdown?” Gary suddenly burst into the room, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed dramatically. “Everyone online is saying my trophy was bought, and that I am responsible for your parents’ deaths! I didn’t know anything about the kidnapping, Tristan, I swear I didn’t!” He shrank back, looking at me with theatrical terror. Seeing her lover in distress, Debbie panicked. When she turned to me, her voice was soft, but her words were lethal. “Tristan, just release a statement. Tell the public you traded your body to the competition judges, got cold feet, and missed the finals, which led to your parents’ fatal accident. Today is the anniversary of their passing anyway. It is the perfect time to go to their graves and beg for their forgiveness.” I stared at her, my mind reeling. When my parents died and I had stood on the ledge of our apartment building ready to jump, she was the one who had pulled me back. “Your parents would want you to live, Tristan. I promise I will take care of you for the rest of my life.” It turned out her definition of a lifetime was incredibly short. A cold, hysterical laugh escaped my throat. “Never. Debbie, let’s get a divorce.” Her chest rose and fell as she struggled for breath, her jaw tightening. “Is our seven-year marriage so worthless to you that you would throw it away over a minor dispute?” Gary rushed forward, his eyes red and theatrical. “Please, Tristan, do not divorce her because of me. If you do not care about her feelings, I do! If it makes you happy, I will take the blame for your parents’ deaths, even if the public tears me to pieces!” He played the martyr perfectly, making me look like the heartless villain. Debbie immediately began to soothe him, then pulled up a live camera feed on her phone, showing a group of burly men holding shovels, standing directly in front of my parents’ graves. “You do not want a divorce, Tristan. You are just trying to destroy Gary’s life,” she said coldly. “If you do not post the statement, your parents’ resting place will be razed to the ground.” My pupils dilated in sheer terror. On screen, a heavy metal shovel slammed into the marble headstone, shattering my parents’ porcelain portraits into a web of cracks. My mind fractured. Forgetting all remaining dignity, I threw myself from the bed onto the floor, screaming in despair. “Stop! Tell them to stop! I will do whatever you want!” The tension left Debbie’s brow, and she smiled with her usual artificial warmth. “I knew you would make the right choice, Tristan.” She helped me off the floor and into her car, a convoy of reporters trailing closely behind us as we drove to the cemetery. At the cemetery, a barrage of flashing cameras blinded me, dragging me back into the nightmare of my past humiliation. I curled into myself, unable to look at my parents’ ruined headstone, biting my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Like a hollow puppet, I read the script they had prepared for me. “I willingly took those intimate photos to generate publicity for the competition. My own greed and foolishness led to the distraction that caused my parents’ fatal accident…” Debbie stood slightly off to the side, her arms crossed, while Gary stood nearby, his winner’s medal catching the light as a smirk played at the edge of his lips. The moment I finished reading, the gathered crowd surged forward, shouting insults. “Disgusting pig, trying to frame others for your own filth!” “The photos are already circulating online anyway, he got exactly what he wanted!” “Who knew the CEO’s husband was such a cheap tramp? Did you see the photos? He actually has a six-pack!” They began taping copies of my private photos onto my parents’ shattered tombstone, spitting on the ground in disgust. I lunged forward to tear them down, but Debbie’s security guards pinned my arms behind my back. Debbie hesitated for a brief second, but chose to stand her ground. “It is just a few promotional videos for the media, Tristan. We can clean the headstone once they leave. I have already tolerated enough of your outbursts. As my husband, you should try to maintain some basic dignity.” With that, she stepped away to answer a ringing phone. The second she was out of earshot, Gary’s mask slipped, exposing his true, sinister nature. He leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I have seen every single one of those photos, Tristan. Debbie and I actually use them to get in the mood. It is a shame your parents didn’t appreciate the art. When they were driving to your venue, I kindly texted them the images to enjoy. I guess they panicked, lost control, and slammed right into that semi-truck.” His mocking face twisted in front of me. I summoned every ounce of my remaining strength, I raised my hand to strike his face, but before my palm could connect, Debbie rushed back and shoved me hard to the ground. “Tristan, how dare you! Gary has done nothing but try to keep the peace, and you are acting like a lunatic!” I lay in the dirt, gasping for air. “He killed my parents! He sent them the photos!” Debbie froze, but before she could process my words, Gary let out a theatrical gasp of pain. “My chest… Tristan hit me so hard…” Without another glance in my direction, she wrapped her arm around him and helped him walk away. The moment their luxury sedan cleared the cemetery gates, the hired thugs returned with their shovels, systematically pulverizing my parents’ headstone into gravel. I dragged myself forward, throwing my body over the ruins to shield them from the heavy iron tools. “Please, stop! I beg you!” A heavy boot slammed into my ribs, knocking me back into the dirt, the impact leaving me gasping for air. The more I struggled, the harder they pinned me down, forcing me to watch as my parents’ graves were reduced to dust, their portraits scattered and trampled. And today was the anniversary of their deaths. They pried open the concrete vault, dragging my parents’ urns out of the earth and pouring the gray ashes onto the ground. One of them grabbed a handful and shoved it toward my mouth. “Gary’s orders. You eat this, or you don’t leave here alive.” The dry dust filled my nostrils and mouth, choking me as I thrashed wildly against their grip, tears of blood leaking from my eyes. “No! Stop! Give them back to me!” A heavy stone collided with the back of my skull. A cold trickle of blood ran down my neck, and the world faded to black. Back in the city, after confirming Gary didn’t have a single scratch on his body, a strange, suffocating anxiety began to gnaw at Debbie. Ignoring his complaints, she grabbed her car keys and drove back to the cemetery as fast as her vehicle could go. But the moment she stepped through the iron gates, the scene before her drained every drop of color from her face.

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1 On the night I secured a fifty-million-dollar profit margin for the company, my year-end bonus finally cleared: $250. In the memo line, there were only two words: Dog food. At that exact moment, Scarlett, the HR director who barely knew how to open an Excel sheet, posted a photo of a Porsche key fob on her social media feed. Her caption read: “My favorite cousin spoils me the most! Seven-figure year-end bonus!” The entire office waited for me to lose my mind or quit on the spot. Instead, I smiled and sent a polite text to my boss: “Thank you, sir.” Then I turned around and knocked on the door of his wife’s penthouse. I laid a thick stack of hotel check-in records and falsified accounting ledgers on the glass table in front of her. Elizabeth Croft looked at me, a dangerous smile touching her lips. “How do you want to play this, Nate?” I loosened my tie, taking a slow step toward her. “I want to be the man sitting right beside you,” I said, my voice low. “In the boardroom, and in your life.” … I stared at the three-digit deposit notification on my screen, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of it. “Oh, look. Nate, did your bonus finally hit?” Scarlett stepped up to my desk, her ten-inch stiletto heels clicking sharply against the linoleum. She lazily twirled her new Porsche key ring around a finger adorned with glittering, diamond-encrusted acrylic nails. I locked my phone and looked up. “Is there something you need, Scarlett?” She giggled, covering her mouth in mock innocence. “Not really. It’s just that my cousin, I mean, Richard, wanted me to ask if you were satisfied with your reward.” She bent down, leaning close enough for her heavy perfume to clog my senses. “I was the one who told payroll to send you that two-fifty, Nate. A stray like you doesn’t deserve a penny more.” “The company had a tough year. We all have to make sacrifices,” I replied, my voice dry and empty of emotion. My lack of reaction seemed to bore her. “Ugh, look at you. No spine at all,” she sneered. She stood up straight and raised her voice so the entire open-plan office could hear. “Listen up, everyone! Richard is treating the whole team to dinner tonight to celebrate our record-breaking year. Make sure you all show up!” The room erupted into cheers and sycophantic applause. Just then, my desk phone buzzed. It was Richard Cross, the CEO. “Get in here,” his voice grunted through the receiver. I grabbed my notebook and walked into his corner office. Richard was reclined in his high-back leather chair, his feet propped up on the mahogany desk. “Have a seat.” He jerked his chin toward the stiff wooden chair across from him. “I assume you got the text?” He exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, looking at me like I was a joke he had already heard. “I did. Thank you, Richard.” He let out a sharp chuckle, flicking his cigar ash onto the plush carpet. “Don’t go thinking it’s too little. You know what the market is like right now. It’s a miracle the company is even afloat. Sure, your project brought in fifty million, but our overhead is astronomical. That two-fifty might seem like pocket change, but money is money. Go buy yourself a nice dinner.” Our net profit had tripled this year, yet here he was, crying poverty. I simply nodded. “I understand, Richard. Thank you for the perspective.” He blinked, clearly surprised by my submissiveness. The contempt in his eyes deepened. “Good. Since you’re being so reasonable, there’s one more thing.” He slid a manila folder across the desk. “The Apex Group account. You don’t need to worry about the follow-up. Hand all the files over to Scarlett.” My eyes snapped up. The Apex account was a massive deal I had nurtured for three long years. It was set to be our primary revenue stream for the next five years. Now that the hard part was done and the harvest was here, he was giving it to his mistress on a silver platter. “Richard, Scarlett doesn’t know the technical specifications, nor does she have any experience in high-level negotiations. The team at Apex—” “Enough!” Richard slammed his palm on the desk, cutting me off. “What is that tone, Nate? Do you own this company? I put whoever I want on my accounts!” He leaned forward, his face red. “Scarlett is young talent. She needs to be tested. As a senior executive, you need to show some leadership. Unless, of course, you’ve been hoarding these client relationships to start your own little agency?” He was setting the stage to freeze me out entirely. I didn’t argue. I stood up, pulled out my pen, and signed the transfer agreement with a smooth, unbroken stroke. Richard stared at my signature, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Now that’s what I call a team player. Make sure you come to the party tonight. Buy Scarlett a drink; she’s your boss now.” I walked back to my desk. Scarlett was already ordering a couple of interns to clear out my files. “Oh, Nate, this archive box is so heavy,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at a plastic tub on the floor. “Be a dear and carry it into my new office, will you?” Without a word, I bent down, picked up the heavy box, and carried it in. “My pleasure, Scarlett.” The rest of the office watched the humiliation unfold like vultures waiting for a carcass. I ignored them all. Back at my computer, I opened the main directory for the Apex project and ran a hidden script I had embedded months ago. On the surface, the data looked perfectly intact. But I had set a twenty-four-hour timer. If I didn’t log into the secure server from my personal gateway within that window, the entire database would corrupt into useless code. I shut my laptop, took out my burner phone, and sent a message to a contact saved only as S. “The fish took the bait. See you tonight.” The reply came instantly. “Perfect.” 2 Seven PM, the grand ballroom of the Hilton. Richard had rented out the entire top floor to celebrate the company’s record year. I stood at the entrance wearing the same gray suit I had worn for three years. The hostess checked my badge, her polite smile instantly freezing. “Mr. Harrison, your table is… over there.” She pointed toward a dim corner of the ballroom, right next to the service corridor and the restrooms. The table didn’t even have a tablecloth. Just a couple of chipped plates and a plastic pitcher of water. “It’s an overflow table,” she added dismissively. “I’m sure you don’t mind.” “Not at all,” I said, walking over. At the center table, Richard and Scarlett were surrounded by a crowd of adoring managers. Scarlett was wearing a backless crimson designer gown, her neck draped in a diamond necklace. I knew the price of that necklace. It was exactly the amount of the commission Richard had cut from my bonus. “Quiet down, everyone!” Richard shouted into a wireless microphone, his face flush with alcohol. “This year’s success belongs to all of us! But we owe a special round of applause to our new director, Scarlett! She’s young, she’s ambitious, and she just secured the Apex Group account! To celebrate, I’m personally awarding her a two-million-dollar cash bonus!” The room erupted into thunderous applause. “To Scarlett!” someone yelled. “Brilliant leadership!” another chimed in. Scarlett leaned into Richard’s side, her eyes finding me in the dark corner. “Oh, I didn’t do much,” she purred into the microphone, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I just had a great mentor. I’m not like some people who spend years dragging their feet only to end up worth two hundred and fifty bucks.” A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the room. “Man, Nate really took a beating today.” “He always acted like he was indispensable. Turns out he’s just a placeholder.” “Can’t even compare to Scarlett.” I sat quietly, raising my teacup to my lips, blowing gently on the steam. The heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open again, and the laughter died down. A woman in a simple, elegant slate-gray dress walked in. Her dark hair was pinned up loosely, and she carried herself with a quiet, undeniable authority that made the room feel suddenly small. Elizabeth Croft. She was Richard’s wife on paper, the co-founder of the firm, and the person whose family trust actually funded the entire operation. But over the last few years, Richard had systematically pushed her out of the day-to-day operations, keeping her isolated at home. Richard’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered his mask. “Elizabeth! Darling, what are you doing here? You should be resting at home.” Scarlett quickly let go of Richard’s arm, taking a cautious step back. Elizabeth ignored her husband entirely, walking toward the head table. As she passed my dark corner, her gaze flicked to me for a brief instant. I gave her a subtle, polite nod. She kept walking, but that split-second exchange hadn’t escaped Scarlett’s sharp eyes. Scarlett’s expression darkened. She grabbed a full glass of Cabernet from a passing waiter and marched over to my table. “Nate, what are you doing sitting all the way back here?” she asked loudly, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. “Richard is so forgetful. How could he put our star employee next to the toilets?” She offered a sweet, patronizing smile, but as she reached out to set the glass down, her wrist gave a sudden, deliberate jerk. The dark red wine splashed squarely across my face and down the front of my white shirt. “Oh my gosh! I am so, so sorry!” Scarlett shrieked, grabbing a single napkin and frantically dabbing at my chest, smearing the stain further. “My hand slipped! You aren’t mad at me, are you, Nate?” Nobody offered me a napkin. They just grinned, enjoying the free entertainment. Richard called out from the stage, his tone annoyed. “Nate! What is wrong with you? You can’t even hold a drink? Go clean yourself up in the restroom. Stop embarrassing us.” I pushed Scarlett’s hand away. The cold wine dripped from my chin onto my tie. “No need,” I said calmly. I stood up, unclipped my security badge, and let it drop directly into Scarlett’s half-empty wine glass. “Richard, this wine is too expensive for a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar employee,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the quiet room. “You’ll have my resignation in your inbox tomorrow morning.” I turned and walked out. Richard’s furious roar followed me down the hall. “Nate! You walk out that door, and you’re finished in this town! I will blacklist you from every firm in New York!” I didn’t slow my pace. As I reached the elevator, I looked back. Elizabeth was still sitting at the main table, swirling her wine. She caught my eye, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. Then she set her glass down and stood up. “I’m tired,” she told her husband. “I’m going home.” 3 Eleven PM. The rain was coming down in sheets outside Elizabeth’s luxury townhouse overlooking the East River. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing Elizabeth in a flowing silk emerald robe, a thin cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She stepped aside. “Come in.” I took off my wet coat and walked into the living room, placing my leather briefcase on the marble coffee table. “Here is the paper trail showing Richard and Scarlett shifting twenty-three million dollars into offshore accounts over the last eighteen months,” I said, opening the case. “Here are the hotel records from their weekend trips. And these are copies of the fake invoices Scarlett approved.” Elizabeth sat on the velvet sofa opposite me. She didn’t look at the files. She just watched me through the rising curls of smoke. “How long have you been gathering this?” she asked. “Since the day he told me to write Scarlett’s proposals for her because she didn’t know how to use PowerPoint,” I replied. “That was two years ago.” Elizabeth laughed, though her eyes remained ice cold. “You’re a dangerous man, Nate. You could easily use this to blackmail Richard for enough money to retire comfortably.” She leaned forward, her silk robe parting slightly at the collar. “Why bring it to me?” I met her gaze. “Because I don’t like being treated like garbage. And I hate seeing thieves live in luxury while the people who built the foundation get discarded.” I unbuttoned my cuffs, revealing a small, faint scar on my wrist. “I nearly died of a stomach ulcer trying to keep his clients happy while he was taking vacations with his mistress. I want what’s mine. And I think you deserve a better partner than a man who is robbing you blind.” Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she looked at the scar. She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the files. “I want him gone with nothing,” she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I want Scarlett to pay back every single cent she took. And I want sole control of the firm.” “Done.” I pulled one final document from my briefcase. “This is a restructuring agreement. Once Richard signs his shares over to you, the company is yours.” Elizabeth’s fingers trembled slightly as she looked at the paper. She stood up and walked over to me, stopping only inches away. I could smell the faint scent of jasmine and rain on her skin. She reached up, her fingernail gently brushing the dry wine stain on my collar. “You’re messy,” she murmured. “I don’t mind getting dirty if it gets the job done,” I said. Just then, my phone began to vibrate violently on the coffee table. The caller ID showed Arthur, our IT director. A second later, another call came in from Richard. I didn’t answer. I just let them ring. Elizabeth smiled, taking a sip of her wine. “It seems your little present just went off.” I picked up the phone and pressed the speaker button. Richard’s voice screamed through the speaker so loudly the audio distorted. “Nate! You son of a bitch! What did you do to the Apex servers? Everything is scrambled! The client is threatening to sue us! Get back here and fix this right now, or I swear to God I’ll have you arrested!” I listened to him panting on the other end before I spoke. “I don’t work for you anymore, Richard. And as far as I know, the Apex project belongs to Scarlett now. Let her handle it.” “Nate—” I hung up and tossed the phone back on the table. “Tomorrow is going to be a very long day,” I said. Elizabeth raised her glass to mine. “Let’s make sure we enjoy the show.”

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At three in the morning, my sister boarded her flight. The baby was shoved into my arms, still smelling faintly of copper and fresh birth. Mom dragged me by the arm, sobbing, “Just raise him as yours. You can’t let your sister’s life be ruined.” I opened my mouth to scream at her. Then my phone buzzed with a text from my sister. “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I unlocked my phone and searched his name. Davenport Holdings. A multi-billion-dollar empire. I shut off my phone and pulled the tiny bundle closer. Dangerous? We would see about that. The next morning, I stood in Alfredo Davenport’s penthouse office, holding the baby. He spared me a cold glance. “Who are you?” I placed the baby directly on his mahogany desk. “Special delivery. Sign here.” 01 The phone rang just as I finally closed my eyes. After working forty-eight hours of overtime, my eyelids felt like lead. I fumbled in the dark for my phone and squinted at the screen. It was Mom. A call at three in the morning made my stomach drop. I picked up. Her hysterical sobbing flooded the receiver before I could even say hello. “Get to the hospital right now! Your sister… she had the baby!” My sleep-deprived brain refused to process the words. “A baby? What baby?” Mom’s voice hitched, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. “Fiona had a baby! Hurry! Mercy Hospital, maternity ward!” Fiona had a baby. My sister, Fiona, was twenty-eight. She was single, had no partner, at least as far as I knew. I threw a coat over my shoulders and bolted out the door. By the time my cab pulled up to the hospital, the clinical white lights of the maternity ward were blinding. Mom was huddled at the far end of the corridor, clutching a tiny bundle wrapped in a cheap hospital blanket. The infant was minuscule and wrinkled. Fiona was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?” I demanded. Mom didn’t answer. She just wept. I scanned the quiet hallway. The delivery room doors were shut, and the nearby recovery rooms were completely empty. “Mom, where is Fiona?” Mom raised her head, her eyes swollen to the size of walnuts. “She left.” “What do you mean, she left? Where did she go?” “She boarded her flight.” Mom shoved the baby into my arms. “She bought a ticket to London. The flight departed at one-thirty. The moment the baby was out, she walked out of the hospital.” I looked down at the newborn in my arms. The clamp on his umbilical cord was still fresh, and he carried that distinct, metallic smell of birth mixed with formula. The baby’s eyes were squeezed shut, his tiny mouth twitching open and close. My head spun. “Call her,” I said, my voice trembling. “I tried. The number is disconnected.” I pulled out my own phone and opened my chat history with Fiona. Her profile picture was still there, but when I tapped into it, a red exclamation point appeared next to my message. You are no longer connected with this user. I dialed her number. “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” Standing in that sterile hallway with a hours-old infant in my arms, I listened to that automated recording repeat three times. Mom grabbed my sleeve, her grip tight and desperate. “Just raise him as yours, Gemma. You cannot let your sister’s life be ruined over this.” “She dumps a newborn on me to save her own life, but what about mine?” “You are different. You are still young, you haven’t…” “I’m twenty-four, Mom. I can barely afford my own rent.” Mom ignored my words, her tears flowing freely. “Fiona said we cannot let anyone find out about this. The father… he is too dangerous to cross.” Before I could reply, my phone vibrated. It was a text from an unknown number. It read: “The father is Alfredo Davenport. Don’t look for him. He is too dangerous to cross.” I tried calling the number back immediately, but it was already disconnected. I stared at the name Alfredo Davenport. I opened my browser and typed it into the search bar. Davenport Holdings. Real estate, venture capital, healthcare. A conglomerate worth hundreds of billions. Alfredo Davenport, the current CEO, thirty years old. The man in the official photos wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jawline was razor-sharp, his gaze detached and piercing. I closed my phone. The baby in my arms whimpered, a tiny fist escaping the blanket to clutch at my collar. I looked down at him. Dangerous? We would see. I held him tighter. The next morning, I called in sick to work. I walked to the corner store and bought a small tin of formula, a pack of newborn diapers, and a single bottle. Back in my cramped apartment, I fed the baby and changed his diaper. Once full, he drifted off to sleep, quieter than I expected a newborn to be. I searched through the belongings Fiona had left behind at the hospital. The nurse had handed me a manila folder before I checked the baby out. Inside was the hospital birth record. The mother’s name was listed as Fiona. The father’s line was blank. There was also a handwritten note. The handwriting was unmistakably Fiona’s, sharp and hurried. “Gemma, I’m sorry. I can’t keep this baby, and I can’t face Alfredo. You have always been tougher than me, so I know he’ll be safe with you. I’ve already talked to Mom. Don’t hate me.” I folded the note and shoved it back into the folder. Don’t hate her. She had booked her flight a month in advance, deactivated her phone, deleted her social media, and fled the delivery room within an hour of giving birth. That wasn’t a desperate mistake. That was a calculated escape. I scooped up the baby and walked out the door to hail a cab. “Take me to Davenport Holdings headquarters.” 02 The Davenport Holdings tower dominated the financial district, a sixty-eight-story monolith of steel and reflective glass. I stood in the sweeping marble lobby, surrounded by sharp suits and clicking heels. I was wearing a faded hoodie, my hair was unwashed, and my sneakers were scuffed with dirt. The baby was wrapped in a twenty-dollar blanket I had grabbed in a rush. The two receptionists behind the polished desk looked at me like I was a delivery courier who had wandered onto the wrong floor. “Good morning. How can I help you?” “I’m here to see Alfredo Davenport.” The two women exchanged a brief, telling look. “Do you have an appointment?” “No.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Davenport doesn’t accept unscheduled visitors. You can leave your—” “Tell him someone is here to deliver his baby.” The receptionist’s polite smile froze. “Ma’am, we don’t appreciate jokes—” “Just pass the message along. Tell him his son has arrived.” Without waiting for their reaction, I walked over to the lobby’s leather sofas and sat down. The baby began to fuss. I cradled him with one arm while reaching into my bag for the bottle. The receptionists whispered urgently to each other before one of them picked up the phone. Five minutes later, the elevator doors slid open. A woman in a sharp grey pantsuit stepped out. She was in her early thirties, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and walked with brisk authority. “Hello, I’m Ms. Ward, Mr. Davenport’s executive assistant. And you are?” “Gemma.” “Gemma, regarding this… baby situation. Could you explain?” “No. I will only explain to Alfredo.” Ms. Ward frowned. “Mr. Davenport is currently in a board meeting—” “I can wait.” I leaned down to feed the baby. He drank too quickly, coughing slightly on the formula. I gently patted his back until his breathing evened out. Ms. Ward stood there, watching us for a moment, before stepping aside to make another call. When she walked back, her professional composure had returned, though her eyes were guarded. “Follow me.” The private elevator took us directly to the sixty-second floor. The doors opened to a carpeted hallway so quiet you could hear the faint hum of the climate control. Ms. Ward led me to a heavy double door at the end of the hall and motioned for me to enter. The office was massive, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. Alfredo Davenport sat behind a sprawling mahogany desk. He looked exactly like his photos, but the reality was colder, sharper. His dark eyes locked onto me, completely unreadable, as if he were reviewing a minor legal dispute. He looked at me, then down at the bundle. “Who are you?” I walked straight to his desk and placed the baby gently on the dark wood, right over a stack of financial reports. The infant lay there, his tiny face wrinkled, a smear of white formula at the corner of his mouth. “Special delivery. Sign here.” Alfredo didn’t move. He looked at the baby, then back up at me. “Explain.” “Do you know Fiona?” His brow twitched. It was barely perceptible, but I caught it. “Who are you to her?” “Her sister.” “Where is she?” “London. She boarded a flight yesterday at midnight. Left right after giving birth, cut her phone, deleted her accounts, and vanished.” I tossed the manila folder onto his desk. “The birth certificate is in there. Mother is Fiona. The father’s name is blank, but she told me it’s yours. If you don’t believe me, we can run a paternity test.” Alfredo didn’t touch the folder. He leaned back in his leather chair, staring at the infant. The baby stirred, his tiny hand flitting outward until his fingers brushed Alfredo’s silver pen. “What is it you want, Gemma?” “Nothing. The baby is yours, so he’s your responsibility. I have no obligation to raise my sister’s child.” “And if I say this child has nothing to do with me?” “Then we do the DNA test. It takes three days. When the results are in, call me.” I pulled a slip of paper from my pocket with my phone number and apartment address, slapping it onto his desk. “Three days.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. Just as my hand touched the brass handle, a sound echoed through the vast office. The baby started to cry. It was a thin, high-pitched wail that bounced off the glass walls. My footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. But I didn’t turn around. I pushed the door open and let it click shut behind me. 03 I had barely reached the elevators when Ms. Ward caught up with me. “Gemma, you can’t just leave a newborn on—” “On Alfredo’s desk? Yes, I can.” “You can’t—” “I just did. Davenport Holdings is a multi-billion-dollar company. I think you can afford a nanny.” The elevator doors slid open. I stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby. Ms. Ward stood in the hallway, her expression a mix of shock and utter disbelief. Before the doors fully closed, I could still hear the distant, rising wail of the baby from the end of the hall. When I stepped out of the tower, the midday sun was blinding. I stood on the sidewalk, feeling dazed. My hands felt incredibly light. For the past thirty hours, those hands had been constantly holding that baby. Now that they were empty, a strange, hollow sensation settled over me. My phone rang. It was Mom. “Gemma! Where did you take the baby?!” “To his father.” The line went dead quiet for several seconds. “Are you insane?! Fiona told you not to look for Alfredo Davenport! You—” “Mom, you believe everything Fiona says. You believed her when she said she had no choice, and you believed her when she said he was too dangerous. She abandoned her own child. Why do you still trust a word out of her mouth?” “Your sister did what she had to—” “To save herself. Mom, I have to go. I’m late for work.” I hung up. When I got back to the office, my manager was cold about my half-day absence. I sat at my cubicle, staring at the monitor, but the spreadsheets blurred together. All I could see was the baby’s tiny, wrinkled face. And the sound of his cry. He had started crying the second I walked away. I rubbed my temples hard, forcing myself to focus on my emails. I dragged myself through the day until six-thirty. The moment I stepped out of the building, my phone buzzed. It wasn’t Mom. It was an unknown number. “Gemma?” The voice was deep, smooth, and entirely devoid of warmth. I recognized it instantly. It was the same voice that had asked Who are you? this morning. “Alfredo.” “Come get the baby.” “He’s not my baby.” “He isn’t mine either until the DNA results are back. Until then, you will take care of him.” “I don’t have the space or the money to raise him.” “That is your problem.” “Actually, he’s your problem too. You know exactly what kind of relationship you had with Fiona.” Silence stretched over the line. “I will have my driver deliver him to your address.” “Send him, and I won’t open the door.” “Gemma,” Alfredo’s voice dropped, laced with a quiet, dangerous edge. “You barged into my office and dumped an infant on my desk in front of my staff. Do you have any idea what that means?” “It means you have to face reality.” He didn’t reply. I continued, “Do the DNA test. In three days, when the results come back, if he’s yours, he’s your responsibility. If he isn’t, I will apologize and take him back. But until those three days are up, do not call me.” I hung up the phone. Standing on the bustling street corner as the evening wind picked up, I realized my hands were shaking. It wasn’t from fear. It was sheer exhaustion. I hadn’t slept a single minute since Fiona went into labor. When I finally reached my apartment building, someone was crouching by my door. It was Mom. She was holding a insulated food container, her eyes red and puffy. The moment she saw me, she scrambled to her feet. “Gemma, I brought you some soup—” “Mom, how do you know my address?” She hesitated. “Your sister told me.” Fiona had blocked my number and deleted me from her life, but she had made sure to give Mom my address. She had planned every single detail. “Mom, go home.” “Just listen to me—” “No,” I said, sliding the key into the lock. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You want me to take the baby, stay away from Alfredo, and keep Fiona’s name out of it. I’m not doing it.” “Gemma!” She grabbed my arm. “Your sister worked so hard to get where she is. Her education, her career, her entire future cannot be ruined by a child!” “And what about my future?” “You’re different…” “How? Because my grades weren’t as perfect? Because my job isn’t as prestigious? So my life is just a safety net for her mistakes?” Mom’s mouth opened, but no words came out. I gently but firmly pulled her hand off my arm. “Go home, Mom. I’m handling this. But I’m doing it my way, not yours.” I stepped inside and shut the door, leaning my back against the wood. Outside, I could hear Mom starting to cry again. She cried for a long time. I didn’t open the door. My phone vibrated. A text message from Alfredo. “DNA swab collected. Results in three days. He stays with me tonight.” I stared at the screen for a long time. He hadn’t sent the baby back. He had kept him. I wasn’t sure if that was a victory or not, but at least for tonight, I could finally sleep. 04 Saturday morning. I slept until noon, the first real rest I had gotten in days. I washed my face and put the kettle on to boil, but before the water could heat up, the buzzer rang. I assumed it was Mom again. But when I opened the door, four people were standing in the narrow hallway. Aunt Jane, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Martha, and my cousin Lily. Aunt Jane led the charge, pushing her way forward before I could even greet them. “Gemma, your mother cried the entire night. Do you have any heart at all?” I blocked the doorway, refusing to let them step inside. “Aunt Jane, what are you all doing here?” “Your mother called us. She said you—” “She said what?” Uncle Thomas shoved his way to the front. “She said you dumped your sister’s baby with some random man! Gemma, are you out of your mind? That is your own nephew!” “He is Fiona’s child, and she abandoned him.” “Your sister had her reasons—” “What reasons? Do any of you actually know? Did she tell you?” They exchanged quick, uncomfortable glances. No one answered. Aunt Martha peered past my shoulder into the apartment. “You live here alone? This place is tiny. There’s barely enough room for a crib, let alone—” “Exactly. Which is why I can’t raise him.” Aunt Jane sighed, softening her tone as she reached out to grab my hand. “Gemma, we know you feel slighted. But think about how hard Fiona worked. Your mother took out so many loans to put her through school. She finally has a life—” “Aunt Jane,” I said, pulling my hand back. “Do you know when Fiona bought her plane ticket?” “What?” “A month ago. While the baby was still in her womb, she had already booked her flight to London. She deactivated her phone, cleared her bank accounts, and deleted her social media weeks in advance. She planned this entire thing.” The hallway fell dead silent. “She wasn’t forced into anything. She planned to give birth, dump the baby on me, and have Mom guilt-trip me into keeping quiet so she could run away scot-free.” Aunt Jane’s expression hardened, but Uncle Thomas snapped first. “She is still your sister! Blood is thicker than—” “Uncle Thomas, my blood is fine, but Fiona is the one who bled me dry.” Uncle Thomas’s face turned red. “How dare you speak to your family like that!” “I’m speaking the truth. If you all care so much about this baby, which one of you is going to take him home? Any takers?” No one spoke. Cousin Lily, who had remained silent the entire time, pulled on Aunt Jane’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Mom. Stop it.” Aunt Jane wanted to say more, but Lily tugged her again, harder this time. Finally, they turned and walked toward the stairs. Uncle Thomas glared back at me before leaving. “You haven’t heard the end of this. Your mother isn’t letting this go.” I shut the door and locked it. The kettle on the stove was whistling furiously. I poured myself a cup of tea and sat on the edge of my bed, staring into the steam. My phone rang. It was Ms. Ward. “Gemma, the DNA results came back early. Mr. Davenport wants you to come to the office this afternoon if you’re available.” “What are the results?” There was a pause on the other end. “It’s better if Mr. Davenport discusses this with you in person. Can you make it?” I checked the time. It was one in the afternoon. “I’ll be there at two.” I hung up, changed into clean clothes, and caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, dry lips, pale face. It didn’t matter. I walked out the door. 05 When I arrived at Davenport Holdings, the receptionists didn’t stop me this time. Ms. Ward was waiting for me in the lobby, using her keycard to take me straight up to the sixty-second floor. The moment the elevator doors opened, I heard it. The sound of a baby crying. It was coming from the executive office. Ms. Ward’s professional facade was cracking slightly. “The baby has been crying on and off since last night. We brought in a professional nanny, but… it hasn’t been easy.” She pushed open the office door, and I saw Alfredo. He looked entirely different from our first meeting. His charcoal jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his silk tie was loosened. The neat piles of documents on his desk had been pushed aside to make room for a baby carrier. The infant was inside, wailing until his little face was purple, his voice already hoarse. A middle-aged nanny in a neat uniform stood nearby, looking completely helpless as she held a bottle. “I tried feeding him, but he won’t take it. His diaper is clean, and I’ve tried burping him—” I walked past them without saying a word and lifted the baby out of the carrier. He was tiny, barely four days old, but his little body was stiff with distress. I cradled his head with one hand and pressed my other palm flat against his back, patting him gently. It wasn’t the rigid, textbook patting the nanny had been doing. It was a slow, rhythmic movement I had figured out during our first night together, my palm warm against his spine. The crying immediately softened to a whimper. After a few more pats, he let out a tiny, wet burp, then buried his face into my shoulder and fell silent. The massive office became perfectly quiet. The nanny stared at me, dumbfounded. Alfredo watched me, his dark eyes fixed on the baby. I ignored them both and looked down at the infant. His nose was red, his eyes closed, his mouth twitching as he drifted off to sleep from sheer exhaustion. “He’s not refusing the bottle,” I said quietly. “He has gas. A four-day-old baby’s stomach is the size of a walnut. If your nipple flow is too fast, he swallows air. What size nipple are you using?” The nanny stammered, “An extra-slow flow—” “Switch to the slowest round-hole nipple, and make sure to hold the bottle upright to clear any air bubbles before feeding him.” The nanny nodded quickly and began sorting through the baby bags. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, rocking the baby until he was deeply asleep. Alfredo hadn’t said a word. Once the nanny left the room, he spoke. “Sit down.” I sat on the leather sofa, still holding the baby close. Alfredo picked up a thick manila folder from his desk, walked over, and sat on the opposite sofa. “The DNA results.” He slid the folder across the marble coffee table. “Paternity is confirmed.” I didn’t open it. “And?” “And I acknowledge that this child is biologically mine.” “What happens next?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and placed it on the table. A cashier’s check. I glanced down at the number. Two million dollars. “This is for you,” Alfredo said. “A gesture of appreciation for looking after him these past few days. I will handle the baby’s future arrangements.” “What kind of arrangements?” “I will find a reputable private care facility or a suitable adoptive family.” “You want to give him away?” “I do not have the lifestyle or the environment to raise a child.” “You have billions of dollars, and you’re telling me you don’t have the means?” “I do not have the desire.” I stared into his cold, unblinking eyes. His expression remained entirely flat, as if he were discussing quarterly earnings rather than the fate of his own son. I looked down at the baby. He was sleeping soundly, his tiny fingers still clutching my collar with surprising strength. I reached out, picked up the check, and ripped it down the middle. I tore the pieces again, letting the four scraps of paper flutter onto the table. For the first time, Alfredo’s icy composure cracked. “You can walk away from your son, but I don’t take hush money.” “Then what do you want?” “I want you to tell me, straight to my face. Are you going to be his father, or are you washing your hands of him?” He didn’t answer. I stood up, adjusting my grip on the sleeping baby. “Think about it. When you have an answer, call me.” I walked toward the door. “Leave the baby,” Alfredo called out behind me. “You just said you had no desire to raise him.” “I said I need to think.” “Then think fast. When you’re ready to be a father, come get him.” I didn’t stop. I pushed the door open and walked out. Ms. Ward was waiting in the hallway. Seeing me with the baby, her mouth opened slightly, but she glanced toward the office and decided not to stop me. In the elevator, the baby opened his dark, clear eyes and stared up at me without crying. “Let’s go,” I whispered to him. “You’re coming back with me for now.” 06 By the time we got back to my apartment, dusk had fallen. I laid him in the middle of my bed, propping pillows on either side to keep him secure, then warmed some formula and changed his diaper. Just as I finished, the buzzer rang. I braced myself for Mom again. I opened the door. It was Alfredo. He stood in the dim hallway, still wearing his tailored shirt, though his tie was completely gone. No assistant, no driver. Just him. He glanced at the peeling paint on my door frame, then at the cluttered hallway filled with my neighbors’ storage boxes. “Let’s talk inside,” I said, stepping aside. As he walked in, I saw his eyes take in the entire space. A forty-square-meter studio. A single bed, a wardrobe, a folding table cluttered with my laptop and work documents. The kitchen was a makeshift setup on the enclosed balcony, the range hood yellowed with age. The baby lay in the center of the bed, kicking his tiny legs in contentment after his feed. Alfredo stood in the middle of the room, looking absurdly tall and entirely out of place. “You live here?” “Yes.” “And you’ve been taking care of him alone?” “From the moment he was born until now, yes.” He didn’t respond. He walked over to the bed and looked down at the infant. The baby looked up, their gazes locking. A newborn doesn’t know strangers yet. He simply stared back with wide, unblinking dark eyes. Alfredo reached out a hand, hesitated for a second, then let his fingers hover near the baby. “He looks like Fiona,” he murmured. “He has your nose.” He glanced at me. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Have you made up your mind?” He pulled out the plastic folding chair by my desk and sat down. The cheap plastic groaned under his weight. “I had my security team look into Fiona’s travel records,” he said. I waited. “She booked her ticket a month ago. One-way. She traveled on a tourist visa, but she went straight to a friend’s apartment in London. The lease was signed weeks in advance.” “And?” “This wasn’t a sudden panic. She planned to abandon him from the very beginning.” “I know.” “You knew, and yet you…” He paused, searching for the words. “You’re cleaning up her mess.” “I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for him. He didn’t ask to be born into this.” On the bed, the baby let out a tiny yawn. Alfredo watched him, silent for a long moment. “I only knew Fiona for six months,” he said quietly. “Four months ago, she told me she was pregnant. I told her to keep the baby, that I would take full responsibility. She agreed. Then she changed her number, moved out of her apartment, and vanished.” I stared at him. This was not the story Fiona had painted. “You looked for her?” “For two months. When I finally reached her through an old acquaintance, she told me she had terminated the pregnancy.” “She lied to you.” “I see that now.” His hands tightened slightly over his knees. “She didn’t want me to know about the child,” he said, “yet she kept him anyway, just to dump him on you.” “Because she knew I wouldn’t leave him to die.” “You could have. You have no legal obligation to this child.” “And where would he go? He’s four days old. His umbilical cord hasn’t even fallen off.” Alfredo raised his eyes to meet mine. It was the first time he truly looked at me. Not with the cold, assessing gaze of a CEO, but with genuine curiosity. “What is it you want from me, Gemma?” That was the third time he had asked. First in his office, then on the phone, and now in my cramped room. “I want you to take responsibility.” “How?” “Not to me. To him.” I pointed at the baby on the bed. “He needs a father. Not a check, not an agency. A real, present father.” “I don’t know how to raise a child.” “Neither do I. I’ve been learning on the fly for the last four days.” He fell silent. The baby began to squirm and whimper. I walked over and checked his diaper. Wet. I grabbed a clean diaper from the nightstand, slid my hand under his lower back to lift him, and quickly swapped it out. My movements weren’t perfect, but they were twice as fast as they had been on day one. I turned back to Alfredo. “You can start by learning how to change a diaper.” He stared at the soiled diaper in my hand, his expression a mix of amusement and mild horror. “I will send some people tomorrow,” he said, rising to his feet. “What kind of people?” “A night nanny and a housekeeper. This place is too small. I’ll arrange a proper apartment for you.” “I’m not moving.” “You don’t even have room for a crib.” “Then buy a crib and send it here.” We stared at each other, neither of us backing down. Finally, he stepped toward the bed and looked down at the baby one last time. The baby, comfortable in his dry diaper, was kicking his legs and making soft, cooing noises. Alfredo reached down. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He touched his index finger to the baby’s tiny palm. The baby’s reflex kicked in instantly, his tiny fingers curling around Alfredo’s finger, holding on tight. Alfredo didn’t pull away. He stood there, bent over the bed, anchored by a four-day-old infant, completely still. After a long silence, he said, “I’ll have a crib delivered tomorrow morning.” “Good.” “And a nanny.” “Fine.” He straightened up and looked at me. “He needs a name.” “You name him. You’re his father.” He thought for a moment. “Let me think about it.” He walked to the door, opened it, and paused. He didn’t look at me. His gaze lingered on the baby in the middle of the bed. Then, the door clicked shut. I sat on the edge of the mattress. My phone vibrated with a contact request. The name read: Alfredo Davenport. I accepted it. A message popped up immediately: Let me know if he needs anything. I typed back: We’re almost out of formula. Newborn diapers. Baby wipes. They will be there tomorrow morning, he replied. I put the phone down and looked at the baby, who had drifted back to sleep. His tiny hand was still curled into a fist, as if he were still holding onto his father’s finger. I tucked the blanket around him. My phone vibrated again. I looked at the screen. It wasn’t Alfredo. It was an international number. There was no text, only a single image: a screenshot of a flight confirmation from London to Chicago for next Wednesday. The passenger name: Fiona Davenport. My sister was coming back.

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Five years later, in a chaotic emergency room, I crossed paths with my ex-husband, Tristan Sinclair. His new wife was on the brink of death from a stray bullet, yet he stood there, demanding to know why I refused to perform the surgery myself. “Are you still holding a grudge against me?” Facing his interrogation, I looked down at my trembling hands. His words echoed the exact tone he had used five years ago when he handed me the divorce papers. “Nora, I don’t love you anymore. I don’t even have a shred of pity left for you.” I whispered those words back to myself, turned on my heel, and walked out of the consultation room. He would never know that the woman once hailed as a surgical prodigy could no longer even hold a scalpel. 1 I stood silently in the sterile chill of the operating room, watching the lead surgeon apply the final, precise sutures. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound bridging the gap between life and death. When the last knot was tied, I quietly slipped out, shedding my bloody scrubs. Pushing through the double doors of the surgical ward, the first thing I saw was Tristan Sinclair. He was sitting on the hard plastic bench in the hallway, his head buried in his hands. At the sound of the doors swinging shut, he looked up. His bloodshot eyes locked onto me instantly. I pulled down my surgical mask, keeping my voice flat and professional. “The surgery was a success. She is out of danger.” I took a step to walk past him, but his voice stopped me. “Nora,” he rasped, his voice rough and dry. I halted, but I did not turn around to face him. “Amman is practically a war zone right now,” he said, his footsteps echoing slightly as he took a step closer. “What on earth are you doing here?” Why was I here? I looked down the long, dim hallway. This was a place where the rattle of gunfire was more common than fireworks, where human life was treated as cheaply as dust. When I didn’t answer, he closed the distance between us. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne washed over me, a ghost from a past life. “Does your family even know you’re in Jordan?” My entire body went rigid. I turned slowly, staring at him in utter disbelief. A wave of cold, dark absurdity washed over me. He didn’t know. He actually had no idea that my parents were gone. But then, why would he? I took two steps back, deliberately re-establishing the boundary between us. “I like it here,” I said, my voice steady. “Saving lives doesn’t require a passport. I think my parents would be proud of the life I’m living now.” Tristan’s dark brows drew together, his eyes darkening to a stormy gray. I knew that look all too well. It was the warning sign before his temper flared. But what was he even angry about? Was he mad because of my lack of deference, or was he simply furious that I was no longer under his control? Either way, it didn’t matter. I had no desire to entangle myself in his web again. Before he could speak, I walked away. The moment I stepped back into my clinic, my colleague Jane followed me in. A mischievous grin played on her lips. “Well, well. Who is the handsome stranger, Dr. Prescott? He looked like he wanted to swallow you whole.” The air in the room grew heavy. I sat down at my desk, trying to ignore her. “He was just asking about his wife’s condition. Nothing more.” “Really?” Jane leaned against the doorframe, clearly not buying it. Before she could pry further, the muffled vibration of Tristan’s phone echoed from the hallway. We heard him answer in a low, clipped tone as his footsteps faded down the corridor. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. When I looked up, Jane was sitting across from me, her chin resting in her hands. “Nora, spill it,” she demanded, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s the real story between you two?” I buried my face in a stack of patient charts, keeping my tone indifferent. “If you have this much free time, you should go monitor the aortic dissection patient in ward four.” Jane laughed, waving her phone in front of my face. “Oh, come on. If you don’t tell me, I’ll just go ask him myself. I already looked him up. Tristan Sinclair, the king of New York’s financial district. Ruthless in business, a daredevil in his private life. A total mystery, though. There isn’t a single photo of his wife online. He keeps her completely hidden from the press.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the chart, crumpling the paper. He had protected her so well. He had spared no expense to keep Vivian Mercer safe from the prying eyes of the world. I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Jane was stubborn enough to actually go confront him. After a long silence, I finally spoke. “He’s my ex-husband.” Jane’s jaw dropped. “What?!” 2 My mind drifted back to the first time I saw Tristan. He was the star alumnus invited to speak at my medical school graduation. On that stage, he was magnetic, brilliant, and completely out of reach. He moved with a quiet confidence that made it seem like the spotlight had been invented just for him. I fell for him instantly, a silent, hopeless crush. I knew a girl like me stood no chance with a man destined for the stratosphere. So when my father came home one evening and told me that the Sinclair family had selected me for an arranged marriage, I locked myself in my room and cried tears of pure joy. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. And in the beginning, our marriage felt like a dream. Tristan remembered every anniversary. He showered me with thoughtful gifts and brought home the random things I mentioned liking. For a couple of years, I was the envied Mrs. Sinclair, blessed with a loving husband and a thriving career as a rising star in cardiothoracic surgery. I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. But then, Vivian Mercer returned. She was loud, vibrant, and lived life on the edge. She chased adrenaline and radiated a wild, infectious energy. Tristan, the stoic man I had always thought of as an unshakeable pillar, was instantly drawn into her orbit. The first time, he missed my birthday dinner because he was skydiving with Vivian. The second time, he forgot our wedding anniversary entirely to help her photograph a sandstorm in the desert. It happened again and again, until it became a routine. By the time I reached this part of the story, Jane’s face was red with anger. “What an absolute, cold-blooded bastard,” she spat. I took a slow breath and continued. Eventually, I had reached my breaking point. I found Vivian and slid a check for five million dollars across the table. Leave him, I had told her. I am his wife. She had smiled and accepted the money. But that very night, Tristan stormed into our house and threw the check in my face. The sharp paper cut my cheek, but the look in his eyes hurt far worse. It was a cold, vicious fury I had never seen before. “Nora, don’t you dare use your dirty family money to insult Vivian,” he snarled. “As long as you stay quiet and behave, you will remain the respected Mrs. Sinclair. Don’t ruin it.” Jane was practically shaking. “Respected? Was he blind?” Apparently, he was. And back then, so was I. After that night, Tristan stopped hiding. He flaunted Vivian at social events and joined her in every dangerous stunt he had once called foolish. Skydiving, wingsuit flying, deep-sea diving. Until the night they went street racing, and their sports car wrapped around a concrete barrier. Vivian was rushed to my hospital. Her uterus was ruptured, her abdomen was filled with blood, and her vitals were flatlining. I was the chief surgeon on call that night. Jane held her breath, waiting. I hated Vivian, but my oath as a doctor was sacred. I blocked out my personal feelings and fought for hours to save her. In the end, to stop the catastrophic bleeding and keep her alive, I had no choice but to perform a hysterectomy. But when she woke up, they blamed me. “You did this on purpose!” Vivian screamed from her recovery bed, her face contorted with rage. “You wanted to make sure I could never have Tristan’s children!” I tried to explain the medical necessity, but she wouldn’t listen. In a fit of rage, she grabbed her heavy metal water flask and hurled it at my face. It struck my forehead. Blood poured into my eyes, hot and blinding. Exhausted and hurt, I walked out of her room. But there was no apology waiting for me. Instead, the hospital administration suspended me pending an investigation. A week later, I was quietly fired. And the day after Vivian was discharged, Tristan handed me the divorce papers. I begged. I cried. I made a fool of myself trying to claw back any shred of the man who had once held me gently. But he was hollow. “Nora, I don’t love you,” he said, his voice completely devoid of warmth. “I don’t even pity you anymore. Just sign it.” 3 Looking at Jane’s tear-stained face, a strange calmness settled over me. I reached out and patted her hand. “So you signed them and came straight to Jordan?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “No,” I whispered. “I didn’t.” Back then, the rejection had driven me mad. I grabbed the papers and tore them to shreds right in front of him. “I will never sign these, Tristan! Not unless I’m dead!” From that day on, Tristan never set foot in our home again. Instead, he used his massive financial influence to systematically dismantle my family’s business, trying to starve me into submission. In my desperation, I did the stupidest thing of my life. I leaked intimate photos of him and Vivian to the press. Overnight, Vivian was branded a homewrecker. The public backlash was vicious. But that act of retaliation triggered my absolute ruin. Within twelve hours, the internet was flooded with highly realistic, AI-generated nude photos and explicit videos with my face on them. No matter how much I screamed that they were fake, nobody believed me. Furious, I drove to the Sinclair headquarters. Every employee I passed whispered and pointed, their eyes filled with disgust. Tristan’s assistant tried to block me, but I shoved past him and threw open the office door. Tristan and Vivian were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing passionately. The sight made my stomach turn. I lost control. I ran forward and slapped Vivian across the face. The next second, a heavy blow struck my own cheek, sending me crashing to the floor. My face went numb. Tristan stood over me, his eyes icy. “Nora, I’ve tolerated your tantrums for too long. It seems your family has no reason to exist in this city anymore.” As I lay on the floor, cradling my bruising face, my phone rang. It was my father. His voice sounded incredibly fragile. He told me that my mother’s heart had failed after seeing the horrific things written about me online. She was in the ICU. A week later, my family went completely bankrupt. My parents had to sell everything, including their home, just to settle the debts. They aged ten years in a matter of days. On the day they prepared to leave New York, my father hugged me tightly. His shoulders were stooped, his spirit broken. “Let him go, Nora,” he wept into my hair. “Tristan is not a good man. Come home with us.” Looking at my broken parents, the fog of my obsession finally cleared. I realized my stubbornness had destroyed the only people who truly loved me. “I will, Dad,” I sobbed. “Let me just finalize the paperwork, and I’ll join you.” I went back to my empty apartment to pack my things, waiting for Tristan’s lawyers to bring the new papers. But as I was wrapping up a box, the world spun, and I collapsed. I woke up in a hospital bed. The doctor delivered the news with a gentle smile. I was two months pregnant. That tiny heartbeat threw everything into chaos. I wanted to divorce him and raise the child alone, but the Sinclair family refused to let their bloodline be raised outside their household. For a brief moment, Tristan and I reached a tense, fragile truce. Until the afternoon I was kidnapped. I woke up tied to a chair in a damp, abandoned warehouse. Vivian stood over me, looking down at my bound hands with a smug grin. “Nora, let’s play a game. Who do you think Tristan will choose? You, or me?” I closed my eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my fear. When Tristan finally burst through the door, my heart leaped. “Tristan, please,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “Save the baby! Vivian set this whole thing up!” But my pleas only made his face harden with disgust. He looked at me as if I were a monster, a crazy woman who would stage her own kidnapping just to win him back. Without a second thought, he untied Vivian, scooped her into his arms, and walked out. He left me behind, bound and pregnant, in the dark. Once Tristan was gone, the men Vivian hired stepped out of the shadows. Under her parting instructions, they beat me until the floor was slick with my blood. They left me there to rot. But I couldn’t die. I had to get back to my parents. I dragged my broken body across the concrete floor, inch by inch, crawling toward the light. I crawled for an entire day and night before someone finally found me. By the time I woke up in the hospital, the baby was gone. And my heart died that day, buried alongside my unborn child.

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Sally and I had been married for two years. I was desperately obsessed with her. She despised me. Just how deep did that hatred run? When I got into a car crash and shattered multiple bones in my body, I spent six months recovering in the exact hospital where she worked as an orthopedic surgeon. She did not visit me a single time. Nobody liked me anyway. Everyone said I was the toxic snake who chased away Nolan, the guy she actually loved. When I first had the accident and lost all my mobility, the people around me were secretly happy for her. They whispered, “Sally finally gets a break from him.” When it was time for me to be discharged, her friends were all holding their breath for her. “Asher is getting out. He is going to ruin Sally’s life again.” They were partly right. The very first thing I did after getting discharged was find Sally. Except, I was not there to cling to her anymore. I was there to hand her a document. “Sally, this is what you wanted.” “What is this?” I gave her a faint, empty smile. “Open it and see for yourself. Sally, I do not want the house. I do not want the car. I wish you nothing but success. Let us never see each other again.” After handing over the divorce papers, I stepped back and melted into the crowd. 1 “Nurse, what is the deal with the guy in the next bed? Why does he never get any visitors?” “Hmph. Probably karma. He did too many messed up things, so everyone abandoned him.” Trapped in a coma, I could hear the outside world perfectly. In that pitch black void, I fought with every ounce of my strength to wake up, but my body refused to obey. Finally, after a million failed attempts, the loud crash of a glass shattering in the next cubicle shocked my eyes open. “Oh man! Buddy, you are awake!” The older guy in the next bed gasped in shock. I stared at the white ceiling tiles, unable to move a single muscle. “Sorry about that, kid. I dropped my cup. Did I scare you awake?” No. I should have been thanking him. If it was not for the shock of that crashing sound, I might have never woken up. No one knew the sheer, suffocating terror I endured in that dark, silent world. 2 The news of my awakening reached the doctors quickly. They rushed in, ran a battery of tests, and declared it a miracle. But among that sea of white coats, Sally was nowhere to be found. I had not heard her voice while I was under. And now that I was awake, she was still absent. “Where is Sally?” I rasped. A few of the doctors exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Dr. Evans… she is in surgery right now. She cannot get away.” “Oh.” “How is my condition?” I asked. “When the crash happened, the back of your head took the brunt of the impact. You had significant blood pooling in your brain, which caused the coma. Your right arm is fractured, your left femur is severely broken, and you have multiple other minor fractures and soft tissue contusions. Long story short, you took a massive hit. You have been asleep for forty days. Thankfully, you were brought in fast enough. The blood in your brain is slowly absorbing, and we already operated on your fractures. You are in casts and on the mend.” 3 When dinnertime rolled around, the older guy next to me, Arthur, turned his head while feeding his wife. “Hey kid, who is this Dr. Evans you keep asking about? Someone important to you?” She is my wife. What kind of surgery takes eight hours? Your spouse wakes up from a coma, and you cannot spare a single minute to check on them? I shook my head slowly. “We just know each other.” “Ah, got it.” Arthur nodded. “What about your family then?” The only person taking care of me was a hired orderly. During my coma, it was this stranger who sponged me down and emptied my catheter. I was probably the most pathetic patient in the entire hospital. I spun a quick lie. “They live out of state. Health issues. They cannot travel.” My parents divorced when I was in middle school after my mom had an affair. I was given to my mom. My dad was devastated and moved overseas. My mom was a ruthless businesswoman, constantly flying from city to city. Aside from keeping my bank account maxed out, she had zero time for me. Oh, right. Three years ago, she had a new baby girl with her new husband. 4 I was the one who chased Sally. Actually, “chased” implies she eventually liked me back. But even after we got married, she treated me like ice. She never gave me even a fraction of the warmth she used to give Nolan. If I had not forced Nolan out of the picture, she probably would have married him. “Oh my god, your blood is backing up!” the orderly yelled, dropping my dinner tray. I looked down. The IV tube plugged into the back of my hand was completely filled with my own dark blood. The orderly slammed the call button. The nurse who walked in was Blake, a guy I went to high school with. Impatience was practically tattooed on his forehead. He aggressively ripped the medical tape off my skin and yanked the needle out without a shred of care. It made sense. Back in school, almost everyone talked behind my back. They called me a pretty boy, a toxic snake, a guy who rode his wealthy family’s coattails. He swapped the tube and walked out without a word. Even Arthur and the orderly were appalled. The orderly picked up my bowl, preparing to feed me. “Maybe he is just having a bad day.” Arthur frowned. “No, I noticed it too. He only acts like a jerk to the kid here. When my wife needs her bandages changed, he is perfectly polite.” I did not defend myself. I just looked at the orderly. “Could you buy me one of those overbed tables? Just put the food on there. I will feed myself.” My right arm was in a heavy cast. Only my left hand worked. If this were the old me, I would have made Blake’s life a living hell for treating me like that. But now, I felt completely hollow. I had no energy left to fight. 5 Sally finally walked in. I was wrapped up like a mummy, clumsily trying to feed myself with my non dominant hand. When she walked through the door, my spoon froze midair. I must have looked incredibly pathetic in that moment. She glanced at me for a split second, then immediately turned her attention to Arthur’s wife in the next bed. “How are we doing here?” She was here to do rounds. On the patient next to me. I lowered my head and mechanically shoveled food into my mouth. My entire body felt numb. Arthur spoke up. “Doctor, thank god you are here. My wife said her elbow has been killing her.” Sally gently loosened the cast on the woman’s arm. “Is that better?” “Oh, much better. The pressure is gone.” Arthur looked confused. “Did they switch our doctor? We usually have Dr. Bennett.” “She had a family emergency. I am covering her rounds for the next two days.” “I see. You are so young to be a surgeon here at Mercy. Good for you. Got a boyfriend yet?” Sally completely ignored the question. “The cast was too tight and compressing the joint. If it happens again, page a nurse immediately.” After finishing with Arthur’s wife, she lingered. She did not leave. I kept my head down, staring blankly at my hospital food. A pair of pristine white sneakers appeared right next to my bed. Before she could speak, a nurse came running down the hall. “Dr. Evans! Emergency in the ER!” The white sneakers spun around and vanished from my line of sight. I looked out the window into the dark night, swallowing the lump in my throat. 6 After that, Sally never came back. Dr. Bennett returned, so Sally did not need to cover our ward anymore. I heard there was a massive multi car pileup on the highway that night, resulting in endless casualties. Then I heard Sally went out of state for a medical exchange program. When she came back, a severe apartment fire flooded the hospital with burn victims. Later, rumor had it she was sent overseas for advanced training. Long story short, she was busy. The patients in the beds next to me changed time and time again. The moment I was cleared to bear weight, I threw myself into physical therapy. I had to stand on my own two feet again. I had to become a normal person. No matter how agonizing the rehab was, I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain in that sweat smelling gym. Of course, during that time, I became a total joke among my old college circle. The arrogant ice prince, bedridden, unable to wipe his own mouth, needing someone to serve him hand and foot. We were all med students at Boston U once upon a time. But during my internship year, I severely injured my hand. I could never hold a scalpel again, so I gave up the profession. A lot of my former classmates ended up working here at Mercy. None of them pitied me. They all thought this was my karma. After all, everyone believed I was the monster who bullied Nolan into leaving the country. 7 “Your gait is completely normal now. Outstanding work.” Four months later, when I walked a full lap without parallel bars, my physical therapist clapped loudly. “Thank you for everything.” “Do not thank me. Your willpower is insane. Honestly, your femur was shattered. You had one of the worst breaks I have seen in years, and yet, throughout this entire grueling process, you never cried out in pain once.” I smiled faintly and did not say a word. I was officially discharged. I signed my own paperwork, hailed a cab, and left the hospital behind. It had been nearly six months since I last stepped foot in my own home. I stood in the hallway, staring at the door in silence, before pressing my thumb to the biometric lock. The door clicked open. The air inside smelled like dust. Just as I suspected, Sally rarely came home either. I cleared off the sofa and opened the takeout container of lean pork porridge I bought downstairs. After two bites, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I stared at the messages popping up in the college group chat. I went dead silent. “Asher got discharged.” “Damn, already? I thought he was practically crippled.” “He is going to start harassing Sally again. She must owe him a massive debt from a past life to be cursed with him.” “Hey, shut up, he is still in this chat. If he sees this, he will ruin your career too.” “Oh crap, wrong chat.” Instantly, the messages were unsent. I locked my phone screen, picked up my spoon, and finished my cold porridge. I slept alone that night. Sally did not come home. When dawn broke, I rubbed my stiff eyes, taking a long moment to gather my bearings. I got up, showered, and got dressed. I grabbed the manila envelope sitting on the coffee table and walked to the door. Before pulling it shut, I paused, taking one last look at the beautiful three bedroom apartment I had meticulously designed. With a heavy thud, the door closed. 8 I found Sally in the hallway outside the orthopedics department. They had just finished their morning briefing. A crowd of doctors in white coats was streaming out of the conference room. When she saw me, her fingers froze on the clipboard she was holding. The doctor walking next to her gave us a knowing look and quickly hurried away. I do not know how I managed to smile as I walked up to her. Maybe it was the sheer relief of not being paralyzed. Or maybe I had just finally let it all go. Her skin was flawless, though faint dark circles shadowed her eyes. Still, nothing could hide how effortlessly breathtaking she was. She spoke first, her tone defensive. “Sorry. Yesterday, I was booked for three back to back surgeries. By the time I finished, the nurses said you had already signed your papers and left.” I nodded calmly and handed her the manila envelope. “This is for you.” “What is this?” A flash of confusion crossed her eyes. I shrugged, offering her a smile completely free of burden. “Open it and see for yourself. It is what you always wanted. Sally, I do not want the house, and I do not want the car. I wish you nothing but success. Let us never see each other again.” After handing over the divorce papers, I stepped back and melted into the crowd.

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After marrying my husband for the third time, I still hadn’t learned my lesson. Seeing his female secretary in our kitchen making breakfast first thing in the morning, I lost my mind, marched right over, and flipped the dining table. Suddenly, floating comments appeared in my field of vision like a live stream chat: [The reincarnated heroine is a genius! With just a few simple tricks, she got the villainess to self-destruct and divorce three times already. Girl boss is absolutely slaying!] [This annoying brat of a wife always treats her billionaire husband like trash and threatens divorce at the drop of a hat. This time, she finally pushed him to his limit.] [After the fourth divorce, the stupid ex-wife will still be waiting around for him to beg her to come back, completely unaware that the real heroine is already pregnant with his heir and taking her crown. The ex-wife ends up dying all alone in some miserable rented room.] I froze. But I still couldn’t hold back. I swung my hand and slapped Austin across the face. 1 A sharp, ringing crack echoed through the room. But my palm didn’t land on Austin’s face. Gemma had thrown herself in front of him, taking the blow. I stared, momentarily stunned. Before I could even say a word, Gemma was already biting her lip, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes. “Ma’am, if you wanted to take your anger out on me, I would have accepted it,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “But how could you ruin this breakfast? The two hours I spent cooking don’t matter, but Austin has a sensitive stomach. If he skips breakfast, his ulcer will flare up again…” I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. “I was aiming for your boss. Who told you to dive in and catch the slap?” Gemma choked on her words, tears instantly welling up. At that moment, Austin stood up. He stepped between us, shielding her, and looked down at me. His voice was completely flat. “Don’t feel like wraps this morning?” I sneered, turning my head away to ignore this man who clearly had no concept of personal boundaries. Austin remained silent for a beat before suddenly addressing Gemma. “You should leave first.” I turned to walk away, cold and furious, but Austin grabbed my wrist. Gemma blinked in surprise, then nodded meekly. “Alright, Austin. I’ll do as you say.” Before stepping out the door, she paused and turned back, offering him a sweet, lingering look. “We have that meeting with Mr. Larson from Apex Enterprises at ten. I’ll head over first to prep the documents. Please join me as soon as you’re done here.” Austin finally glanced at her. “Right.” The way these two were making eyes at each other right in front of me was infuriating. Did they think I was dead? Anger surged through my chest. [Look at the CEO’s dark expression! He’s clearly furious that his girl got slapped. He’s totally done with the toxic wife!] [That’s why he told the heroine to leave first. He was terrified his psycho wife would hurt her again. What a protective king, haha!] [Our precious girl is still thinking about work even after getting hurt. She’s a true power player worthy of standing by his side, unlike the useless, pretty-faced ex-wife!] [Don’t worry, the wife is about to demand a divorce and he’s going to agree instantly. The plot is finally getting back on track!] My heart skipped a beat. I actually had been planning to throw a fit and demand a divorce. Were these bizarre floating comments actually real? Had Austin really fallen for Gemma, just waiting for me to step aside? Then why the hell did he keep begging me to remarry him? Before I could wrap my head around it, Austin was already tying on an apron with practiced ease. “What do you want to eat? I don’t have time for anything complicated since I have to run. How about some eggs and toast?” [Why hasn’t she brought up the divorce yet? The CEO is stuck cooking for her just waiting for her to say it. He couldn’t even leave with our sweet girl. Annoying!] [The toxic wife keeps using her father’s mentorship to guilt-trip him. Poor guy has divorced her three times and still can’t shake her off.] [That’s why the heroine couldn’t stand her. Reincarnating was her chance to snatch the CEO away and shower him with the love he actually deserves!] Staring at the aloof man in front of me, a sudden wave of bitterness stung my nose. “I’m not hungry! Just go to work!” I yanked my hand out of his grip and stormed back into my bedroom. Not long after, the sound of an engine revving came from the driveway. Austin had actually left without saying another word. 2 My temples throbbed with rage. Lying on the bed, my chest felt incredibly tight. I didn’t get it. Austin and I were the ones who were married. Why were these bizarre comments cheering on a blatant homewrecker? Just because Gemma was the heroine and I was the villainess? My birth had been a difficult one, resulting in mild oxygen deprivation. Because of that, I had always been a bit slow. When I was a kid, my relatives used to whisper behind my back, joking that if someone kidnapped me and sold me off, I’d probably count the cash for them with a big smile. I was also incredibly lazy. Whenever things got slightly difficult, my immediate reaction was to throw in the towel. Hey, persistence is hard. Giving up is effortless. Fortunately, I had an incredible father. He was the director of the National Academy of Sciences. He had mentored countless brilliant minds, and Austin was his absolute star pupil. Austin was also breathtakingly handsome. Tall, lean, and possessing the kind of presence that commanded any room he walked into. I had fallen for him at first sight. Armed with my dad’s connection, I spent three years chasing this absolute iceberg of a man until I finally melted him. While Austin came from humble beginnings, his talent was undeniable. Even my hard-to-please father had nothing but praise for him. And Austin certainly proved him right. The projects his team developed were wild successes, and within a few short years, his net worth skyrocketed, turning him into the brilliant young billionaire everyone gossiped about. With money and power, the vultures naturally started circling. Back when he was a nobody, I was the only one who wanted him. Now that he was wealthy and gorgeous, things had changed. Still, even though Austin always treated me with a certain cool detachment, he never showed the slightest interest in other women either, so I had never worried. Until Gemma showed up. I noticed Austin treated her differently. After all, she was the reason I had walked away three times already. Gemma’s tactics were cheap but effective. She would leave lipstick marks on his collar, send him late-night texts loaded with double entendres, or show up at galas wearing the exact same designer dress as me. But Austin was hopelessly dense. Whenever he saw me shaking with rage, he would just say, “You’re overthinking it. She’s not like you.” I decided to choose a better moment to address it. One night, in the middle of our private, intimate moments in bed, I brought it up and urged him to fire her. Austin paused his movements, pinning me down. “You’re right. She’s a distraction.” Yet the very next day, she was still right by his side. Furious and exhausted, I decided to set him free. I demanded a divorce. Austin only stared at me, his eyes dark. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” I snapped. “Fine,” he replied. He didn’t beg. But every single time, before a month had even passed, he would show up at my door asking me to come back. And I always agreed. Honestly? I was a sucker for his face and his body. 3 I rolled over in bed. The screen of comments in my mind was in absolute chaos: [What the hell? Why isn’t the toxic wife falling for it this time? In the original timeline, they should be in their fourth cooling-off period by now!] [Out of respect for his mentor, the CEO won’t be the one to ask for a divorce. Does this mean our sweet girl has to keep being his secret lover? This is so frustrating.] [Don’t worry, the wife is stupid and petty. The heroine just needs to provoke her a little more, and she’ll throw another tantrum.] [Forget about the wife, look! The heroine is accompanying the CEO to a client dinner. Someone just asked if she was Mrs. Finch, and he didn’t deny it! Ahhh, silent confirmation!] So Austin really did have feelings for Gemma. I angrily pulled my gaze away from the floating text. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew Austin’s character inside out. When it came to women who weren’t his wife, the man was incredibly stingy. When I was his wife, my credit cards had no limits. I could buy a whole wall of Hermès bags without him batting an eye. But the moment we divorced, he made sure I left with absolutely nothing. Not a single cent. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to living a life of luxury. A single spa session cost thousands. My own savings wouldn’t even last me two weeks. That was the real reason I always agreed to remarry him so quickly. So this time, I wasn’t going to be the one to bring up the divorce. Since Austin was so in love with Gemma, he would have to be the one to make the move to give her a proper title. I just had to wait. Let him ask for the split. That way, I could legally demand a massive payout. But before that happened… I was going to spend his money like there was no tomorrow! With that thought, I bolted upright and called my exclusive spa, booking a series of premium treatments worth a fortune. The next morning, the moment I woke up, I had a text from Austin: [Having dinner out tonight. Don’t wait up.] I stared at the screen for a long moment. Then, I dialed my best friend. Why spend his money alone when I could bring my bestie along for the ride? I threw on a high-end designer dress and rushed out the door. But as we walked out of the spa and passed a luxury jewelry boutique, Phoebe suddenly gasped. “Sienna, isn’t that your man? Who is that girl with him?” I followed her gaze. Through the glass window, I saw Gemma. She was leaning over a velvet counter, focusing intently on a tray of diamond rings. Beside her stood Austin, wearing a remarkably soft, gentle smile. So this was the business he had to attend to. 4 Phoebe finally recognized Gemma’s face and spat, “Isn’t that the homewrecker who caused your last divorce?” “What the hell is Austin playing at? He literally just remarried you, and now he’s out shopping for rings with her?” Phoebe grabbed me as I instinctively tried to turn away, pulling up her sleeves. “Sienna, why are you running? That’s not like you! You are the legal Mrs. Finch! Come on, let’s go in there and give them hell!” My best friend’s words made me pause. I suddenly realized how much those stupid floating comments were affecting me. I was acting like a doomed supporting character who was bound to be abandoned, choosing to retreat without a fight. But why should I back down? Even if I was destined to lose, I was going to make this cheating duo pay a heavy price first! Taking a deep breath, I balled my hands into fists, ready to catch them red-handed. Inside the shop, Austin seemed to sense something. He abruptly turned his head toward the window. Seeing my furious face, his brow instantly furrowed. [Look at how annoying the wife is. The CEO was smiling so sweetly at our girl, but the second he saw his wife, his face fell!] [Omg, is he helping her pick out an engagement ring? Is he planning a proposal?] [It breaks my heart knowing the toxic wife is going to use her dad’s influence to bully the heroine again. But her time is coming. Her father’s downfall is happening soon, and without him, let’s see how she throws her weight around!] What?! Is something terrible going to happen to my dad? The fury on my face instantly vanished, replaced by sheer panic. I couldn’t care less about confronting them anymore. I grabbed Phoebe’s hand, shoving my black card into her palm. “Max out this card. Buy whatever you want. I have an emergency.” Without waiting for her reply, I sprinted to my car and sped toward my father’s house. According to the comments, my dad was already feeling unwell but was brushing it off as typical old-age aches and pains. By the time he realized something was seriously wrong, it would be too late. He would pass away in less than three days. The mere thought of losing the father who had cherished me my entire life sent a sharp, agonizing pain through my chest. As I burst through the front gate, I saw my dad in the garden, watering his flowers. Since retiring, this had become his favorite hobby. “Well, look who it is! My little princess is home!” Seeing his cheerful, smiling face, my eyes welled with tears. When my mother died from complications during my birth, my father’s hair had turned white overnight. For years, people urged him to remarry. My grandmother had even threatened him, arguing that I was slow and practically a simpleton, and that he needed to have another child so the family line wouldn’t end. But he refused. He dedicated his life entirely to me, giving me all the love and indulgence in the world. Recalling the comments, I rushed over. “Dad, when was the last time you had a full physical exam?” “Uh, not too long ago. Maybe six months?” His eyes darted away, his voice lacking confidence. “Your old man is as strong as an ox. Aside from this stubborn cough, I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be around to help you raise your kids!” Hearing that, everything clicked. For some reason, as people got older, they developed an irrational fear of doctors. My dad was no exception. “We are going to the hospital. Right now.” Seeing my stern face and realizing I was truly angry, my dad didn’t dare argue. He meekly followed me to the hospital. To my utter surprise, halfway through the checkups, Austin showed up. 5 Wasn’t he supposed to be with Gemma? Why was he here? But I was in no mood to figure it out. Listening to the veteran specialist’s diagnosis, my tears began to flow freely. Austin stepped forward to pull me into his arms, but I pushed him away with all my might. “This is all your fault! If you and Gemma hadn’t kept stressing me out every single day, I wouldn’t have been too distracted to notice my dad’s health! I would have caught this sooner!” Instead of letting go, he held me even tighter. Unable to break free, I ended up wiping my tears and nose right onto his expensive jacket. Austin sighed, gently stroking my back. “Shh, okay, it’s my fault. But your dad’s condition is in its absolute earliest stage. It’s completely curable with medication. Why are you crying like it’s the end of the world?” I froze. Looking up, I met the amused, knowing gazes of both the doctor and my father. Embarrassed, I let out a wet hiccup. While Austin went to get the prescription, my dad pulled me aside, speaking in a warm, earnest tone. “My sweet girl, Austin isn’t a man of many words, but I can tell his feelings for you are genuine. You throw the word ‘divorce’ around daily, yet he still accommodates your every whim.” “With his current status, there’s no shortage of women trying to climb into his bed. But have you ever actually seen him cross the line?” I opened my mouth to protest, wanting to warn him not to be fooled by Austin’s quiet exterior. I wanted to tell him about what I saw at the jewelry store, and the bizarre floating comments. But looking at the silver hair at his temples, I swallowed my words. I didn’t want to stress him and make his condition worse. I could wait until he was fully recovered. After driving my dad back to his estate and giving the housekeeper strict instructions, I turned around to find Austin still standing there. He was surprisingly free today. I didn’t ask questions, silently sliding into the passenger seat. The drive back to our place was quiet. Once home, I took a long shower, got changed, and crawled into bed to review the shopping list Phoebe had sent over. Just as I was admiring the ridiculous total, a pair of large, warm hands slid under the covers. I looked up into Austin’s deep brown eyes. He was wearing a loosely tied robe, his dark hair still damp from his own shower. I frowned, about to ask what he thought he was doing, when a cold sensation slipped onto my ring finger. I gasped softly, looking down at my hand. It was a massive diamond ring. And the design looked exactly like the one I had seen at the boutique earlier today. “Didn’t you always complain that your ring wasn’t big enough?” Austin murmured, his voice husky against my ear. Before I could say a word, his hot lips pressed against mine. The comments in my mind exploded: [Oh my god! The villainess actually used her sick dad to manipulate him! Poor CEO had to take the ring meant for our heroine just to placate his crazy wife!] [It breaks my heart seeing him forced to perform in bed like this. What’s worse is that the heroine hasn’t even touched him yet, but this toxic b*tch gets to enjoy him whenever she wants!] [It’s fine, it’s just physical for him. His heart belongs entirely to our girl!] To be fair, we hadn’t been intimate in a while. And according to the comments, Austin and Gemma were still strictly platonic? Meaning, my husband was still clean. With that reassuring thought, I stopped overthinking and pulled him closer, matching his intensity. But right at that moment, Austin’s phone began to vibrate on the nightstand.

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It was the fifth year of my silent, unrequited love for Wesley Sinclair. Phoebe Heinberg, his impoverished first love, had finally chosen money over romance. She had sent me a message, asking me to pass it along: [Jas, Wesley’s family won’t let us see each other, and they are forcing me to go abroad. Can you tell him something for me? Tell him I will definitely come back for him after graduation.] I stared down at those two lines on my screen. With a calm face, I pressed delete. That same day, Wesley was involved in a terrible car accident while racing to the airport to catch her flight. When he woke, he had forgotten everyone, except for me. In his mind, I was his only fiancée. The once distant, cold young heir transformed into my devoted, clingy shadow, obeying my every whim. But at our wedding… His first love returned. “Wesley, she is a liar!” Phoebe burst into the chapel, tears streaming down her face. “She stole my identity and lied to you! The one you actually love is me!” As her voice echoed through the hall, Wesley’s hand froze, right as he was about to slip the ring onto my finger. 1 Wesley and the doctor stepped out of the examination room. Seeing me waiting outside, he naturally reached out and took my hand, his tone as casual as ever. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Were you about to fall asleep?” He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, offering a soft smile to reassure me. “Don’t worry your pretty head over it. The doctor says I’m recovering well. We just need a trigger now.” The specialist beside him quickly chimed in. “Mr. Sinclair’s memory is returning steadily. He is already recalling scattered fragments. However, to fully restore his memory, he needs a significant emotional stimulus. Perhaps take him to places you two used to visit, or surround him with familiar personal items from your past. It will help stimulate his recall.” I swallowed the dryness in my throat, offering a polite smile. “I understand. Thank you, doctor.” Wesley had been in a severe car accident two years ago. He had forgotten almost everything, but he remembered me as his childhood sweetheart and his designated fiancée. All day, my mind drifted. Even during our wedding dress fitting, I could barely focus. The boutique director and the designers presented the custom, high-end gowns flown in from Paris for my selection. “Is the wedding scheduled for next month, Miss Croft? I’m so envious. I heard you two have known each other for over a decade?” Before I could answer, a familiar voice cut in. “Yes, we have.” Wesley walked over, bending down to help adjust the train of my gown. He carefully smoothed out every fold before looking up at me. “Jas and I grew up together. We were childhood sweethearts.” He stood up, leaning in close to brush his fingers against my cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. “Jas… you look breathtaking today.” As the words left his mouth, his ears flushed crimson. My eyelashes fluttered, and I looked away. “Every girl looks beautiful in a wedding dress.” Wesley arched an eyebrow, clearing his throat with a playful, dismissive scoff. “None of them can compare to my wife. I only care about how my wife looks in a wedding dress.” The more certain he was, the heavier my chest felt. I turned toward the changing room. “I’m a bit tired today. Let’s just go with the simple satin gown.” Wesley quickly caught up to me. “What about the French lace mermaid gown with the intricate beading? Didn’t you say that was your absolute favorite?” He softened his tone, sounding slightly disappointed. “Jas, you don’t need to worry about the cost. Just pick the one you love the most.” My back was turned to him, and I bit my lower lip. The doctor’s words from this morning echoed in my head: Surround him with familiar personal items from your past… The French lace mermaid gown. It was indeed my favorite, but it was also Phoebe’s favorite. I could not, under any circumstances, let him recover his memories on the eve of our wedding. “It’s nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile as I turned around. “I just don’t like it anymore.” 2 After dinner, Wesley accompanied me for a walk along the lake near his family’s estate. When we were kids, I used to sneak out during the hot summer nights to catch tadpoles with him by this very water. Once, I stepped on some slippery moss and tumbled into the deep end. I couldn’t swim and began thrashing wildly. It was Wesley who dove in without hesitation and dragged me back to the shore. I quietly locked my phone. I had just texted my housekeeper, instructing them to sweep our home once more and remove any trace of Phoebe. “Jas, do you have any photos of us from when we were kids on your phone?” Wesley asked, his tone slightly self-conscious. “I want to see what you looked like back then.” I hesitated for a second before opening my gallery. “Sure.” Growing up, the heir of the Sinclair family was notorious for his arrogance. He bullied almost every other wealthy kid in our social circle, but he never crossed me. Perhaps it was because I was quiet, or perhaps because I was easily frightened. Ultimately, I became his little shadow. Wesley was a massive clean-freak, yet he would share his snacks with me while grumbling about my messy habits. He claimed to detest my lazy attitude, but his bedroom was the only place he ever permitted me to take my afternoon naps. His favorite thing to do was press his index finger against my forehead, lecturing me with mock exasperation. “Jasmine Croft, if anyone ever picks on you, you tell me. You hear me?” I held onto those words for years. But eventually, the person who hurt me the most was him. The day my family arranged our alliance, I had just returned to the country. Before even unloading my luggage from the car, I ran eagerly into the Sinclair mansion, only to overhear Wesley talking to another girl. Phoebe was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, looking at him with a provocative smirk. “It seems the young master of the Sinclair family is just another puppet on a string, unable to even choose who he dates.” Wesley’s lips thinned into a tight line. He frowned, his voice dropping. “Who says I can’t choose?” That very afternoon, I learned that the Sinclairs wanted to call off the engagement. Feeling guilty, his parents paid a formal visit to my family to apologize. Wesley stood at the back of the room. After high school, we had rarely crossed paths. He went abroad for university, and since I preferred quiet spaces, I often made excuses to skip the social gatherings he attended. The day we called off the engagement was my first day back in the country, and the day I prepared to let him go. Wesley looked at me across the crowded room. We stared at each other for a long moment, as if we had truly loved each other once. His lips parted, but in the end, he only uttered two words. “I’m sorry.” I smiled and remained silent, offering a quiet, obedient nod. Love was never something that could be forced. I had learned that lesson long ago. I scrolled to an old childhood photo and held the phone out to him. He took it, freezing for a moment before a soft laugh escaped him. “You were so adorable back then.” Wesley pinched my cheek gently. “In this photo, you ruined my birthday cake, but you were still standing there, smiling like an innocent angel.” This time, my face flushed warm. “I bought you another cake to make up for it,” I mumbled in defense. Wesley chuckled but didn’t say anything. He kept scrolling through the album, tracking our journey from kindergarten to middle school. “You had blunt bangs in middle school. You looked so sweet. Did anyone try to bully you back then? Look at this photo, you’re hiding behind me like a shy little bird.” Then, he swiped to the next slide. It was a candid shot taken by my best friend. I was flashing a peace sign at the camera, while behind me, Wesley was on his phone, completely oblivious. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt; it was taken during our high school graduation ceremony. Wesley’s brow furrowed, his immediate reaction catching me off guard. “What kind of dress is that? The back is cut way too low.” He zoomed in on the photo, his tone dripping with jealousy. “Look at those two guys behind you, they’re practically drooling. Are you still in touch with them? Block them immediately.” He kept scrolling, and the screen flashed with the face of a girl he didn’t recognize. Before he could get a proper look, I snatched the phone away. “Alright, that’s enough!” I forced a cheerful laugh. “I was so awkward back then. There’s nothing interesting to see.” Wesley frowned, pressing his finger against my forehead. “Why are you acting like this? Who was that girl? I barely saw her. Are you worried I’ll look at someone else?” He took my hand, intertwining our fingers. His palm was warm and reassuring. “My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world. I’ve never thought you were awkward. If I did, how could I have loved you for all these years?” Is that so? I thought. Would you say the same things if Phoebe were standing here? 3 Phoebe was a scholarship student sponsored by the Sinclair family. Two months before the college entrance exams, she was brought to the city for intensive training. She was a few years younger than Wesley and me. While I was studying abroad, I frequently heard rumors about her from our mutual friends. “You know Wesley’s temper, right? He actually let that girl into his private study.” “I heard he drove her to her university dorms himself last week.” “Felix and I teased her a bit when we saw them together, and Wesley looked like he wanted to murder us on the spot.” “She talks back to him constantly at his house, and he never even gets mad.” “Are you serious? If I spoke to him like that, he’d throw me out the window.” The rumors were vivid. Through their descriptions, I painted a picture of Phoebe in my mind: bright, outspoken, and entirely unbothered by Wesley’s intimidating reputation. She was like a wild blossom, full of vibrant energy. Wesley had never had anyone like that in his life. At least, I was nothing like that. I could understand the appeal she held for him. It was the same way Wesley had once brought color into my quiet life. I had once asked Wesley about her over a text message. He had replied briefly: [She’s nobody. My parents are sponsoring her education, and she stays at the estate occasionally. I have to go, I’m busy.] He didn’t care to waste words on her. But her special status required no explanation; his silent indulgence had already made their relationship an open secret in our social circle. After returning to the country, I ran into Phoebe. Seeing me for the first time, she showed no nervousness. Instead, she walked up to me with a bright, easy smile. “You must be Jas,” she said, her voice light and cheerful. “Wesley talks about you sometimes. He says you’re very sweet and gentle.” She paused, offering a casual giggle. “But he also mentioned that you can be a bit boring sometimes.” She wasn’t wrong. I was indeed the designated “good girl” of our circle. Under my family’s careful guidance, I had lived a predictable life, studying, traveling, and painting. Wesley loved racing, hiking, skiing, and all kinds of extreme sports. I preferred painting, reading, and flower arrangement. Our lives had no natural overlap. If we hadn’t grown up together, he probably wouldn’t have spared me a second glance. I offered a gentle smile. “Boring is a fair description. He’s not the first to say so.” Phoebe blinked, clearly caught off guard by my easy admission. During my visit to the Sinclair estate, the living room was filled with their playful bickering. Mostly, it was Phoebe’s voice. “Wesley, you can’t even tell the difference between scallions and chives?!” Wesley sighed in annoyance. “Does it look like I care?” Phoebe stepped closer, looking up at him with a grin. “Of course you should care! If you can’t even recognize basic ingredients, how are you going to feed yourself in the future?” “I have a chef for that.” Phoebe smirked. “Don’t you ever want to move out and live on your own? To cook your own meals and have some real freedom? Or do you plan on being a pampered prince forever?” Wesley was rebellious at heart, craving freedom more than anything. Everyone knew it, but Phoebe was the only one brave enough to say it to his face. Sure enough, Wesley’s expression darkened, a clear sign of his rising temper. But before I could intervene, Phoebe spoke up again. “Tell you what, you can always come crash at my place in the future.” She laughed, her eyes crinkling. “Since your family pays for my tuition, the least I can do is cook for you. Feeding one extra mouth won’t ruin me.” Wesley fell silent, momentarily speechless. She knew exactly how to push his buttons and then pull him back. Later that day, on our drive back to her school, we passed a bridal boutique. Phoebe peered out the window, sighing wistfully. “So beautiful… especially that mermaid gown.” Wesley leaned his head back, his voice careless. “It’s average. Off-the-rack stuff can’t compare to high fashion.” Phoebe looked down, disappointed. “I still want to wear a beautiful mermaid gown one day.” Wesley frowned, glancing at me briefly in the rearview mirror. He didn’t say anything, but from that day on, a subtle shift occurred at the Sinclair estate. Whenever Wesley was scolded by his father, Phoebe was always there to comfort him. Sometimes she brought him fruit; other times she sat on the floor outside his study to keep him company during his grounding. During the winter break, when Wesley returned from university, Phoebe begged him to take her skiing, claiming she had never seen snow before. Although a whole group of us ended up going, I sat inside the lodge clutching a warm cup of tea, watching them slide down the slopes. A quiet voice echoed in my head: Jasmine, do you really think there’s still a place for you in his heart? The day he called off our engagement, he drove me to my villa. When we were alone in the car, I finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been haunting me. “Are you calling this off because of someone else?” Wesley stiffened. He looked down, his brow furrowing. “Jas.” It had been a long time since he had called me by my nickname. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I don’t want to hurt you. That was his answer. That was the conclusion to my five years of silent adoration. 4 On the day of the wedding, I only managed two hours of sleep. I was terrified that this was all a beautiful dream, and that when I woke up, I would find nothing but a pillow soaked with my own tears. “Jas, did you not sleep well?” Wesley’s mother held my hand, her eyes filled with concern. She glanced over at Wesley, who was busy chatting with his groomsmen, and lowered her voice. “Jas, I need to tell you something. Don’t panic.” I kept my expression serene, offering a soft smile. “Go ahead, Aunt Eleanor.” She sighed, her face tight with anxiety. “Felix’s family contacted me yesterday. They saw Phoebe at the airport.” “I verified the flight logs. It’s her. She’s back in the country.” The air around me seemed to turn to ice. My mind went blank, and the words caught in my throat. Seeing my silence, Eleanor quickly squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Jas. Wesley doesn’t remember anything right now. You are the only one he recognizes. And you are the only daughter-in-law the Sinclairs will ever accept.” My throat felt dry as bone. I looked over at Wesley. He was laughing with Felix and Zach, his ears flushing red at whatever joke they were sharing. “Felix and Zach are keeping it from him too,” Eleanor whispered. “None of them will mention her name in front of Wesley.” Her expression turned sour as she continued. “I gave her four million dollars back then, and she signed the agreement. Why on earth is she coming back now, right when you two are getting married? What is she trying to pull?” The truth about Phoebe was something we all knew. Except for Wesley. When Eleanor first noticed Phoebe’s intentions, she had confronted her. To her surprise, Phoebe didn’t even try to deny it. She brazenly admitted that she liked Wesley and believed that, given his indulgence, winning him over completely would be easy. Her arrogance had caused a massive stir in the Sinclair household. Eleanor was so furious she nearly had a heart attack, and Wesley’s father immediately arranged for Phoebe’s transfer out of her school. But Phoebe had threatened them. “I already have a place in Wesley’s heart. He defends me, drives me around, and fights his friends for me. Have you ever seen him do that for anyone else? If I suddenly disappear, what do you think he will do? He’s your son, you know his temper best.” Eleanor had swallowed her anger and negotiated a price. At the time, my family’s relationship with the Sinclairs was strained due to the canceled engagement, and my father was preparing to pull his investments from their joint projects. To resolve the issue quickly, Eleanor had offered six million dollars to make Phoebe disappear. Phoebe took the money and left, sending Wesley a single farewell text claiming she was going abroad to study with her boyfriend. She then blocked all his contact information right in front of them. Of course, I only found out about all of this later. At the time, Phoebe had reached out to me, crying over a voice message, sounding incredibly weak and victimized. She claimed the Sinclairs had ruthlessly thrown her out because of their greed and obsession with social status. She said she had nowhere to go and was forced to cut ties with Wesley. “Jas, I know you’re the sweetest person. I don’t have parents like you do, I only have my grandmother, and she’s too old to help me. Can you please do me a favor and pass a message to Wesley? Tell him I’ll be back in two years. Tell him not to worry, and ask him to wait for me.” I realized later that she only came to me because Eleanor had cut the agreed amount from six million to four million at the last second. To everyone, I was the gentle, obedient girl who could never say no. Phoebe believed that even when it came to her rival, I would be kind enough to help. I stared at the message she wanted me to deliver. Tell him I will definitely come back for him after graduation. I pressed down on the text, and after two seconds, the option appeared. Without a shred of hesitation, I hit delete. That was the very first time in my life that I did something against my conscience. But I never expected Wesley to have a car accident that very night. He was carried into the emergency room drenched in blood, slipping into a deep coma. Perhaps he had caught wind of her departure and was racing to the airport to stop her. Or perhaps he just wanted to see her one last time. Either way, on the night of my birthday, Wesley lost his memory. When he opened his eyes three days later, the first name he called out wasn’t his parents’. He asked, “Where is Jasmine?” He had forgotten everything. He forgot the scholarship student who had lived in his house, forgot her name, forgot how he had protected her, and forgot that he had wanted to call off our engagement. In his mind, I was his childhood sweetheart, his only love, and his destined wife. Under the collective silent agreement of our families, our entire social circle chose to keep the secret. Phoebe was completely erased from Wesley’s world. Felix and Zach had sat down with me to make sure we were all on the same page. “From now on, Jasmine Croft is the only girl Wesley has ever loved.” I didn’t reject the lie. That was my second mistake. With everyone reinforcing the narrative, Wesley believed it completely. He was convinced of his deep devotion to me, insisting on moving our wedding forward. And I agreed. That was my third mistake. “Jasmine Croft, do you take Wesley Sinclair to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?” The officiant’s voice pulled me back to reality. Beneath the gaze of our families and guests, I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and nodded. “I do.” Applause erupted in the chapel. Wesley noticed my tension and gently squeezed my hand under the folds of my gown, silently mouthing the words: Don’t be scared. My eyelashes fluttered, and I forced a small smile. The officiant turned his gaze to Wesley. “Wesley Sinclair, do you take Jasmine Croft to be your wedded wife…” Wesley smiled, answering almost before the officiant could finish. “I do.” More applause swept through the hall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wesley’s parents smiling with relief, while my own parents had tears glistening in their eyes. The officiant offered a warm smile, gesturing to Wesley. “You may exchange the rings.” Wesley carefully lifted the ring from its velvet box. It was a custom three-stone pink diamond ring, with our birthstones delicately integrated into the band. It held the promise of our future, along with the weight of my five years of silent longing. But just as the metal was about to slip over my ring finger, the heavy doors of the chapel were flung open. Someone rushed inside, breathless and frantic. “Wesley! She’s a liar!” Phoebe stumbled down the aisle, her eyes red, tears streaming down her pale face. “They all lied to you while you lost your memory! Jasmine stole my place! The one you actually love… is me!” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Wesley stared at the crying girl, then looked at his parents, who had turned pale but were trying to maintain their composure. He looked at his friends, whose faces were filled with awkward guilt. Even without his memories, he could tell that everyone had been keeping a massive secret from him. Finally, Wesley’s gaze landed on me. He frowned, his lips parting as he spoke in a low, tight voice. “Jas.” “What is going on?”

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1 My girlfriend had a universal partner for everything. At first, it was just grabbing dinner or hitting the gym with him. Then it became movies, shopping, and weekend trips. “Then what am I to you?” I had asked her once. She had laughed, light and carefree. “You’re my boyfriend, babe. Don’t be petty over a platonic partner.” But when he wanted hot pot, she canceled our movie tickets and drove across the city at midnight to wait in line with him. When he wanted to go camping, she completely forgot our anniversary, spending the entire week planning a detailed itinerary to keep him happy. When my stomach cramps were so bad I couldn’t stand straight, she told me to order delivery. The seaside cabin I booked months in advance was canceled because she was “too tired.” On my birthday, I sat alone and sliced my cake seven times. By the time the candles burned down to melted wax, she still hadn’t shown up. Instead, she posted a beautiful grid of photos on social media. She was wrapped in his oversized jacket, watching him capture the sunrise for her. Life is so much better when you have a partner who will drop everything and travel with you. Thank you to the absolute best partner ever! I left a like and slowly typed a comment. I hope you two stay partners forever. I clicked send, turned off my phone, and tossed my ring into the trash. My birthday wish was simple: to walk away from her. … My screen lit up with a barrage of notifications. “Boss Brooke, is your man jealous?” I pulled off the silver band I had worn for three years. It left a faint, red indentation on my finger. It turned out some things weren’t impossible to remove. I had just been too afraid of the pain of letting go. Brooke didn’t walk through the front door until nine the next morning. She was carrying a bag of take-out dumplings from my favorite diner. “Still mad?” Her voice was casual, carrying a familiar mix of exhaustion, cheap appeasement, and absolute certainty that I would forgive her. She set the food on the table and stepped forward to wrap her arms around me. She smelled like mountain dew mixed with the rich, synthetic scent of his car air freshener. I leaned my head away. Her arms stiffened for a second, but then she laughed. “There was no signal up on the peak last night. I really didn’t mean to ignore your texts. Don’t be childish, babe. I’ll buy you an extra nice gift to make up for it.” “Elliot, you know how much I care about you, don’t you?” Of course I did. It wasn’t that Brooke had never been gentle. I hated cilantro, and she used to write it three times in the special instructions whenever we ordered takeout. When my back flared up from old racing injuries, she would drive to a late-night pharmacy to buy heat patches. When her garage first opened and business was slow, she had walked through nearby office buildings, handing out flyers floor by floor. Even when security kicked her out, she would just rub her nose and laugh, saying, “It’s fine. We’ll try the back entrance tomorrow.” Back then, I believed her willingness to spend her time on me was proof of real love. But time has a way of diverging. Slowly, she began to steer toward someone else. Seeing my silence, Brooke opened the soy milk, poked a straw through the lid, and pushed it toward me. “Stop giving me the silent treatment. I booked a table for us tonight. Let’s go out.” Before I could speak, her phone rang. Gavin’s voice leaked loudly through the speaker. “Hey, Brooke! Didn’t you say we were trying that new barbecue place today? I already told the guys we’re coming.” “Don’t flake on me! I skipped breakfast just for this!” Brooke looked at me, covering the receiver with her palm. “How about we all go together?” When I didn’t reply, she took it as consent, letting out a relieved laugh and reaching over to ruffle my hair. “See? Gavin doesn’t mind you tagging along. You really need to stop treating him like the enemy.” Suddenly, even anger felt like too much effort. On the other end, Gavin was still shouting. “Is your boyfriend coming too? Perfect! I’ll order for us. I know exactly what Brooke likes!” Brooke smiled. “Alright, I’ll tell him.” She hung up and reached for my hand again. “Stop sulking. Let’s go tonight.” I pulled my hand back. “I’m not going.” The smile faded slightly from her face. “Elliot, that’s enough.” “I apologized. I even offered to take you out. What more do you want?” “Gavin is just like that. He’s loud, casual, and straightforward. There’s no hidden agenda. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” I looked at the dumplings on the table. The steam had softened the paper bag, and the soy milk was still warm, but I didn’t have an ounce of appetite. Brooke waited for a few seconds. Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, she finally snatched her car keys off the counter. “Fine. Take some time to cool down.” “I’ll head over first. If you change your mind, text me.” The door clicked shut, plunging the apartment into a heavy silence. In the past, whenever she walked out like this, I would sit on the sofa and wait. I would wait for her to come home, offer a half-hearted explanation, and coax me back into her good graces. But the spark was gone. I was done waiting. I opened my laptop and pulled up an old email. The head coach of an international professional racing team had invited me back to train for three consecutive years. Every year, I had declined. The shadows of my past still clung to my scars, and I hadn’t wanted to touch a steering wheel again. I had preferred to hide as a quiet entrepreneur running a barber shop, staying far away from the track. But things were different now. The suffocating pain of staying by her side had far exceeded the fear of facing my old trauma. My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I typed a simple reply. I’m ready to try. 2 It took Brooke three days to notice my emotional absence. I kept running my shop, styling hair for clients, and kept my replies to her brief. Okay. No need. I know. At first, she figured I was just throwing a tantrum. But eventually, a quiet panic must have set in. That afternoon, she showed up at my shop to pick me up, holding a bouquet of cappuccino roses. “Let’s get Cantonese tonight. Haven’t you been craving it for weeks?” There were still clients in the shop. A few young girls stole glances at us, their eyes filled with envy. Brooke was striking, charming, and knew exactly how to play the doting partner. To the outside world, she was the perfect catch. I didn’t ruin her performance. When she reached for my hand, I let her hold it, though I felt nothing. “I knew you wouldn’t hold a grudge,” she murmured, smiling. I stared out the window as she drove. She kept talking, her voice smooth. “Elliot, I know you felt neglected.” “But Gavin grew up mostly around women. He doesn’t have filters. If you make a fuss over him, it just makes you look petty.” I finally turned to look at her. “So when he ruined my birthday, it was just a lack of filters? And on our anniversary…” Brooke furrowed her brows, cutting me off. “Why are you digging up old history again? I explained this to you. His tire blew out. He was stranded alone in the middle of nowhere. It was dangerous.” I was thoroughly exhausted by her excuses. As she spoke, I quietly asked, “Brooke, do you honestly believe that as long as you claim to love me, your actions don’t cause any real harm?” Brooke froze, momentarily speechless, before reaching over to ruffle my hair again. “There you go again, taking everything so seriously.” We arrived at the restaurant in silence. The host recognized us immediately. “Your usual table?” Brooke ordered a table full of my favorite dishes. But just as I picked up a shrimp dumpling, a familiar voice echoed from the entrance. “Brooke!” Gavin waved, wearing an oversized leather motorcycle jacket. “What a coincidence!” He strolled over to our table without a hint of shame. “Our riding group just split up, and I haven’t eaten. Mind if I join?” He directed the question at me, but his eyes were locked onto Brooke. Without thinking, Brooke stood up to pull out a chair for him. He glanced at the spread. “Ooh, shrimp dumplings! My favorite!” The next second, Brooke slid my plate right over to him. “I’ll order you another one,” she said to me. My chopsticks remained frozen in the air. Gavin rested his chin in his hands, looking at me with a smirk. “You don’t mind, right? Brooke and I are so used to sharing everything anyway. We don’t care about formalities.” A few other riders who had followed him inside chimed in. “Gavin and Brooke are basically brothers. Don’t overthink it, man.” Gavin waved them off playfully. “Hey, shut up! You’ll make him upset. Brooke and I are completely platonic. She just takes really good care of me. I guess she can’t help it since our driving styles are so in sync.” Brooke merely laughed. “Hush, you.” Her tone was dripping with indulgence. Gavin stuck his tongue out. “Alright, alright. The boyfriend is boss.” I quietly sipped my porridge as Brooke laughed off the awkwardness and changed the subject. They talked and laughed for the rest of the night, leaving me entirely in the dark. The next morning, a few regular clients came in for haircuts. As they looked through style books, they gossiped about the local motorcycle scene. “Have you guys heard about Gavin? The guy who’s always trailing after his big sisters?” “Oh yeah, he’s been bragging non-stop lately.” “He posted some passive-aggressive status about how his favorite sister treats him better than her actual boyfriend. The official guy must be losing his mind.” “He’s always done that. Remember how he latched onto that other female rider last year? Played the innocent little brother, accepted expensive helmets and watches, and eventually drove her boyfriend away.” “Exactly. His favorite excuse is always: We’re just riding partners, you’re overthinking it.” My scissors slowed down slightly. “He’s done this before?” I asked quietly. The client perked up, eager to share the gossip. “Oh, countless times! Everyone in the racing scene knows him. He specifically targets women in relationships. The more the boyfriend objects, the more he paints them as insecure. And the women eat it up. They think he’s easygoing and low-maintenance compared to their partners.” I listened quietly, piecing the puzzle together. Suddenly, Brooke seemed incredibly pathetic. Her taste in people was laughable. Well, before I made my exit, I could certainly leave her with a parting gift. 3 When the local riding club organized a weekend road trip, Brooke insisted on picking me up. She wore a sharp black windbreaker, her hair styled neatly. “Let’s go! I’m finally introducing you to everyone.” She opened the passenger door for me. “You always complain that I never bring you along,” she murmured, leaning in to buckle my seatbelt. “So today, you’re coming with me.” But I knew the truth. She wasn’t bringing me into her circle. She was dragging me there to force me to accept Gavin’s presence. A dozen sports cars were lined up, their engines revving in a loud, echoing chorus. Gavin spotted us, a sweet smile plastering his face. “Look who made it! Brooke actually managed to bring the househusband out!” “But hey, aren’t you going to be terrified in the passenger seat? Unlike me, the louder the brakes screech, the more excited I get.” The other drivers laughed. Brooke frowned slightly. But Gavin was already pulling open the passenger door, grinning. “Just kidding, don’t be tense. I’m just worried because you don’t know these mountain passes. There are a lot of sharp turns ahead. I should probably navigate for her.” Brooke rubbed her nose. “Gavin knows these roads like the back of his hand. Elliot, why don’t you sit in the back for now? Safety first.” The back seat. Mountain roads. Sharp turns. The words wrapped around my throat like a vice. On that rainy night years ago, my parents had been sitting in the back seat while I drove. The slick mountain pass, the screeching brakes, the world spinning upside down, and my mother’s blood-soaked, lifeless eyes. The flashing rescue lights cutting through the heavy rain. My entire family, shattered in an instant. Before that day, I wasn’t just Elliot the barber. I had raced in junior leagues, brought home trophies, and my coach had praised my fearlessness and sharp reflexes. I was on the fast track to the professional leagues. Even my father used to tell me, “My boy drives steadier than I ever could.” But that single crash had crushed everything. The memory left me pale and frozen. But Brooke just assumed I was acting up again. She grabbed my wrist. “Elliot, don’t embarrass me in front of my friends. It’s just a seat change. If you’re really that scared, I’ll take it slow.” Gavin was already buckled into the passenger seat, waving at me through the window. “Get in, buddy! Don’t worry, I’ll guide her!” The door slammed shut, and I climbed into the back. The city skyline shrank behind us as the winding mountain roads climbed higher. At first, Brooke kept her speed down, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “You okay back there?” I stared out the glass. “Keep it slow.” “I will.” But Gavin quickly pulled out his phone to start a live stream. He aimed the camera at the road ahead, then panned to Brooke’s hands tight on the steering wheel. “Hey guys, Brooke is taking me for a spin! This pass is absolutely insane!” The chat was flying by, and Gavin grinned widely. “Brooke, remember how you used to drift that sharp corner up ahead? Show them what you’ve got!” Brooke frowned. “Stop messing around.” “Oh, come on, driving slow is boring.” He brought the phone closer to her face. “Don’t tell me you’re scared just because your boyfriend is in the back?” The car’s walkie-talkie crackled to life with other drivers joining in. “Don’t back down, Brooke! Show your man how it’s done!” I stared at the road ahead. It had rained the night before, and wet patches still mirrored the trees in the shadows. I couldn’t help but speak up. “The road is slick. Don’t drift.” Gavin’s smile faltered. “Relax, buddy. We’ve run this route dozens of times.” I repeated, “There is standing water on the asphalt.” Brooke glanced at me through the mirror, her irritation clear. “Elliot, I know you’re uncomfortable, but don’t ruin the mood for everyone. I know what I’m doing.” But then, the tail of the car fish-tailed. The tires lost traction on a wet patch, and the entire vehicle lurched violently. The screech of tires from that rainy night, my mother’s screams, the sound of shattering glass, it all rushed back in a deafening wave. I clung to my seatbelt, my breath turning shallow and rapid. I heard myself whisper, “Stop the car…” but my voice was barely audible. Gavin shrieked first, “Brooke!” The moment Brooke regained control of the vehicle, her immediate reaction was to reach over and pull Gavin into her arms. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, turning her entire body to comfort him. I sat frozen in the back seat, my ears ringing. I tried to reach for the door handle, but my limbs felt like lead. It took several minutes for Brooke to finally look back at me. Seeing the pale, rigid expression on my face, she immediately scoffed. “He was terrified, Elliot! Can you please stop giving us that look? We’re all out to have a good time. You need to stop being so uptight.” I looked down at my phone, opened an app for a moving company, and sent them my address. Please arrive promptly at 9:00 AM the day after tomorrow. 4 I couldn’t recover after we got back. The sound of screeching tires echoed constantly in my head, and my stomach felt like it was being twisted in a knot. Brooke came over and pressed her hand to my forehead. “Why are you so burning hot?!” She rushed to pour a glass of water and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. “How did you manage to get yourself this sick?” Frowning, she tucked the blanket around my shoulders, placing her warm palm against my back to soothe me. But then, her hand froze as her phone began to ring. Gavin’s name flashed across the screen. “Brooke, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see the car sliding on the mountain road. I’m so scared. Can you come over and keep me company for a bit?” A flicker of hesitation crossed her eyes, but she stood up anyway. “I’ll be right back.” She didn’t return until seven the next morning, carrying a container of porridge and medicine. Seeing me sitting up against the headboard, she walked over and touched my cheek. “Still mad?” “I know I shouldn’t have left last night,” she sighed. “But Gavin has no one else. You have me, Elliot. He’s completely alone in this city. Who else can he turn to?” I pushed her hand away. “Do I really have you, Brooke?” Brooke blinked, startled, then frowned. “Do you have to be like this? I came back, didn’t I?” She dismissed the question, clearly unwilling to engage. “Next Saturday is the garage’s anniversary party. You’re coming, right? You’re my future husband, you need to be there to support me.” I didn’t say yes, nor did I say no. A few days later, Gavin strolled into my barber shop, a breezy smile on his face. “Hey, big guy. Give me a fresh cut. I need to look perfect for the garage’s anniversary party next week. You’re coming to the party, right? Brooke said she has to bring you along for formal events.” “Honestly, I’m kind of jealous of you,” he laughed. “It must be nice to have the official title. Unlike me, I’m the one who goes drifting with her, stays up late, and helps her sign clients. But in the end, I’m still just a partner.” I kept my hands steady, carefully trimming the ends of his hair. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But Brooke did say you’re fragile. She doesn’t want you exerting yourself, so she lets me handle the heavy lifting to keep you comfortable.” The scissors paused for a fraction of a second. He saw the pause and grinned, thinking he had finally struck a nerve. I simply looked at him. “Anything else you want trimmed?” On the night of the anniversary, I closed my shop early. When I got back to the apartment, more than half of my belongings were already gone. Over the years, I had slowly filled this space with warmth. Now, in a single day, I had erased my presence entirely. My phone buzzed with a boarding reminder from the international racing team. I took one last look around the apartment. In that kitchen, I had cooked for Brooke. On that balcony, I had spent hours waiting for her to come home. At that dining table, I had sliced my birthday cake alone. This place held all the evidence of my love for her. Now, it was cleared away. I was truly letting go. At the garage’s anniversary party, Gavin was showing off his haircut, laughing with a group of drivers. “Where’s the boyfriend? Why isn’t he here yet?” Brooke checked her phone. There were no texts from me. A wave of irritation washed over her, but she forced a smile and made an excuse. “He’s not feeling well. He should be arriving shortly.” Gavin chuckled softly. “Maybe he’s still pouting. Men are so easy to manage once you soothe their egos.” Just then, an employee approached with a small gift box. “Brooke, a courier just delivered this from your boyfriend.” The box was incredibly tiny. Gavin glanced at it with a smirk. “A tiny box for such a big milestone? Well, I guess it’s the thought that counts.” A few people laughed. Brooke felt a twinge of disappointment, but her expression softened when she opened the box and saw a custom flash drive inside. She had given me that drive back when we first started dating. She had told me, “If you ever want to give me a major surprise, start with this. It has sentimental value.” Over the years, I had used it to organize her birthday surprises, compiling old promotional videos, client testimonials, and business proposals I had stayed up all night drafting. On one of those nights, she had held me with tear-filled eyes and whispered, “Elliot, you understand me better than anyone in the world.” Remembering that, her annoyance melted away. Her chest warmed with a quiet anticipation. Had I prepared another surprise for her? Was my cold behavior over the last few days just a setup for this grand gesture? Gavin rolled his eyes but urged her on. “Go on, Brooke, plug it in! Let’s see what kind of surprise we have.” With the entire room watching, Brooke stepped up to the main stage and plugged the flash drive into the laptop connected to the projector.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452546”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When the horror game descended upon our world, my boyfriend awakened as the ultimate Boss. But me? I was stuck as the lowest-tier NPC. It happened again while I was complaining and demanding he spend his hard-earned points on expensive fresh fruit. That was when I saw the chat feed. 【He is so dramatic and annoying. Literally does nothing all day but stuff his face.】 【The Boss is fighting for his life out there against those psycho players. He is exhausted, and yet every single point he makes goes straight into this useless NPC’s mouth. Have some shame.】 【Exactly. The top healer on the leaderboard is coming to this instance soon. He and the Boss are the ones meant to end this world together. Useless NPC, just drop dead.】 I stared at the ridiculously priced fruit on the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beside me, Ross turned to look at me while washing blood off his hands. “What’s wrong? Pick whatever you want, babe. We have plenty of points.” Terrified, I slapped the interface shut, my voice trembling. “I don’t… I don’t want to eat anything anymore.” 1 Ross straightened up, shaking the bloody water from his hands. It had been three years since the apocalypse, three years since the horror game descended upon our reality. He had become the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the entire Northern Sector, there wasn’t a single player who didn’t fear him. Yet, right now, he tilted his head at me, his dark eyes filled with nothing but confusion. “What’s wrong, babe? Weren’t you begging for strawberries last night?” He walked over, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” I instinctively flinched away. The cuts on his hands were still seeping blood. I had slowly grown accustomed to him returning from every instance covered in wounds. But now, the chat feed told me the truth. Those points were bought with his life, and I was using them to buy fresh fruit. How shameless of me. “I really don’t want to eat anything,” I murmured, keeping my head down. Ross narrowed his eyes, his crimson-tinted gaze locking onto me for several tense seconds. “Fine. If you don’t want it, you don’t want it.” He didn’t press further, turning his attention back to wrapping his wounds. “So, what do you want to do instead? Want to go for a walk? I’ll go with you.” I shook my head. “I want to be alone for a bit.” Ross’s movements faltered. Then, he sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him. “Come here. Sit.” I didn’t move. He just watched me, patient, never rushing. After a long silence, I dragged my feet and slowly shuffled over. He reached out, pulling my shoulder into his chest. “What’s the fun in sitting alone? I’m here. But Jesse, you’re acting weird today.” I buried my face in his chest, staying quiet. Ross let the matter drop. He just held me close, resting his chin on my head, one hand gently tracing slow, rhythmic circles on my back, like he was soothing a frightened child. The chat feed drifted past again. 【Why did the little NPC stop whining? Did he suddenly find a conscience?】 【Please, him? Conscience? Pigs will fly first.】 【But seriously, Ross is so good to him. It actually hurts to watch.】 【What’s the point of being good to him? He’s not the main character. He’s bound to get written out sooner or later.】 I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the words. 2 Three years ago, the horror game merged with our reality. Back then, Ross and I were eating popsicles on Main Street. It was November in Duluth, twenty below zero. The two of us were freezing like idiots, yet we stubbornly insisted on eating them. Ross took a bite, shivering and hissing through his teeth. “Why do we even like this? I’m freezing to death.” I laughed, calling him a wimp. He glared at me playfully, shoving his popsicle toward my mouth. “Fine, tough guy. You eat it. Let’s see if you can swallow it in one bite!” Just as I opened my mouth, the sky went black. Everyone looked up. A colossal screen materialized in the heavens, towering crimson letters rolling down line by line. 【Game loading…】 【Instance generating…】 【Players logging in…】 I stood frozen, completely numb. Ross’s first instinct was to drop his popsicle and grab my hand. “What the hell is that? We need to run!” But the anomaly seemed to shroud the entire planet. The whole street erupted into chaos. People screamed, while others wailed. Once the text finished rolling, the screen began broadcasting the rules. The gist of it was simple: the real world had been retrofitted into a horror game. Everyone was automatically designated as either a player or an in-game character. Completing quests and slaying monsters yielded points, which could be exchanged for survival resources. Instances would refresh continuously, each one harder than the last. And the monsters inside those instances were once human. Those who failed to awaken as players in the first wave turned into beasts. The weaker ones became NPCs. And I was one of the weaker ones. I wasn’t even a high-tier NPC. I was a background prop, a scenario NPC. I was the kind of background character that merely triggers a single line of dialogue when a player walks past: “Lovely weather today, isn’t it?” My entire existence was meant to stand there, spout a useless line, and then be ignored by players or devoured by monsters. But Ross was different. He awakened as the ultimate Boss of this sector. In the Northern Sector, he was the apex predator. The day he carved his way through a sea of monsters to find me, he was drenched in blood. His crimson eyes had stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I had thought my lover, now turned into a monstrous Boss, had forgotten me entirely. Instead, he pulled me violently into his arms, weeping like a child. “I was so scared… Thank God you’re okay!” He brought me back to his safehouse. He used his hard-earned points to buy me the finest food, the warmest clothes. Whenever I pouted and said I wanted fresh fruit, he didn’t hesitate to spend half a month’s savings to get it. Under his protection, I lived a life more comfortable than before the world ended. But now that I thought about it, the chat feed was right. Over these past three years, Ross’s spoiling had turned me into a useless, demanding parasite. I truly didn’t deserve him. 3 From the day I saw the chat feed, I stopped throwing tantrums. Before Ross left to clear instances, I proactively organized his gear. When he returned, I made sure hot water was ready for him. Before, when he tried to teach me how to cook, I had stubbornly refused. Now, I began studying the system recipes. Though the meals I prepared tasted awful, Ross finished every single bite. He would hold his bowl, his expression a mix of bewilderment and amusement. “Babe… did you have some sort of epiphany?” I ladled some soup for him without answering. “Or did you mess up and break something?” he teased. “No.” “Then why the sudden change of heart?” I pushed the bowl in front of him. “Just drink your soup.” He chuckled, taking a sip. His brow furrowed. He took another sip, his grimace deepening. “…It’s incredibly salty.” I snatched the bowl back and tasted it myself. I nearly gagged. But Ross snatched it right back. “Salty is good. Goes well with rice.” He tipped the bowl back, gulping it down in seconds, then showed me the empty bottom. “See? All gone.” My nose stung with unshed tears. But the chat feed flared up again. 【Why are you crying? The Boss is about to meet his real partner.】 【Our precious healer entered the instance today! Get ready, girls!】 【Oh my god, really? The top-tier support on the leaderboard is coming to the Northern Sector?】 【Yeah, heard his previous team’s DPS was trash, so he wanted a change of scenery to farm some points.】 【He’s here! The true canon ship is finally sailing!】 My hand holding the bowl trembled. Ross noticed immediately. “What is it?” “Nothing.” I placed the bowl in the sink. He didn’t suspect anything. He simply walked over, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Jesse, if there’s something on your mind, talk to me. Don’t carry it alone.” “There really isn’t.” “Then why have you been staring into space so much lately?” I turned around, looking into his crimson eyes. “Ross.” “Yeah?” “What if…” I paused, carefully choosing my words. “What if one day you meet someone, and together, you two can end this horror game? What if you could bring everyone back to their normal lives?” Before I could finish, he cut me off. “What does that have to do with me?” “How does it not? You’re the Boss. Ending the game would mean…” “It would mean they have to kill me.” I fell silent. He squeezed my arm gently. “Listen to me, Jesse. I don’t give a damn about who ends this game. I don’t care about world peace or the fate of humanity. I only care about you.” “But…” “No buts. You’re mine. I don’t care who comes knocking; no one is taking you away.” The chat feed erupted. 【Ahhhh, he’s so smooth!】 【No, I can’t be swayed! I am a die-hard canon shipper!】 【Ugh, but he’s so good to the little NPC. It’s making me soft.】 【So what? An NPC is just an NPC. He’s destined to die anyway.】 【Our healer is almost here. The canon ship is supreme!】 I closed my eyes, burying my face in his chest. I memorized every word Ross said, but I also remembered every word of the chat feed. The healer was coming. My time was running out. 4 The next day, Ross went out to clear an instance. I was alone in the safehouse, tidying up, when I heard a commotion outside. Instinctively, I shrank behind the window and peered out. Someone was limping toward our perimeter from the direction of the instance portal. He wore a blood-soaked white mage robe. He moved slowly, dragging one leg, carrying another person on his back. As he drew closer, I saw that it was an injured teammate. He carefully laid the teammate down at the edge of the safe zone, then collapsed against a nearby wall, panting heavily. His face was deathly pale. His robe was shredded at the waist, blood seeping through the fabric. Yet, ignoring his own wounds, he immediately began channeling a healing spell on his teammate. A soft white light emanated from his palms, washing over the injured player. The wounds healed at a visible rate. Meanwhile, the gash on his own side kept bleeding. The chat went wild. 【He’s here, he’s here! Henry! The number one healer on the leaderboard!】 【Why is he so hurt? Who did this to him? I’ll kill them!】 【Apparently, he had a falling out with his trash team, so he came to the Northern Sector alone.】 【Oh, it hurts to see him like this. Our poor baby traveled so far alone.】 【It’s fine. Once the Boss takes him under his wing, no one will dare touch him.】 I stood frozen. So this was Henry, the legendary support. He finished healing his teammate, but his own strength gave out. His body swayed, and he slid down the wall onto the cold ground. From behind the glass, I watched his blood drip onto the dirt, stain by stain. A dark voice whispered in my mind: Leave him. If he dies, no one will take Ross from you. But a louder, more desperate voice countered: He’s the key to ending this godforsaken game! If he dies, this world will never go back to normal! Gnashing my teeth, I pushed the door open and stepped outside. Hearing the noise, Henry snapped his head up. His palms flared with a defensive white light, ready to strike. But when his eyes fell on me, he blinked in confusion. “An NPC?” I nodded slowly. He kept his guard up, eyes tracking my every movement. “What do you want?” I pointed at his bleeding waist. “Do you need help?” He looked down at his wound, then back up at me. “Wait here.” I dashed back inside, grabbed the medical kit Ross had left behind, and ran back out to offer it to him. Henry stared at the kit, making no move to take it. His eyes remained highly suspicious. “You’re an NPC. Why are you helping me?” I thought about it. “I don’t know.” And that was the truth. I had no idea why I was doing this. Players and NPCs were natural enemies, yet, watching him bleed out alone, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. Henry studied me for several seconds before finally taking the kit. “Thank you.” He bowed his head and began treating his wounds. His movements were practiced and efficient, the mark of someone intimately familiar with pain. I squatted beside him, watching. After a moment of hesitation, I reached out. “Let me.” Without waiting for his permission, I took the gauze and began wrapping his side. I wasn’t a professional. My hands were clumsy, and the bandage ended up a messy, tangled lump. But Henry didn’t complain. He sat there quietly, letting me fuss over him. The chat feed went quiet for a few seconds before shifting. 【Wait… this little NPC… isn’t actually that annoying?】 【He’s bandaging Henry.】 【It looks terrible, but why is this kind of sweet?】 【No, stay strong! He’s just cannon fodder, don’t go soft on him!】 I ignored the floating words. I kept my head down, wrapping the gauze round and round. Suddenly, Henry spoke. “What’s your name?” “Jesse.” “Jesse. I’m Henry.” “I know.” He paused, startled. “How do you know?” My heart skipped a beat. “The number one healer on the leaderboard. Your reputation precedes you.” Henry didn’t press further. 5 By the time Ross returned, I had already settled Henry and his teammate into an empty room. His first words upon stepping through the door were, “Someone was here.” I was heating up dinner, and my hand froze over the stove. “Yes. Two players.” “Players?” Ross’s brow furrowed. “They were hurt. One of them was in really bad shape.” Ross said nothing. He shed his blood-stained coat, walked over to the window, and peered outside. Then he turned to look at me. “Guys or girls?” “Guys.” “Both of them?” “Yes.” Ross’s frown deepened. He walked over, towering over me. “Jesse, did you forget what I am?” “No.” “I’m a Boss. They are players. Between players and Bosses, it’s kill or be killed.” “But they were dying,” I whispered. “And what does that have to do with us?” “I…” I wanted to say, He’s your destined partner. But the words died in my throat. He couldn’t see the chat feed. He would think I was losing my mind. Seeing my silence, Ross sighed. He reached out, ruffling my hair. “Fine. They can stay. But on one condition.” “What?” “You are not allowed to be alone with them. Understood?” I nodded. But as I turned away, the chat feed drifted past again. 【The little NPC has been acting so strange lately. He’s gotten so quiet.】 【The official lore says the Boss and the Healer have to be together to end the game. It’s better if he steps aside willingly.】 【Exactly. Only the combination of the top healer’s power and the ultimate Boss’s strength can break the system.】 【Hurry up and write the NPC out. Stop delaying the plot.】 My mind became a chaotic storm.

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1 Victoria was a renowned micro-expression expert who claimed no lie escaped her. To study us, she wired our home with surveillance, turning our lives into a lab. When Paige cried over a scraped knee, Victoria held her, praising her “genuine” emotion. But when I writhed in agony from cramps, she stared at her monitor, lecturing her students. “Twitching lips, shifting eyes—classic histrionic disorder. She is acting.” The day I ingested a lethal allergen, my throat sealed shut. Clawing at my neck, I crawled to her, begging. Victoria simply pushed up her glasses, opened her notepad, and wrote clinically, “Rapid respiration. Cyanosis. Gemma, your acting has improved, but your micro-expressions betray you.” As punishment, she disabled the medical alarm, locked the doors, and took Paige to a concert. “Enjoy your performance for the cameras. Let’s see how long it takes you to admit the truth.” I curled up on the freezing tiles, my vision fading as I stared at the blinking red eye of the camera above. Mom, you spent your life analyzing humanity. Yet, you never saw your own daughter. … I drifted into the air, looking down at my own body curled on the floor. My face, bloated and turned a dark, bruised purple from suffocation, looked grotesque, almost pathetic. All the agony, the burning in my lungs, the sheer despair had remained trapped in that useless vessel. It felt peaceful. Finally, the pain was gone. Lighter than a feather, my spirit slipped through the solid brick walls with a single thought, finding myself in the grand, gilded concert hall across town. Victoria sat in the front row. She took a strawberry candy from Paige’s hand, carefully peeled back the wrapper, and popped it into Paige’s mouth. Her eyes held a warmth I had never once received in life. “Eat slowly, sweetheart. Don’t choke.” Paige mumbled around the candy, her voice dripping with irritation. “Gemma is so annoying. She had to play sick today and almost made us late.” A faint, smug smile played on Victoria’s lips, filled with absolute certainty. “Don’t let her bother you. It’s just her histrionic tendencies craving attention. She needs a cold dose of reality. Once she realizes her little stunts don’t work on me, she’ll stop.” Right then, her phone buzzed inside her designer handbag. It was a notification from the home security app. Living Room Camera: Target motionless for an extended period. Potential anomaly detected. Please check immediately. Victoria casually unlocked her screen and opened the live feed. On the screen, I lay contorted on the cold floor, completely still. “Huh? Gemma looks weird,” Paige whispered, leaning over with a look of pure disgust. “She’s playing dead again. She just wants to trick you into coming home.” Victoria let out a soft huff, devoid of any real concern. Pinching her fingers to zoom in on my stiff, curled fingers, she turned my death into a teaching moment. “Look closely, Paige. This is what we call intentional rigidity. When someone actually faints or dies, their muscles go entirely limp in the initial stages. Look at her fingers. They are incredibly tense. It is a clear case of overacting. She is trying too hard to make sure the camera catches it.” She paused, pointing to my parted lips. “And see the downward pull of her lips? That is a classic masochistic-gratification expression. She is indulging in the tragedy of being misunderstood to gain psychological satisfaction.” A well-dressed woman sitting nearby overheard the explanation and leaned in, her eyes wide with admiration. “Excuse me, are you Dr. Victoria Brooks? The famous micro-expression expert from the talk shows? I’ve read all your papers. You’re brilliant.” “That analysis is absolutely incredible. Your eyes really are like X-rays. Nothing can slip past you.” “You’re too kind,” Victoria replied with a poised, graceful nod. Floating above them, I could only manage a silent, bitter smile. Mom, this time, you got it completely wrong. I remembered when I was little, before my mother became a renowned specialist. Back then, her eyes held nothing but pure affection for me. Whenever I felt hurt or upset, she would pull me tightly into her arms, kissing my forehead over and over. “Gemma’s feelings are the most precious things in the world to me. Mommy will always protect you.” But as Victoria’s fame grew, Paige was born. My sister was a naturally sweet talker, bright and endlessly cheerful, effortlessly capturing everyone’s hearts. I, on the other hand, was always stiff, my expressions awkward. Accustomed to absolute perfection and control, Victoria slowly grew to resent my existence. I used to think that if I just tried a little harder, if I strove to be better, she would love me again. But every attempt only pushed her further away. The classical music finally swelled to a close. As the crowd filed out, Victoria showed no intention of heading home. Paige tugged on her hand, looking up innocently. “Mom, aren’t we going home? Is Gemma still putting on her show?” Victoria stood up, smoothing the fabric of her elegant dress. Her eyes swept over the frozen image of my body on her phone. “No. I want to see who breaks first, her drama or my patience. If she wants to play the victim, she can do it all night. Come on, Paige. Let’s get that French dinner you’ve been craving.” At the upscale bistro, Paige kicked her legs under the table, her eyes wide. “Mom, Gemma’s been face down on that cold floor for so long. She must be starving. Should we pack some escargot for her?” The waiter pouring their lemon water smiled warmly. “Your little girl is so sweet and thoughtful.” Victoria smiled, stroking Paige’s hair. “Kindness is a virtue, Paige, but you have to choose who deserves it.” She spread her linen napkin over her lap. “For someone as full of lies as your sister, showing pity only enables her deceit. We aren’t bringing her anything. A night of hunger will teach her the true cost of honesty.” The phone on the table lit up again. Alerts from the security app flooded the lock screen, bright red exclamation marks popping up with persistent urgency. Warning: Extended immobility detected. Warning: Abrupt temperature drop in target area. Warning: Minor fluid leakage detected… Victoria glanced at the screen. My fingers remained in that stiff, frozen curl. Not a single line creased her brow. She flipped the phone face down onto the mahogany table. “Here, Paige. Try the foie gras. It’s excellent for development.” She neatly sliced a piece, blew on it gently, and fed it to her younger daughter. Meanwhile, the only variable in our heavily monitored house had finally arrived. Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, was scheduled to visit. Since she was leaving for her hometown tomorrow, she decided to finish the cleaning a day early. She stood outside the massive glass patio doors, peering in as she reached for the doorbell. The next second, her smile shattered. Through the pristine glass, she saw my pale, bluish-purple face contorted on the living room rug. A dark patch of fluid was slowly pooling beneath my head. “Gemma! Gemma!” Panic-stricken, Mrs. Gable began banging violently on the thick glass. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Open the door!” The glass remained impenetrable, and the body inside didn’t stir. Desperate, she slammed her thumb into the red emergency button near the door, but it was dead. Looking closer, she saw the wiring had been cleanly severed at the base. Shaking violently, Mrs. Gable pulled out her phone and dialed Victoria. “Yes, Mrs. Gable? What is it?” Victoria’s voice held a note of irritation. “Dr. Brooks, something is terribly wrong! You have to come home right now! It’s Gemma. She’s on the floor, completely still, and her face is turning blue!” My spirit drifted beside Mrs. Gable. Seeing her sweat-streaked, tearful face sparked a faint ember of hope in me. She had watched me grow up. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Victoria understand. But Victoria’s next words dragged me straight back into the abyss. “Mrs. Gable, ignore her. I’ve told you before, Gemma suffers from histrionic personality traits. This is part of a cognitive behavioral therapy scenario I set up to correct her manipulative lying.” “A scenario? What scenario?!” Mrs. Gable was hysterical. “Dr. Brooks, this isn’t acting! The poor girl is blue, her lips are turning black! Please, you need to come back!” “It’s makeup,” Victoria countered smoothly. “She once smeared ketchup on her face to fake coughing up blood just to get my attention. She is highly resourceful when she wants sympathy. Don’t let her play you. She thrives on manipulating people’s pity.” “No! This isn’t makeup!” Mrs. Gable begged, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve known this child for years. I know when she’s playing around, and this isn’t it! Please, just call an ambulance!” “Enough!” Victoria’s voice rose, sharp and laced with the fury of a professional who despised being questioned. “Mrs. Gable, I am the clinical psychologist here. I understand my daughter’s behavioral patterns far better than you do!” “I am in the middle of a critical psychological intervention. Your panic is going to ruin my entire therapeutic progress! Leave the premises immediately. Do not interfere.” The line went dead. Refusing to give up, Mrs. Gable redialed, only to be met with a cold, automated operator. The number you are trying to reach is currently busy… She had been blocked. Her hand fell limp. Pressing her face against the glass, she took one last, helpless look at my silent form. With no other choice, she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder in agony as she left the gated community. I watched the only person who could have saved me walk away. The last spark of light in my chest died. Back at the restaurant, Paige licked her ice cream spoon and asked innocently, “Mom, was that Mrs. Gable? What did she want?” Victoria dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her soft, maternal smile returning instantly. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just another fool falling for your sister’s theatrics.” “Weird. Why is the door deadbolted from the inside?” Robert stood on the front porch, dragging his suitcase and pressing the doorbell repeatedly. He had just returned early from a business trip, hoping to surprise his family. When the bell elicited no response, he reached for the red emergency alarm button. The button hung loose, its raw copper wires dangling helplessly. A cold dread seized his chest. Shaking, he dug his spare key out of his wallet and jammed it into the lock. With a heavy click, the deadbolt gave way. A heavy, stagnant odor of raw decay and bodily fluids rushed out, hitting him like a physical blow. Robert froze on the threshold, his gaze locking onto the center of the living room. And then, he saw me. He saw the body on the floor, stiff, pale, with dark lividity already pooling in the skin. “Gemma…” His lips trembled, unable to form a coherent sound. His suitcase hit the floor with a loud thud as he scrambled across the room, falling to his knees. “My baby. Oh God, Gemma, what happened to you?!” He tried to pull me into his arms, but my limbs were as rigid as stone. Touching my ice-cold, lifeless skin, he realized there was no breath. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat. My spirit hovered near the ceiling. I watched this man, who had always been a pillar of strength, break down like a helpless child. He clung to my rigid form, crying my name over and over. The veins in his neck bulged, tears streaming down his face as he shook with heavy, violent sobs. “Victoria. Victoria, pick up!” He snatched his phone, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and dialed Victoria’s number. At that very moment, Victoria was at a high-end boutique downtown, watching Paige twirl in a white lace dress. “Mommy, look. I look just like Elsa!” Paige giggled, spinning in front of the mirror. “If you love it, we’re buying it,” Victoria said softly, pulling out her phone to pay. Robert’s name flashed frantically across her screen. She glanced at it, her brow furrowing in irritation, and swiped to decline. “Your father is so exhausting. He doesn’t call once during his trip, and now he won’t stop ringing.” The call was disconnected. But a few seconds later, an unknown landline number flashed on the screen. Annoyed, she swiped to answer. “Hello?” “Victoria, where the hell are you?!” Robert’s voice roared through the receiver, using a neighbor’s phone. “Gemma is dead. You killed her!” Facing this shattered, bloody accusation, Victoria was silent for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft, mocking sigh. “Robert, did you look at the cameras too? You have to trust my professional judgment on this. Don’t enable her drama like you always do.” Her voice was perfectly level, tinged with a clinical sort of disdain. “I watched the live feed earlier and analyzed her micro-expressions. Avoidant eye contact, manufactured physical stiffness. It is a textbook stress response to lying. She is attempting to leverage self-inflicted misery to force us to come home.” “You… you monster…” Robert shook so violently he couldn’t form the words. He slammed the phone down and immediately dialed 911. Sirens soon shattered the quiet of the exclusive neighborhood. Neighbors peered out of their windows as police cruisers and ambulances lined the street, cordoning off our lawn with yellow tape. Back at the mall, Victoria was signing the receipt, a pleasant smile on her face. Looking up, she caught a breaking news broadcast flashing across the massive digital screen in the mall’s atrium. Breaking News: A young woman was found dead in an upscale residence earlier today. Authorities are currently investigating. A brief shot of our gated community’s entrance flashed on screen. Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. But within a second, her professional pride took over, silencing the dread. No. Absolutely impossible. The rigidity and posturing in the live stream were entirely manufactured. The news report was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with her household. The brief flash of panic vanished, replaced by an irritation at being manipulated. “Typical,” she muttered, taking Paige’s hand. “Your father is still trying to play his part in her little play. He realized I wouldn’t bite, so he stopped calling. Using life and death as a prop. How pathetic.” “Come on, Paige. Look at the camera and smile.” Victoria took Paige straight to the most exclusive portrait studio in the city. She seemed determined to use social media to show Robert and me that her resolve was unbreakable. The camera flashed, capturing a picture-perfect portrait of maternal bliss. Victoria immediately uploaded it, carefully crafting her caption: A day free from emotional hostage-taking. Honesty is the only foundation for true connection. #QualityTime #Parenting Below it, she posted a beautiful grid of photos showing her and Paige laughing in their matching dresses. Within minutes, comments and likes poured in by the dozens. So true, Dr. Brooks! Your parenting is such an inspiration! Paige looks like an absolute angel! Victoria scrolled through the glowing praise, her chest swelling with pride. At that moment, the heavy glass doors of the studio slid open, and three uniformed police officers entered, their faces grim. The chatter in the studio died instantly. Every eye tracked the officers as they marched across the room. The lead officer scanned the lobby, locked onto Victoria, and walked straight toward her. “Are you Victoria Brooks?” Victoria blinked, startled. Quickly recovering her composed, academic poise, she nodded. “I am. Can I help you, officers?” “I’m Detective Briggs from Homicide,” the lead officer said, showing his badge. “We need you to come with us regarding the death of your daughter, Gemma Brooks.”

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