Category: English

1 At 2:00 AM, the rustling beside me woke me. I saw Marcus’s brow tightly furrowed. I couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you back? Did you have a fight with her?” He remained silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. I sat up and offered a quiet word of comfort. “She’s young and spoiled. Just throwing a little tantrum. Buy her that bag or necklace she’s been eyeing tomorrow, and she’ll be fine.” He stared at me, a deep, unreadable look in his eyes, but ultimately didn’t say a word. I lay back down and fell asleep as peacefully as ever. Four years. It had taken four years to transform me from a hysterical, suicidal, jealous wreck into his most understanding confidante. … At 7:00 AM, Marcus walked out of the bedroom. He glanced at me. “What’s your schedule for today?” “I have plans for coffee,” I replied, sliding the bowl of oatmeal toward him. “Want some?” He didn’t sit. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the table. “See if you like these.” Inside were two VIP tickets to an art exhibition. I tucked them into my bag. “Thanks. What brought this on?” “Tessa likes the artist,” he paused, his voice dropping slightly. “These were extras.” I nodded. If this had been years ago, that bowl of oatmeal would have been dripping from his face by now. But now, I had learned not to waste food. I took a quiet sip. He lingered, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he turned and left. It wasn’t long before my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I used to ignore calls like this to avoid hearing her voice, but I had outgrown that habit. I picked up and put it on speaker. “Hey, Vivienne. It’s Tessa. Marcus left some important documents at my place. Do you mind swinging by to pick them up?” I scooped up another bite of oatmeal. “He has keys. He can get them himself.” “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. There are things I’ve been keeping inside…” My expression didn’t change. “I’m busy this afternoon. Maybe another time.” I hung up. I was never actually a generous woman. Tessa had been provoking me for exactly four years and eight days. I kept count. At first, I was a tinderbox, blowing up at the slightest spark and making a fool of myself. Later, friends advised me to focus on myself and ignore her. So Tessa shifted her strategy. She stopped hiding and started pushing herself into my life. One day she’d post the designer bag Marcus bought her; the next, she’d send screenshots of their late-night texts. In the end, I couldn’t take it and went to confront her. But Marcus always believed her over me. The more I fought, the uglier it got, trapping me in a vicious, suffocating cycle. But now, no matter what cards she played, they had lost their power over me. At 3:00 PM, I had barely been at the café for half an hour when Marcus suddenly showed up. He rarely crashed my plans. This was a surprise. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said, pulling out a chair and casually flipping through the menu. My friend, taking the hint, politely excused herself. I looked at him. “Is something wrong?” “Did Tessa call you this morning?” “Yes.” “What did she say?” I looked up at him. What could she say? Nothing but her usual boasts about how he was a beast in her bed but a corpse in mine. I still remembered the first time she called me. It was our second anniversary. I had hosted a small dinner party, inviting our closest friends to celebrate our marriage. We waited for him until the party was nearly over. Then, an unknown number called, filling the line with heavy, breathless gasps. Just as I was about to apologize for a wrong number, a familiar male voice came through the speaker, breathless and feral: “Tessa, don’t bite.” Our friends froze, glasses suspended in mid-air. Before leaving, every single one of them offered the same well-meaning advice: “Vivienne, Marcus is a powerful man now. The temptations are endless. Talk to him when he gets back, but don’t do anything rash.” And I listened. That night, we sat in the living room until 3:00 AM. I didn’t scream. And he confessed. He claimed it was a momentary lapse, that he’d had too much to drink and mistook Tessa for me. Then he dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, swearing he would never do it again, swearing I was his only love. I believed him. I thought that by exposing Tessa’s cheap trick, Marcus would see her for what she was and keep his distance. After all, what self-respecting man wouldn’t learn his lesson after being manipulated like that? But he didn’t. Instead of backing away, he decided Tessa was “brave enough to risk everything for him,” and his heart bled for her. Behind my back, he bought her a luxury apartment downtown, nurturing her with his wealth and affection. That was when I finally understood. There was no mistaken identity. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tessa wasn’t an accident. She was his choice. And I was the one left behind, biting my tongue and pretending to be the bigger person. 2 Pulling myself out of the memory, I looked up at him and shook my head. “Nothing.” But I knew him well enough to know this question wasn’t innocent. I must have done something to hurt Tessa again. I set my cup down. “Did she tell you something?” “Did she say I hired someone to ruin her? Or that I put up banners at her apartment complex to trash her reputation?” “You can just say it, Marcus. No need to test me. I can explain.” I used to do countless stupid things when she pushed my buttons. And by some cruel stroke of luck, Marcus would always catch me in the act. The villain was cast, and I was banished to the cold. But I had learned my lesson. No more desperate explanations. No more frantic counterattacks. I lifted my cup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and waited for him to show his hand. He blinked, his face darkening slightly. “She didn’t say anything.” I nodded. “How rare.” His lips parted, and he turned his cup in a slow circle. “I came back last night because we had a fight. But that wasn’t the only reason.” “Mainly because of the fight, then. What else?” I waved the waiter over to refill my hot water. “Can you stop doing this?” He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. “If you’re angry, just say it.” “I’m perfectly fine, Marcus. You’re overthinking things.” 3 He didn’t speak, just kept staring at me. I didn’t know how to make him believe me. Because honestly, even I found it hard to believe. I had lost everything in this marriage. How could I possibly be fine? But I couldn’t explain it to him. Suddenly, his favorite phrase felt incredibly useful: “If that’s what you want to think, I can’t stop you.” He let those words sink in, paused, then got up and walked out. I watched his retreating back, then picked up my book again. Over the past four years, countless nights of him not coming home had eroded my boundaries to dust. I had screamed, I had threatened to end it all, only to end up more broken than before. Now that I truly didn’t care, he suddenly wanted me to express my feelings. I was never meant to be a bitter wife. Before Marcus, I was always poised, logical, and entirely in control. Back when I was making waves on Wall Street, I never imagined I would lose myself to a relationship. I had become the very kind of woman I used to despise. Love makes you selfish, demanding exclusivity. And when you can’t have it, you unravel. But once the love is gone, you find your way back to who you were. … At 8:00 PM, as I was getting ready to head home, Tessa sent a voice note. I tapped it. “Hey, Viv. Marcus had too much to drink, and he’s insisting I pick him up. But I’m not his wife, am I? Maybe you should come instead?” A location pin followed. It was a bar downtown. I didn’t go. Instead, I called Albert. “Marcus is drunk. I’ll text you the address. Go pick him up.” At 11:00 PM, Albert lugged Marcus back, reeking of alcohol. When I opened the door, Marcus nearly collapsed on top of me. “Where’s Tessa?” I asked Albert. “The bartender said… Miss Tessa expected you to show up. She wanted Mr. Marcus to choose between the two of you tonight. She didn’t expect me.” “She tried to drag him away in a huff, but he wanted to keep drinking. I couldn’t watch any longer, so I just put him in the car.” I helped him onto the bed and loosened his tie. He suddenly grabbed my hand. “Do you… do you not love me anymore?” “You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk.” His eyes were bloodshot. “You used to cry. You used to scream and throw things. Now, even when Tessa baits you, you don’t care. What is going on in your head?” I pulled my hand free. “Go to sleep.” He rolled over, muttering under his breath, “You didn’t come to get me…” I found it almost laughable. Get him? Every time I tried to rescue him in the past, I was met with a locked door. Even on his father’s memorial day, I went to his office to pick him up. But Tessa called complaining of a headache, and he rushed to her side. “Viv, it’s a matter of life and death. I have to get her to the clinic first.” The rest of us became invisible props in his life. That day, I stood there holding the memorial offerings for half an hour before heading to the cemetery alone. In their game of “choose one,” I was never the choice. They might not be tired of playing, but I was done. The next morning, before he even woke up, I went to the bank. The teller asked, “Mrs. Marcus, are you sure you want to transfer this fixed deposit to a checking account? Is there an emergency?” “I’m planning to go abroad soon. Just preparing in advance.” As I walked out, I ran into Tessa. She was standing near the entrance, a smirk playing on her lips. “What a coincidence, Viv.” After four years of dealing with her, I knew every trick in her book. I used to take the bait, shaking with rage while she watched the show. Now, I couldn’t be bothered. “Indeed.” I didn’t break my stride. She called out behind me, “Don’t you want to know what happened at the bar last night?” I didn’t turn around. She raised her voice. “You don’t love him anymore, do you?” I paused. This was one question I couldn’t ignore. “A wife naturally loves her husband. Why does an outsider care so much?” “You…” She was left speechless, her face flushed with irritation. When I got home, Marcus was awake, sitting in the living room and smoking. For all his flaws, he rarely smoked inside the house. I frowned and opened the windows to let the smoke out. “Have you been neglecting your girl lately? She’s been following me around.” I approached him, pulling a box I had prepared long ago from the cabinet under the coffee table. I slid it toward him. “This is a limited-edition bracelet. Use it to patch things up with her.” His fingers, holding the cigarette, stiffened. “By the way,” I continued, ignoring his reaction, “the peace-offering fund you kept with me has been draining fast these past two months.” “Budget wisely. Try not to upset her so often.” This was the arrangement we agreed on during our truce. Every penny he spent on Tessa had to go through my accounts. I wanted to see every transaction. I couldn’t stop him from spending money on his mistress. But instead of driving myself mad with speculation, I preferred to see the cold, hard numbers. His face darkened, and he muttered a brief response before stubbing out his cigarette. “The bank called. They said you made a major transfer.” His voice quieted. “Are you leaving the country?” 4 I hadn’t expected a man who normally ignored me to suddenly care about my finances. Our marriage had crumbled because of secrecy. And the cracks had only widened when the truth came out. So, I had no intention of lying. “Yes. I’m planning to study abroad for a while.” He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. “Are you getting ready for a divorce?” Divorce? This marriage gave me wealth and status. As long as I didn’t crave his affection, it was a comfortable arrangement. I had no plans to divorce him. “I just want to get away for a bit,” I answered honestly. “And what about me?” I looked at him, genuinely puzzled. “Marcus, these past four years have taught me one thing: a person must prioritize their own peace of mind. The same goes for you. Stop worrying about whether I’ll be angry, and just do what you want to do.” He stood up, his voice raspy. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Tessa is just… never mind. What if I told you I’m ready to cut things off with her?” “That’s your business. You don’t need to consult me.” If he cut off Tessa, there would only be another Tessa. A man who strays once will stray again. I understood that much. Before he could say more, the doorbell rang. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and went to open it. It was Tessa. It seemed she had followed me all the way home. Honestly, she didn’t need to try so hard. If anyone else had been in my position, Tessa wouldn’t have lasted four years. And the person keeping her from becoming the official wife was never me. She marched in, her stilettos clicking sharply on the floor. “Is Vivienne home? I need to speak with her.” I watched her peer into the hallway. Suddenly, I recalled the first time I met her four years ago. She had just graduated, fresh and full of life. Her youth, her vitality, and Marcus’s shameless favoritism had driven me mad back then. I had tried to compete with her in every way. Because she was young, I frequented skin clinics, getting botox, lifts, and every treatment available. Because she was active, I took up dance, yoga, and skydiving. But I could never win against his bias. During that phase, the tabloids were filled with my humiliation: “Mrs. Marcus assaults mistress on the street…” “Wealthy heir’s wife causes drunken scene late at night…” Every photo showed me looking unhinged. I turned myself into a laughingstock, and still, the man I loved never looked back at me. Those four years of fighting had drained me of everything. They made me forget that marriage and love are merely seasonings in life, not the main course. Marcus blocked her path. “Go home.” “No!” For the first time, she screamed at me right in front of him. “Vivienne, stop putting on an act!” “You don’t love him anymore! Why won’t you just divorce him? What is the point of holding onto this empty title?” 5 I stood up from the sofa. Walking over to the door, I greeted her calmly. “Hello, Tessa.” Then I looked at Marcus. “My friends just asked me to play bridge. I’ll head out.” I stepped aside to leave, as if making room for the two of them. But he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. “You just got home. Don’t go out again.” Then he looked at Tessa, his voice flat. “Whether we get a divorce is between Vivienne and me. Stop making a scene.” I stood quietly to the side, staying out of it. Marcus used to tell me that Tessa was sweet and sensible, that she never cared about a marriage license, and that I should be more accommodating. I didn’t believe him then. I spent all my energy trying to prove she would eventually show her true colors. I still didn’t believe him, but the difference was, I no longer cared to prove anything. She could fight with Marcus all she wanted, demand a ring, demand whatever. As long as she left me out of it. Seeing my silence, Tessa pressed on. “Vivienne, what kind of game are you playing?!” I looked at her, my voice mild. “You’ve been with him for four years, and you still haven’t convinced him to marry you. What’s the point of asking me?” It was the simple truth. If Marcus truly wanted to marry her, I couldn’t have stopped him. He simply valued his own status and reputation more. When he married me, it was a grand, city-wide affair. The vows were too heavy for him to publicly tear down. Tessa’s eyes welled with tears, and she looked at Marcus. Surprisingly, Marcus didn’t comfort her this time. He just kept his eyes locked on me. I felt as if he was trying to drill a hole through me with his gaze. But even if he did, what did it matter? If I didn’t say anything, it would only be twisted into me disrespecting her again. I had learned the hard way to state my piece clearly and keep the high ground. Tessa covered her face and ran out. Marcus didn’t chase after her. He walked to the balcony to smoke a cigarette alone. I went back to the bedroom. I counted the days on my fingers, then pulled out my suitcase and began packing. I didn’t hear him come in, but he was suddenly leaning against the doorframe. “Your visa is approved?” I nodded. “Yes. I leave next Wednesday.” “When did you decide this?” “Three months ago.” He fell silent. Three months ago, our first child had slipped away from my womb. That was the day Tessa poisoned my golden retriever. In a fit of rage, I drove to her place and killed her two pet rabbits. She had called Marcus, sobbing. He rushed over and, in our frantic struggle, pushed me. The pregnancy, which had come as a surprise, ended just as quickly. Any decision made during that dark month felt entirely justified. Yet, even then, I hadn’t asked for a divorce. But ever since that day, he made sure to come home every night. He cancelled dinners and business meetings. It was as if he had finally remembered how to be a husband. Unfortunately, I no longer needed him to be. “Get some rest,” he muttered before turning and heading to his study. 6 On Wednesday morning, I carried my suitcase downstairs. Marcus was sitting in the living room, looking as though he hadn’t slept all night. Two identical sets of documents lay on the coffee table. His signature was already on them. I stared at him, confused. He pushed the divorce papers toward me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Sign it, and you’re entirely free.” Without so much as glancing at the papers, I took hold of my suitcase and walked past him. “Stop right there.” He caught up with me at the door, his face grim. “What do you actually want?” I turned around. “I’m not signing. And I’m not divorcing you.” A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes. He assumed I was still the woman who loved him desperately, unable to let him go. “Viv, if you still love me, then we can…” “Love?” I laughed, cutting him off. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Didn’t you say it yourself? We’re adults. We don’t talk about feelings; we talk about practicality. This marriage is still useful to me.” His expression stiffened. In the past, because of Tessa, I had threatened divorce countless times. And every single time, he would say: “You rely on me for everything. If you leave me, you won’t even have a roof over your head. Think carefully before you throw a tantrum.” He couldn’t bear to let Tessa suffer the slightest slight. No matter what she did, he always blamed me for not being magnanimous enough. Whenever things escalated toward divorce, he held all the cards. Back then, it was because of love, because of resentment. So it was all empty threats. He knew better than anyone how much I adored him. But now, that cheap affection had exited the stage. All that remained was a calculated game of chess. I spelled it out for him: “Three months ago, I was negotiating an overseas venture. Do you know why that project was approved? Because of my status as your wife.” His face went pale. “Do you have any idea how many major clients my studio has landed over the past four years? They came to me because of your name, Marcus.” I offered a faint smile. “So my decision has nothing to do with love or hate. It’s simply…” “Good business.” He stood there, looking as though he had been struck. “You can do whatever you want with Tessa. I’m going to England, and I won’t be back for six months.” I opened the door. “Divorce is too much of a hassle right now. Let’s keep things convenient for both of us.” Before shutting the door, I added one last thing: “By the way, try not to make any babies. An illegitimate child is never a good look.” I dragged my suitcase behind me and walked away without looking back. In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There were no tears, no smiles. Just absolute stillness. I had lied to him. If things went well abroad, I had no intention of ever coming back. … At the boarding gate, I had just pulled out my passport when two uniformed officers approached me. They blocked my path. “Miss Vivienne, you are a suspect in a murder investigation. Please come with us to the station.” I didn’t move. I simply let out a dry laugh. Another game. Tessa had played this trick to disrupt my life so many times that I was entirely numb to it. I tried to step around them. One of them held up a photograph of a crime scene. I took one look, and my eyes widened.

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My wife gifted me an African Grey parrot. Every single day, it screamed at me: “Die, brother, die.” I sent it to a highly specialized avian behavioral correction facility. Every day, they locked it in a mirror enclosure, looping an audio track three thousand times: “I am a good bird.” I did this because I had been reborn. In my previous life, on the very first day this bird entered our home, it only knew two phrases. “Ugly brother.” “Die, brother.” I thought it was just mimicking something it had heard. Then, my health began to fail. It started with insomnia. I suffered through night terrors, drowning in a sea of shadows where a single voice kept repeating “die, die, die.” Then came the anorexia. The mere sight of food made me violently nauseous until I was nothing but skin and bones. Finally, my organs began shutting down entirely. It was only on my deathbed that I realized it was never just a bird. It was my “dead” best friend. 1 In my last life, I died in a cold hospital room. I was hooked up to a dozen tubes, the heart monitor beside me letting out a long, piercing beep. The very last sound I heard before the darkness took me came from Opal, that African Grey parrot. It tilted its head, staring at me from the windowsill of my hospital room, and let out a soft, mocking laugh. It was the laugh of a grown man. I was already too weak to speak, but I recognized that laugh immediately. It belonged to my best friend, Declan. The same Declan who had died of a terminal illness three years ago. My soul drifted out of my ruined body, floating near the ceiling as the nurses pulled a crisp white sheet over my face. My wife, Amy, stood in the doorway. Her eyes were rimmed red, and she looked absolutely devastated. She cried beautifully for a few minutes, wiped her tears, and then turned and walked away. I followed her. I watched her drive out to a secluded, modern cabin in the suburbs. I watched her unlock the front door. Sitting inside the living room was a man. Declan. He was wearing dark, comfortable loungewear, his messy hair falling over his forehead. There was not a single trace of sickness on his face. His skin was flushed with health, and he smiled with the vibrant energy of an eighteen-year-old. Amy walked over, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “He’s dead,” she whispered. “Finally.” Declan let out a low, satisfied laugh. “I spent three years trapped in the body of that damn bird. Every single day I cursed him, and every curse siphoned a little more of his life force away. Now that he’s dead, all that stolen vitality belongs entirely to me.” Amy tenderly cupped his face. “You can finally be human again.” Declan stood up from the sofa, stretching his arms high above his head and taking a deep, greedy breath of air. “I can finally use this body. Playing the pet bird for three years almost made me forget what it feels like to be a man.” Amy smiled sweetly. “When you were diagnosed with that terminal illness three years ago, I was terrified I was going to lose you.” “Thank God that occultist told us we could transfer your soul into a parrot and use someone else’s lifespan to keep you alive.” “But he specifically said we needed someone with the exact same soul resonance.” Declan pulled her flush against his chest. “Your husband’s soul resonance was a flawless match with mine. His life was practically designed to be harvested for my sake.” Amy kissed his hair. “Giving up his life to save yours was the greatest purpose he could have ever served.” I stood frozen in the center of the room, staring at the two of them. My wife. My absolute best friend. They held each other tightly, casually joking about how stealing my life was a privilege for me. I did not cry. Souls do not have tears to shed. I simply burned every single word, every twisted smile, and every sickening detail into my memory. And then, I woke up. I woke up exactly three years in the past. I woke up on the exact day Amy brought that parrot into our home. “Jeff? Jeff, what’s wrong?” Amy’s voice yanked me back to reality. She was looking at me with deep concern, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. It smelled exactly like her favorite expensive perfume. I looked down at my own body. My hands were steady, my chest broad. In my past life, this body had been hollowed out, drained drop by drop until there was nothing left. I lifted my head and looked Amy in the eyes. She wore a gentle, loving smile, but hiding deep beneath it was a flicker of eager anticipation. She was waiting for me to accept the bird. In my past life, I took it with a smile and treated it like a precious treasure. In this life. “Thank you, honey.” I smiled warmly, reaching out to take the ornate metal cage from her hands. “She’s beautiful.” 2 Amy let out a quiet sigh of relief and affectionately ruffled my hair. “I knew you’d love her. Opal, come on, say something sweet to your new dad.” The parrot tilted its grey head, opened its curved beak, and squawked. “Die, brother.” The sweet smile on Amy’s face froze for a fraction of a second. She quickly scrambled to cover it up with an awkward laugh. “The previous owner must have taught her that. Please don’t let it get to you, Jeff.” I chuckled, gently tapping the side of the metal cage. “This little thing has quite the foul mouth. Where did you even buy her, honey?” “A friend recommended the breeder. They specialize in highly intelligent, talking parrots.” Her eyes flickered to the side for the briefest moment when she said that. She was lying to my face. “Well, that’s fascinating.” I set the cage down on the glass coffee table and playfully wiggled my finger near the bird’s talons. “But honestly, work has been insanely stressful lately. Don’t you think having a loud bird in the house is going to be a bit much?” Amy didn’t miss a beat. “I actually asked my therapist about it. African Greys are perfectly fine as long as you keep their environment clean.” “Plus, you’ve been working from home so much lately. Having a little companion to talk to will do wonders for your mental health. A good mood means a healthy body.” Her argument was completely flawless. She had used the exact same lines in my previous life. Back then, I thought she was just being a loving, attentive wife. Now, I could hear the poison dripping from every syllable. Every single word was a calculated trap. “Ugly brother.” The parrot squawked again. Amy forced a light laugh. “Look, she’s already trying to bond with you.” I did not laugh. I picked up the cage by its brass ring and started walking toward the master bedroom. Amy called out from behind me. “Jeff, don’t take it personally. She’s literally just a bird.” “I’m not mad.” I glanced over my shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “I just want to spend some quality one-on-one time with my new pet.” The second the bedroom door clicked shut, my smile vanished entirely. I placed the cage on my mahogany desk, pulled up my leather office chair, and sat down dead center in front of it. The parrot tilted its head, staring at me. Its beady eyes were gleaming with sick amusement. I knew perfectly well that Declan was hiding behind those grey eyes. He was sitting inside that feathered shell, watching me play the clueless idiot for his entertainment. I had been an idiot in my last life. But not today. “Opal.” I called the name softly. The parrot kept its head tilted, staring at me in complete silence. “Your name is Opal, right?” I leaned closer to the metal bars, a pleasant smile plastered on my face. “It’s a beautiful name. Did my wife pick it out for you?” The bird’s grey feathers puffed up slightly. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be this terrifyingly calm. “But you know,” I leaned back in my chair, casually crossing one leg over the other, “I don’t think it’s a very lucky name. Opals are delicate. They shatter easily under pressure. Don’t you agree?” The parrot ignored me, lowering its head to aggressively preen its wing feathers. I stood up, moving some loose paperwork around on my desk to look busy. “Tell me something,” I said casually, keeping my tone light as if I were just talking to myself. “If a man is forced to listen to a bird tell him to die every single day, does that classify as psychological abuse?” I heard the frantic fluttering of wings behind me. I didn’t turn around. “Die.” The parrot suddenly spoke. It didn’t say the full phrase. Just one single word. “Die.” The tone was unnervingly soft, almost mimicking a child trying out a new vocabulary word. But the timing was far too perfect. It was a direct, chilling response to my question. My hands paused over my paperwork for a fraction of a second. Then I continued organizing my files. “You know,” I stacked the folders neatly, “you are a very conversational little bird.” “Die.” It repeated the word, even softer this time. It was a calculated test. I turned around slowly, locking eyes with the creature inside the cage. It stared right back, completely unblinking. Then, it opened its beak and unleashed a chaotic barrage of random noises. The clicking of a tongue, the bubbling of water, the sharp trill of a smartphone ringtone. All blended together in a messy symphony. It was perfectly standard parrot behavior. Mimicking the random sounds of its environment. But those two specific instances of the word “die” had been perfectly timed. Too perfect to be a coincidence. I stared at the bird for several long seconds. It stared back. Something dark and unspoken settled heavily in the air between us. It wasn’t panic. It was a terrifying mutual understanding. He knew that I suspected something. But he had no idea just how much I actually knew. And I had absolutely no intention of showing my hand. 3 I cooked dinner that night. A simple steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted asparagus. Amy ate quietly, seemingly lost in thought. Halfway through the meal, the parrot in the living room let out a sharp squawk. “Die.” Amy set her fork down and shot me a cautious look. “Please don’t be upset with her. It’s just a bird.” “I’m not upset.” She nodded slowly and went back to cutting her steak. After dinner, while I was washing the dishes, Amy walked out into the living room. I could hear her talking to the parrot. Her voice was incredibly soft, dripping with genuine affection. “Opal, be a good girl. Say something sweet for me.” The parrot ignored her. “Come on, just one nice word.” “Ugly.” Amy giggled softly. “You really have a wicked mouth, don’t you?” I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her tease the bird through the bars of the cage. She had done the exact same thing in my previous life. She treated that bird with more tenderness and patience than she ever showed her own husband. Back then, I thought she was just an animal lover. I thought her compassion was endearing. Now the truth was glaringly obvious. She wasn’t being tender to a bird. She was being tender to the man trapped inside it. “Honey.” I stepped out into the living room. “I’m feeling a bit exhausted tonight. I think I’m going to head to bed early.” “Okay.” She didn’t even bother looking up, too busy tracing her manicured finger against the metal bars for the bird to nip at playfully. Around ten o’clock, Amy finally came into the master bedroom. She had just taken a shower, her long hair still damp and smelling of expensive shampoo. “Jeff, I need to let you know about something.” She sat gracefully on the edge of the mattress. “I have to go out of town for a business trip next week. I’ll be gone for about four or five days.” In my past life, she used the exact same excuse. She said four or five days, but she ended up staying away for a full week. “Alright.” “I need you to take good care of Opal while I’m gone. And please, don’t lose your temper with her. She’s just an animal. If she says something nasty, just ignore it.” “I know.” She reached out and affectionately stroked my hair. “Have you been in a bad mood lately?” “No.” “Good.” She reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp. “Get some sleep.” I did not sleep. In the suffocating darkness of the bedroom, a faint rustling sound echoed from the cage on the desk. He was moving. I rolled over, turning my back to the birdcage, and quietly slipped my hand under my pillow. My fingers wrapped tightly around a small piece of parchment, inked with a heavy warding sigil. The first half of the night was dead silent. But deep into the early hours of the morning, an unnatural, biting chill crept into the room. It wasn’t a draft from the window. It was a localized, creeping frost that seemed to seep directly into the top of my skull, like someone slowly pouring a pitcher of ice water over my brain. I didn’t move a muscle. I kept my breathing perfectly steady and rhythmic. The freezing sensation grew heavier and more oppressive. My grip on the warding sigil tightened until my knuckles turned white. And then. A violent, scorching sizzle echoed through the dark room. It sounded like raw meat being thrown onto a screaming hot skillet. The unnatural cold vanished in a fraction of a second. Complete chaos erupted from the cage. The frantic, desperate flapping of wings slamming against the metal bars was deafening in the dead of night. The panic lasted for about fifteen seconds before abruptly cutting into total silence. I slowly opened my eyes. Pale moonlight filtered through the narrow gap in the curtains, illuminating the desk. The grey mass of feathers was huddled miserably in the furthest corner of the cage. It was puffed up to twice its size, its chest heaving erratically. He wouldn’t dare try to siphon my energy again tonight. I calmly rolled over, tucked the warding sigil back under my pillow, and closed my eyes. I slept beautifully. The next morning, when I walked out of the bedroom, Amy was already sitting at the dining table. She had a cup of black coffee in one hand, staring intently at her smartphone screen. The moment she saw me, she immediately locked the device and set it face down. “Sleep well?” she asked, her tone entirely casual. “Like a rock,” I replied, pouring myself a glass of room-temperature water. “What about you? I noticed the light in your study was on pretty late.” “Just had to put out some fires at work.” She took a sip of her coffee. “By the way, Jeff, Opal is acting really strange today. Did something startle her last night?” “I have no idea.” I grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. “I was in the bedroom. I didn’t hear a thing.” “Her feathers are completely fluffed up in distress.” Amy frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you accidentally scare her yesterday when I wasn’t looking?” I stopped pouring the milk and looked her dead in the eyes. “You think I scared the bird?” “I didn’t mean it like that,” she quickly backpedaled. “I’m just asking.” “I know you’ve been incredibly stressed with work lately, and your moods have been a bit unpredictable. You might have accidentally raised your voice. Birds are highly sensitive creatures. They get traumatized easily.” My fingers tightened around the glass. She did this constantly in my past life. No matter what went wrong, she found a way to spin the blame onto me. When my health started failing, it was because I was “overthinking things.” When I suffered from insomnia, it was because I was “too neurotic.” When the parrot verbally abused me, it was because I had “accidentally raised my voice.” “I didn’t scare the bird.” I kept my voice perfectly level. Amy studied my face for two long seconds before nodding slowly. “Alright. Maybe it was just thunder from a storm last night.” There was no storm last night. The sky had been perfectly clear. I didn’t bother calling out her lie. She finished her breakfast and retreated to her study. After washing the dishes, I walked into the living room. The parrot shifted nervously on its wooden perch. “Die.” I ignored it. “Die. Die. Die.” Three rapid-fire curses, each one sharper and more venomous than the last. I turned my head and stared at the cage. It tilted its head, its cold grey eyes reflecting my face. But I could see Declan’s shadow lurking just behind those pupils. The boy I grew up with. The man who stole my wife, and then decided to steal my life. “Say that to me one more time,” I whispered, my voice laced with pure, unadulterated malice. The bird snapped its beak shut. It didn’t make another sound. 4 Late that afternoon, Amy emerged from her study holding her phone. “Jeff, I just got off the phone with the breeder. He said Opal’s previous owner was a bitter old woman.” “She probably spent all day cursing at the television, and the bird just picked up her vocabulary.” “Oh.” I didn’t bother looking up from the novel in my lap. “He said it’s just a phase. If you spend enough time talking to her using positive words, she’ll eventually learn them and forget the bad ones.” “Okay.” Amy stood in the center of the living room for a moment before speaking again. “You need to stop ignoring her. The more you ice her out, the more she’s going to act out for attention. You need to actually interact with her.” I closed my book and looked up at her. “Amy. You want me to sit here and have a friendly chat with a bird that constantly tells me to drop dead?” “She’s just a bird!” Her voice finally cracked with a sharp edge of irritation. “She doesn’t even comprehend what the words mean! Why are you holding a grudge against an animal?” “I’m not holding a grudge.” “Then why won’t you talk to her?” I opened my mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. In my past life, every single one of our arguments ended exactly like this: in my defeated silence. Because I loved her. Because I couldn’t bear to see her upset. I honestly believed that if I just swallowed my pride and endured it, everything would magically fix itself. I endured it until the day it literally killed me. “Fine.” I stood up. “I’ll talk to her.” I walked over to the glass coffee table and crouched down, bringing myself perfectly to eye level with the cage. “Opal.” I said her name clearly. She tilted her head, watching me carefully. “Say something nice.” She opened her curved beak. “Ugly.” “Try again.” “Die.” Amy let out a soft, exasperated laugh from behind me. “See? She’s communicating with you.” I did not smile. “Teach me how to make her say something nice, then.” Amy walked over and gently nudged me out of the way. “You have to speak to her like this. ‘Opal, say hello.’” She leaned close to the metal bars, her voice melting into a sickeningly sweet coo. “Opal, hello.” The parrot tilted its head but stayed silent. “Hello,” she repeated softly. “Hello,” the parrot parroted back. Amy beamed with pride. “See? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the bird.” The unspoken implication hung heavily in the air. The bird wasn’t the problem. I was. She didn’t say anything else, simply turning on her heel and walking back to her study. I stood in front of the coffee table, staring into the cage. The parrot was intensely focused on the closed door of the study. There was a sickeningly human emotion in its beady eyes. It looked like longing. Like desperate, devoted expectation. It was waiting for Amy to come back. Because the parasite living inside that feathered shell was madly in love with her. In my past life, the second I was put in the ground, the two of them moved in together. I crouched back down and rapped my knuckles sharply against the metal bars. The parrot snapped its head toward me. “You can stop waiting.” I lowered my voice to a lethal whisper. “She left.” It tilted its head, as if trying to dissect the exact meaning behind my words. I stood up and walked straight into the master bedroom. I locked the door behind me, leaned heavily against the wood, and pulled out my phone. I typed a specific query into the search bar. “Avian behavioral modification boarding.” I clicked the top result and dialed the number. It rang twice before a woman answered. “Hello, Avian Echo Behavioral Center.” Her voice was crisp and strictly professional. “Hi, I need a consultation. I have an African Grey that has picked up some severe negative vocabulary. Words like ‘ugly’ and ‘die’. Do you have any intensive methods to correct this?” “Yes, we do. For severe cases, we utilize a mirror enclosure paired with aggressive positive reinforcement.” “The mirror enclosure is a specialized cage lined entirely with mirrors. Being surrounded by endless reflections of itself induces a highly stressful psychological response in the parrot. While it’s in this vulnerable state, we loop high-frequency positive vocabulary recordings. It usually only takes three to five days to completely overwrite the negative programming.” “Will the mirror enclosure cause lasting psychological damage to the bird?” “It will induce genuine fear, yes. But that is a necessary component of the correction process. Rest assured, our head trainer monitors the birds 24/7. It will not suffer any physical harm.” I remained silent for two full seconds. “Perfect. I’ll drop the bird off on Monday. I want the full boarding package.” I hung up the phone and stood alone in the darkening bedroom. A cool breeze slipped through the open window, making the sheer curtains flutter like ghosts. In my past life, he spent six months draining my life away with his curses. In this life, I am going to lock him in a box of mirrors, forcing him to stare at his own pathetic reflection until he loses his mind.

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It was pouring outside when I texted my notoriously cold boss on his business trip. “It’s pouring so hard over here.” “Is it huge over there?” I didn’t realize until it was too late that bad reception caused the first message to fail. My boss hesitated for a long moment before replying. “Do you want to see?” 1 I was lounging on the sofa with my legs crossed, mindlessly watching TV when my phone buzzed. A text from my boss, Shaun, lit up the screen. “Deliver the contract to the Grandmont Hotel in Boston before three this afternoon.” I turned my head with a deadpan expression, staring at the torrential rain lashing against the window, and aggressively tossed my phone onto the coffee table. Are you kidding me? It is the weekend. It is a literal monsoon outside. And he wants me to drive to another city to drop off some paperwork? Corporate slaves really have no human rights. I scrubbed a hand through my hair in frustration, picked the phone back up, and tried to appeal to whatever tiny shred of humanity this capitalist might possess. “Mr. Boss man…” “It’s pouring so hard over here.” “Is it huge over there?” With rain this heavy, I was going to get drenched the second I stepped outside. Cut me some slack, can’t this wait until Monday? After hitting send, I stared nervously at the screen. Shaun was famously ruthless and strictly professional at the office. I had no idea if he would catch my drift. Should I have been more direct? On second thought, never mind. I didn’t want to get chewed out. I stared at my phone for a solid twenty minutes before the screen finally lit up again. “Do you want to see?” My head filled with question marks. What was that supposed to mean? Was he going to send me a picture of the storm? Was that really necessary? What a sarcastic jerk. My temper flared, and with zero regard for my job security, I shot him down. “No thanks.” “Boss, if it’s really huge, I’m not coming. I’m a terrible driver.” Shaun replied almost instantly this time. “You prefer it small?” Is this guy insane? Who prefers driving in a massive storm? Shaun was unbelievable. The wind slammed against the window, the heavy raindrops hitting the glass like a volley of arrows. Furious, I aggressively tapped on my keyboard. “Too huge is a bad idea. With my lack of experience, I’ll literally die!” Shaun: “It’s not that exaggerated. Don’t be scared.” “I’ll be very gentle.” I actually laughed out loud out of pure anger. I am the one driving the car on the highway. What good does it do if you are gentle? Is his brain broken? This evil capitalist was rotten to the core. To think I actually used to have a crush on him. 2 Hardly anyone at the firm knew that Shaun and I went to the same high school. He was the golden boy back then. Top grades, wealthy family, and devastatingly handsome. Every time he stepped onto the basketball court, a massive crowd of girls would gather just to watch him breathe. He wore a red jersey that highlighted the lean, defined lines of his arms. Whenever he flexed to shoot, you could see the faint trace of veins under his skin. The ball swished effortlessly through the net. Shaun smirked, raising a hand to high-five his teammate. The sharp smack of their hands echoed across the court. My heart did a stupid little flutter. A girl next to me squealed. “Oh my god, he looks exactly like a romance novel cover model!” I loved romance novels. So, I wrote Shaun a love letter. I picked out the most expensive pastel pink stationery and even sprayed a tiny bit of my favorite vanilla perfume on it. The next day, I intentionally took the long route past his homeroom. There, sitting in the trash can at the back of the classroom, was a massive pile of pink envelopes, overflowing the brim. All the color drained from my face. My childhood neighbor, Noah, happened to be sitting in the back row munching on an apple. Seeing me staring at the trash can, he leaned over. “Hey Sophie, what are you looking at?” “Are those…” “Oh, the letters Shaun tossed out? Yeah. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Noah wiggled his eyebrows with an obnoxious frat boy grin. “Wait a minute. I get it. Your letter is in there too? Damn, didn’t know the little goody-two-shoes had it in her!” Noah was practically shouting. Half the classroom turned their heads to stare at me. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I snapped at him. “Are you out of your mind? Who the hell likes Shaun? I don’t give a single crap about him!” I spun around to run away and immediately slammed face-first into a solid chest. The muscle was rock-hard, bruising the bridge of my nose. I clamped a hand over my face and looked up. A sharp jawline, thin lips, and dark, intense eyes staring down at me with an untamable arrogance. It was Shaun. My mortification peaked. I dodged around him and sprinted down the hallway as fast as my legs could carry me. 3 Shaun probably never even opened my letter before throwing it away. I was heartbroken over it for a long time, but looking back now, it was a blessing in disguise. Distance really does create the illusion of beauty. His cold, aloof vibe seemed so cool in high school, but now that he was my boss, I realized he was just completely devoid of human empathy. He did everything with a resting ice face. The king of sarcasm. When I first joined the company, the very first proposal my team handled fell short of expectations. My coworkers and I kept passing the buck. No one had the guts to hand the report to Shaun. My coworker Cici nudged me. “Sophie, you do it. Didn’t you say you guys went to the same high school?” Jenna kicked off her desk, rolling her ergonomic chair right between us. She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Friendly warning. The boss hates it when people try to play the connection card.” “When the last department head got fired, he was literally sobbing, clinging to the office door, begging for mercy because he and the boss lived in the same dorm building in college. Do you know what Mr. Boss man said?” Cici’s eyes went wide. “What did he say?” Jenna straightened her posture, mimicking Shaun’s icy glare, looking us up and down before giving a dismissive scoff. “I don’t know him.” “Furthermore, this is a corporation, not an alumni mixer.” “Security, escort him out.” Cici winced. “Yikes. That is so humiliating. Better to just keep your mouth shut.” In the end, I was the sacrificial lamb chosen to deliver the report. I braced myself, placed the folder on his massive mahogany desk, and stared intensely at the tips of my shoes, completely unwilling to make eye contact. After what felt like a literal century, Shaun’s cool baritone drifted from above. “Sophie.” I jerked my head up and forced the brightest, most painfully fake customer service smile I could muster. “Boss. About this report, I promise we really did our best…” Shaun raised a single brow. “Do you not know who I am?” Oh boy. Here we go. The legendary sarcasm had arrived! I had heard him say this exact line to the previous manager. Do you not know who I am? The manager had stammered. Boss, you are the CEO, of course I know who you are. Shaun had given him a lethal glare. If you know who I am, why would you bring me this absolute garbage? I absolutely refused to stand there and listen to Shaun call my hard work garbage. I lunged forward and snatched the folder right back off his desk. “I know! I know you have high standards and strict requirements! I will take this back and fix it right now!” 4 (Shaun’s POV) Sophie didn’t recognize me. How could she not recognize me? How was it even possible? Watching her grab the report and flee my office like she was running for her life, I let out a long sigh. The light in my eyes dimmed as a bitter taste spread through my mouth. Would a girl really fail to recognize the guy she used to be in love with? So, that love letter back in high school really was just a misunderstanding. I pulled open my bottom drawer and took out a pastel pink envelope. It was old now. The color had faded, much like those dust-covered memories. Hey Shaun, look, it’s Sophie from the other class. She’s here to watch you play again. Do you think she’s into you? I had followed my teammate’s gaze and spotted Sophie standing in the crowd, holding a bottle of water. Her skin looked porcelain in the sunlight, her eyes clear and bright like morning mist over a lake. Our eyes met. It felt like a tiny needle had pricked my heart, leaving behind an indescribable, fluttering ache. The basketball carved a perfect arc through the bright blue sky and swished through the net. I high-fived my teammate, totally unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. Does Sophie like me? What a beautiful day. 5 In this god-awful weather, I should have been curled up on my couch watching Netflix. Instead, I was white-knuckling the steering wheel, cruising down the highway in a blind panic. The rain hammered against the windshield. The wipers were thrashing back and forth at maximum speed. My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I put it on speaker, and Cici’s desperate wail immediately filled the small car. “Sophie, I have terrible news. Brace yourself.” “Spit it out.” Cici swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “That contract…” “There are a few critical data points in that contract. They are all wrong.” “What!” I screamed so loud my throat hurt. Cici panicked. “We still have time! We can fix the numbers right now. The client doesn’t need it until Monday. Please don’t yell at me!” “We don’t have time! Are you trying to get me killed? Shaun ordered me to deliver it to Boston right now. I am literally pulling up to his hotel as we speak!” I was on the verge of tears. “What am I supposed to do?” Cici gasped. “What!” “Okay, okay. Tell him you got into a car crash!” “Are you insane? Knowing Shaun, he would just order you to print a new one and drive it down here yourself. What good would that do? Plus, what if he comes to the hospital to check on me? If I get caught in a lie like that, my career is over.” Shaun was a tyrant at work, but his employee benefits were undeniably top-tier. When a manager caught a fever after working three days straight, Shaun personally visited him in the hospital and supposedly left a massive bonus check. Cici stuttered. “Oh, right, right. Then distract him! Do something to get his attention away from the contract!” “How am I supposed to do that?” “Hello? My signal is dropping. Hello? Beep. Beep. Beep.” The call went dead. I pulled into the underground parking garage, my mind going completely blank. What was I going to do? How was I going to face him? 6 (Shaun’s POV) I stared at my phone screen, my mind completely blank. I understood every single word Sophie sent me, but strung together, they made absolutely zero sense. “Is it huge over there?” What is huge? Why would she suddenly ask me a question like that? Was she messing with me? Just like back in high school. I had received her love letter and practically sprinted to her classroom in a state of pure euphoria. But when I got there, I heard her screaming at Noah. I don’t give a single crap about him! Sophie shoved past me and ran away. I felt like I had taken a bullet to the chest. I stood frozen in the hallway, the color draining from my face. Noah threw an arm around my shoulder and clicked his tongue. “Why was she trying so hard to prove she doesn’t care about you?” “She was probably terrified I would get the wrong idea.” “Man, I get it now. Sophie is into me. No wonder she’s always at our games. And here I thought she was checking you out. Looks like I was underestimating my own charm!” Noah didn’t bother keeping his voice down. A few guys in the class heard him and burst out laughing. “Let’s go, Noah! Snagging the prettiest girl in the junior class!” “Hey, they grew up together. They have that childhood sweetheart advantage.” Childhood sweethearts. I had never hated a phrase so much in my entire life. Noah and Sophie lived in the same neighborhood. They had known each other since kindergarten. Noah was my desk mate, and the name I heard come out of his mouth the most was Sophie. Sophie is such a nerd. Sophie is such a kiss-up. All the moms in the neighborhood think she’s an angel. Do you know how many kids got grounded just because their moms compared them to her? Don’t let her fool you, man. It’s all an act. Sophie is vicious. When she hits you, she goes for the kill. 7 Amidst the boys’ laughter, Noah’s face turned bright red. When the bell rang and we went back to our seats, Noah nudged my elbow and whispered. “Hey, do you think I should say yes to her? She’s gorgeous, but she’s got a crazy temper. I’m kind of scared of her.” How crazy could she be? Sophie had pale skin and the sweetest smile. I couldn’t even imagine her throwing a tantrum or acting vicious. Or maybe, that was a side of her she only showed to the person she liked? Noah opened his desk and cursed. “Damn it, more letters. Shaun, can you tape your name to your desk or something? People keep mixing ours up.” A sharp pain twisted in my chest. I grabbed my water bottle and took a massive gulp. The bitter, acidic taste spread through my mouth, and no matter how hard I swallowed, I couldn’t wash it away. Sophie’s love letter had been meant for Noah all along. I should have given it to him. But I didn’t. I was a despicable thief. I stole a piece of beautiful affection that never belonged to me, locked it away, and treated it like treasure, taking it out to savor in secret. For the thousand and first time, I pulled that letter out of my bag. Unfolding the paper, the spot where she had written the recipient’s name was stained by a drop of water. The ink had bled into a dark, illegible blur. To [Blurred], I love watching the basketball games. But whenever you are on the court, I can never focus. I never know whether to watch the ball, or watch you. The day Sophie delivered this letter, there had been a massive rainstorm. I loved the rain. I loved that the rainwater had washed away Noah’s name. It let me live in the fantasy that the dark ink smudge actually spelled Shaun. 8 “Shaun! Earth to Shaun! Why aren’t you answering me?” Noah’s obnoxious voice blasted through the phone speaker. I pulled the device away from my ear. “What is it?” “Guess?” “Just say it. I’m busy.” Noah clicked his tongue. “You are so boring, dude! Just calling to let my boy know, I’m getting married! The eighth of next month. Make sure you tell Sophie too. You guys are both in New York, right? You can carpool down here. I’ll take care of you guys, VIP treatment. Drinks on me all night!” A wave of discomfort washed over me. “You’re inviting your ex to watch you tie the knot? That’s messy.” Noah sounded genuinely confused. “What ex? Who are you talking about?” “Sophie. Didn’t you guys date in college?” I spent my four years of college overseas and rarely kept in touch with anyone back home. But one random day, I was scrolling through social media and saw Noah post a photo. It was from the back, showing him with his arm around a girl. The girl had long, flowing hair and was wearing a forest green cardigan over a white sundress. The sliver of ankle showing was strikingly pale. I had seen that exact cardigan on Sophie’s page. I had clicked on Sophie’s profile, only to see her latest status update: “Had the best weekend ever!” I stared at that sentence for a very long time. Then I closed the app and muted both her and Noah from my feed. “Who the hell dated Sophie? Man, don’t even bring that up, it still pisses me off. Did you know she completely humiliated me back in college?” “Remember when I posted that picture with my girlfriend? Sophie commented something super sarcastic, like ‘Oh look, the caveman finally figured out how to date.’ So I messaged her, trying to let her down easy. I said, ‘Look, I know you’ve always had a crush on me, but don’t be too sad. Plenty of fish in the sea.’ Dude. She ripped me a new one.” “That psycho yelled at me for ten straight minutes. Just absolutely foul language. So I fought back. I told her she was just bitter and jealous.” “And do you know what she said?” 9 My heart leaped into my throat. “What did she say?” Noah scoffed. “She said she never liked me. She said she was always into you. And that you were a thousand times hotter than me. Man, I have never been so insulted.” “Shaun, be honest with me. Am I really that much of a downgrade?” Noah kept rambling on the other end of the line, but a loud ringing filled my ears, drowning out everything else. My heart was hammering against my ribs. With trembling hands, I hung up the phone. For the first time in years, I finally gathered the courage to check Noah’s social media. I scrolled through photos of a stranger. Big eyes, thick eyebrows. Absolutely nothing like Sophie. I scrolled down frantically, jumping back to our sophomore year of college. Yes. It was the same girl. This was Noah’s girlfriend. Then what about Sophie? I unmuted Sophie and clicked on her profile. “Corporate slave life. Grind never stops.” “Why am I working so much overtime? My mom says it’s because I’m single and have no life anyway. Lol, she really hit the nail on the head.” “Another lonely, sleepless night. Good thing I have my spreadsheets to keep me company. Hehe.” The attached photo was a massive stack of files and a glowing laptop screen. Lonely? Sleepless? Is that why she asked me if it was huge? Was she trying to— I didn’t dare finish the thought. My face burned burning hot. With shaking fingers, I typed out my reply. 10 I groaned, shoving my phone into my pocket, and grabbed my umbrella before stepping out of the car. Whatever. If I die, I die. Better to just get it over with. Worst case scenario, I get fired. A four-thousand-dollar monthly paycheck isn’t the end of the world anyway. I don’t even spend that much. I’m a homebody, what do I need that much money for? Money means nothing to me. Oh god, Sophie, stop lying to yourself. That is four grand! If I drop to my knees and beg Shaun, will he forgive me? My heart was in my throat, my legs felt like jelly. Shaking, I knocked on the hotel room door. “Boss…” Three blank lines inserted here for paywall placement: The door swung inward at the speed of light. It opened so fast I genuinely wondered if Shaun had been standing directly behind it, waiting for me. I blinked. Shaun was wearing a plush white hotel bathrobe. His dark hair was dripping wet, the water trailing down his neck, making his sharp features look even more striking. He radiated the icy, unapproachable aura of a glacier. That jerk. He definitely already knew about the contract error. He was waiting by the door just to watch me suffer. My face turned the color of ash. Clinging to the document folder like a lifeline, I looked up at him. “Boss. Before you say anything, can you please show some mercy?” Shaun just stared at me. His dark eyes were swimming with intense, unreadable emotions. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn I saw raw desire and anticipation in his gaze. Desire? Anticipation? Shaun is a total psychopath. Was he really this excited to scream at me and fire me on the spot?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452533”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had detested Steven Wilder since the moment I first laid eyes on him. I hated the way he had suddenly moved into my home, and I hated the way he stole my father’s attention. Most of all, I hated how he always acted completely unfazed, no matter how much I tried to torment him. But then, I accidentally caught him in the bathroom, holding a photograph of a girl while doing something incredibly private. Seizing the opportunity, I snapped a picture of him on my phone and threatened him with a smug grin. “If you don’t want anyone to find out about this, pack your bags and get out of my house.” Yet, there wasn’t a single trace of panic in his eyes. Instead, he looked at me and asked, “What do you want me to do to make you stop hating me?” I smiled slyly, deliberately trying to humiliate him. “How about you strip down and let me take a couple more photos?” Just when I thought I had him cornered, he looked down with a low, quiet chuckle. “Sure.” 1 I never expected him to agree so easily. The sudden shift caught me off guard, and a wave of panic washed over me. I took two hasty steps backward, staring at him with deep suspicion. “You… you’re shameless!” He didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he took two slow, deliberate steps forward with a quiet smile. Before I could react, he had trapped me in the corner of the hallway. He leaned down slightly, resting his hands on his knees, forcing me to meet his gaze. A playful, teasing glint danced in his dark eyes. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted to see?” The words died in my throat. My fingers gripped my phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I instinctively glanced toward his half-open bedroom door, desperate for an escape. Following my gaze, he reached out and casually shut the door with a soft click. Then, he raised his hand and lightly tapped his index finger against my forehead. “Ow!” I glared at him, my bravado returning as I tried to push him away. But he didn’t budge, standing before me like a solid wall. Steven was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic frame that was far stronger than it looked. Standing this close, his sheer presence was completely overwhelming, making me swallow hard in nervousness. Refusing to lose my edge, I took the silver necklace I was clutching and threw it right at his chest. “Take your stupid gift back!” Today was my twentieth birthday. After the party ended, I had gone upstairs to happily unwrap the gifts from my friends and relatives. My mood instantly soured when I came across Steven’s present. Initially, I wanted to toss it straight into the trash. But then I thought, no, that’s too quiet. It would be much more satisfying to march into his room, throw it at him, and sneer, Who would ever want anything from you? So, I went to find him. Seeing his door slightly ajar, I pushed it open without knocking. The moment I stepped inside, the sound of heavy, ragged breathing reached my ears, followed by a low, muffled groan. I followed the sound and froze. Steven was standing in front of the bathroom vanity. He was biting down on the hem of his t-shirt, exposing his lean, sculpted stomach. My eyes instinctively traveled downward, catching his long fingers wrapped around… himself. On the marble counter lay a small, plastic-sealed photograph. I could tell it was a girl, though I couldn’t make out her face. My face flushed crimson in an instant. “Steven, you’re disgusting!” I shrieked. Hearing my voice, he slowly turned his head. Even with me standing right outside the door, he didn’t try to cover himself. He simply knit his brows slightly. “Turn around, Lynn.” I instinctively spun around, but then my stubborn pride flared up. Why should I listen to him? I turned right back around, whipped out my phone, and snapped a photo of him. He flinched slightly at the camera’s shutter sound, looking at the lens with a calm, unbothered expression. Without a word, he turned back to the mirror and finished what he was doing. I waited outside, my heart hammering. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly cleaned up the vanity, adjusted his clothes, and walked out. Aside from a lingering flush on his neck, there wasn’t a single trace of embarrassment on his face. “What do you want?” he asked quietly. I was used to his unflappable demeanor, so I didn’t let it deter me. I raised my phone, letting a smug smile spread across my face. “I assume you don’t want anyone to see this?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not disgusting. Every guy does it.” I tilted my head, my eyes gleaming with mischief. “I know who’s in that photo on your counter. You wouldn’t want her to find out what you do while looking at her, would you?” He went still for a moment, then let out a soft sigh. “No, I wouldn’t. So, what’s your price?” Seeing him finally yield, my triumph was complete. “Delete the photo, pack your bags, and get out of our house.” He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze fell, a flicker of loneliness crossing his eyes. “What will it take for you to stop hating me?” he asked softly. Stop hating him? Never. But to make things as difficult as possible for him, I offered a wicked alternative. “It’s hard to stop hating you. But if you strip down and let me take a couple more photos, I might consider it.” I thought I had him backed into a corner. But he simply paused, looked down, and let out a low, quiet chuckle. “Sure.” 2 After tossing the necklace at him, my courage evaporated, and I fled back to my room. On my way down the hall, I ran into Greta, our housekeeper, who was carrying a mug of warm milk up the stairs. Seeing my flushed face and frantic breathing, she stopped in concern. “Lynn, sweetie, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I’m fine,” I mumbled, shaking my head. Sensing Steven stepping out of his room behind me, I bolted into my bedroom without looking back. “Lynn, you forgot your milk!” Greta called out. I slammed my door shut and locked it. Leaning against the heavy oak wood, I drew in long, ragged breaths. My mind was a chaotic blur of Steven’s calm face, the quiet intensity of his movements, and the sudden, breathless finish over the sink. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it would burst. I cupped my burning cheeks, feeling like I was about to melt. A sudden knock on the door made me jump. Assuming it was Greta, I patted my cheeks, tried to smooth down my hair, and unlocked the door. But the moment the door cracked open, Steven’s face appeared. I instantly tried to slam the door shut, but he reacted quickly, shoving his hand into the frame to block it. The heavy wood clamped down on his knuckles, and he let out a sharp grunt of pain. I panicked and immediately pulled back. “Are you crazy?!” Without a word, he slipped into my room, closing the door behind him. I looked at the angry red marks forming across the back of his hand, biting my lip. “What do you want?” He ignored the question, walking over to my vanity to set down the mug of milk. He let his eyes wander around my room, finally resting on a lace bra I had left tossed on the unmade bed. My face burned hotter. I lunged across the room, shoving the underwear beneath my duvet. “Keep your eyes to yourself!” He tapped his knuckles lightly against the wooden vanity. “Drink your milk.” I picked up the mug, taking small, nervous sips, while he casually sat down on the edge of my bed. He looked up at me. “Let’s make a deal. Delete the photo.” Hearing him ask for a favor brought back my confidence. I sat down in my vanity chair, holding my mug like a queen on her throne, looking down at him. “I already told you my terms. Pack your bags.” I had just taken a shower before this, and I was only wearing a thin, white silk slip. As I sat down, the hem rode up, exposing a pale stretch of my thighs. Steven’s gaze flicked down. His throat cleared, and he quickly looked away, reaching for a decorative throw pillow on my bed and tossing it over my lap. “Your dress is too short,” he muttered, his voice slightly rough. I stiffened, quickly pulling the pillow tight against myself. He looked back up, his eyes serious. “Choose another condition.” “Fine,” I said, thinking. “Whenever you see me, stay at least ten feet away.” “No. Try again.” “This isn’t how negotiations work!” I snapped, slamming my mug down. “You’re the one asking me for a favor, Steven!” A slow, frustrating smile touched his lips. “But taking non-consensual photos of someone for blackmail is a felony, Lynn.” My eyes widened in panic. “Fine! I’ll just delete it.” “No, you won’t.” “Then what do you want?” I cried. Wait, why was I asking for his permission? I could just delete it right now and he wouldn’t have any leverage to threaten me with. I grabbed my phone, intending to do just that. But then I hesitated. If he really decided to play dirty and call the police, my father would hate him forever. Steven respected my father too much to ever let that happen. Slowly, I lowered my phone. When people get nervous, they tend to drink water. I reached for the warm milk, but as I looked at the creamy, white liquid, my mind instantly flashed back to what I had witnessed in the bathroom. I shuddered, slamming the mug back down with a dull thud. “Just promise me one thing,” his voice drifted over, soft and quiet. “Why should I?” I scoffed. He looked at me, a lazy, dangerous glint in his eyes. “What do you think Thomas would say if he found out you snuck into my room and watched me do… that?” I stood up, clenching my teeth. “You are completely shameless!” “Yes,” he replied softly. “I am.” In the end, I kicked him out of my room. As I slammed the door on his face, I threw out one last desperate threat. “If you tell my dad a single word, I’ll tell him I’m madly in love with you! I’ll force him to make you marry into our family as a charity-case husband, and I’ll keep you under my thumb and torture you for the rest of your life!” Steven only let out a low, amused laugh at my childish outburst. 3 Steven was sixteen when he first arrived at our house, only two years older than me. At the time, my parents had just gone through a bitter divorce. I immediately assumed he was my father’s secret love child from an affair, and that he was the reason my family had fallen apart. I had a screaming match with my father, demanding that Steven be kicked out. When my dad refused, telling me to grow up, I ran away from home in a fit of rage. The security guards, the housekeeper, and the local police searched for me all night. In the end, it was Steven who found me curled up in the old doghouse in the far corner of our backyard. He sat on the grass outside the kennel and said quietly, “I’m not Thomas’s son, Lynn. My mother passed away, and I have no one else left in the world. Your father was just kind enough to take me in.” Later, I found out he was telling the truth. But his mother had been my father’s high school sweetheart. Even knowing he wasn’t my half-brother, I couldn’t stop myself from detesting him, wishing every single day that he would leave. During his first few months, I did everything I could to make his life miserable. I poured milk all over his mattress, waiting gleefully for him to lose his temper. But he merely stripped the sheets in silence and washed them himself. Sometimes, after school, I would tell the driver to pull away quickly, leaving him stranded. I hoped he would complain to my dad, giving me an excuse to start another fight. But he never said a word. He just rode his bicycle on sunny days and took the bus when it rained, acting as if my petty cruelties were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Eventually, I grew tired of the games and stopped bothering him. But the resentment lingered. Yet, despite how awful I was, he was the one who carried me to the nurse’s office when I scraped my knee during track and field. He was the one who draped his school blazer around my waist when my period stained my skirt, getting himself a week of detention for violating the dress code. He was the one who secretly left a small mango cupcake on my desk when my father was too busy with work to celebrate my birthday. And during the stressful months of senior year, he was the one who quietly wrote out step-by-step calculus solutions on the margins of my scratch paper. He wasn’t a bad person. I couldn’t even force myself to believe he was. For a long time, I felt incredibly conflicted, unable to find a logical reason to keep hating him. I rolled around in my bed, hugging my pillow tight. “Curse you, Steven!” I groaned into the fabric. Across the hall, Steven was having an equally restless night. He lay staring at the ceiling, the air conditioning running at a cool sixty-eight degrees, yet he felt entirely too hot. His mind kept drifting back to a dream he had woken up from. In the dream, Lynn was wearing that thin white slip. One of the straps had fallen down, resting against her pale shoulder. Her lips were red and slightly swollen from his kisses, and her eyes were bright with tears as she lunged forward to bite his shoulder. Steven couldn’t quite remember when his thoughts about her had turned so dark. Perhaps it was during their junior year, right after they moved to the private academy in the city. Because of his striking looks and perfect grades, he was popular with the girls, but the boys from old-money families resented the middle-class transfer student. They whispered rumors behind his back, calling him the Mercer family’s charity case. He didn’t know how to defend himself, but Lynn had overheard them. She had marched straight up to the group, pointing a finger at their chests. “We don’t keep charity cases in our house. Steven’s mother was my dad’s dearest friend. Keep your filthy mouths shut, or I’ll make sure you regret it.” After lecturing them, she had dragged him away, her nose in the air. “You’re embarrassing me,” she had complained. “Don’t let them walk over you like that.” She wasn’t cruel; she was just a spoiled, fiercely loyal girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. He loved watching her twirl around the living room in a new dress, asking the golden retriever if she was the most beautiful princess in the world. He loved the way she would look up at him on the stairs, offering a haughty huff before marching past. He was entirely, utterly captivated by her. Sighing, Steven sat up and opened his desk drawer, pulling out the plastic-sealed Polaroid he had hidden away. It was a photo from her eighteenth birthday. She was wearing a soft yellow gown with a massive bow on the back, exposing a beautiful stretch of her spine. She had dropped it on the coffee table, and he had quietly pocketed it, keeping it close for two long years. 4 The next morning, I waited until I saw Steven leave for his morning run before sneaking back into his room. I had spent the entire night staring at the photo on my phone, trying to figure out who the girl in his photograph was. I needed to find that physical print. I had lost the upper hand last night, and I was determined to win it back. His curtains were drawn, letting in only a thin sliver of morning light. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and laundry detergent. I began searching through his drawers, eventually sliding my hand beneath his pillow. My fingers brushed against the smooth edge of a plastic sleeve. Gleefully pulling the Polaroid out, I turned around to slip out of the room, only to crash straight into a broad, solid chest. Steven reached over and flicked on the light. He looked down at me, his eyes dark, his expression completely unreadable. Caught red-handed, a cold sweat broke out across my back. I quickly hid my hands behind my back, trying to act natural. But he had already seen it. Steven closed the door behind him. He took a slow step forward, trapping me against his computer desk. He reached out his hand. “Give it back, Lynn.” “No,” I stubborned, shaking my head. He let out a quiet sigh. He was much taller than me, his arms long and powerful. He reached behind my back, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. With a gentle but unyielding tug, he retrieved the photo. A playful, dangerous smile touched his lips as he looked down at me. “Do you really want to know who she is?” I tilted my chin up, trying to look indifferent. “I don’t care.” Suddenly, his fingers turned the plastic-sealed print around, holding it right in front of my eyes. “The girl in this picture,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low, “is you.”

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1 The day my husband, Brian, brought his depressed first love, Kelly, into our home to take care of her, I let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. He looked at my perfectly calm face and spoke in a freezing tone. “Kelly’s health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom. It gets the most natural sunlight.” I nodded immediately and hauled all my belongings into the guest room. Seeing my compliance, he added, “Her stomach is extremely sensitive. She can only stomach bland, home-cooked meals.” I immediately fired our private chef, who specialized in spicy Cajun cuisine, and personally went to the kitchen to cook a table full of plain porridge and light, organic vegetables. When Kelly clutched her chest in pain, I ran out to buy her medication faster than Brian ever could. I was not doing this because I was a desperate pushover trying to win my husband back. I was doing this because, just yesterday, I had secretly moved a completely blind Aaron Harrington into our house. Aaron was the untouchable fantasy of my youth, the secret crush I had buried deep in my heart for a decade. But the moment Brian laid eyes on him, my normally cold and composed husband completely lost his mind. With bloodshot eyes, he practically begged me, “Harper, I am the one you love the most. I forbid you from looking at him!” … On the day of our belated wedding ceremony, Kelly staged a highly publicized medical emergency, intentionally overdosing on a dangerous cocktail of prescription pills. Without a second thought, Brian abandoned me at the altar, sprinting to Kelly’s apartment and carrying her to the hospital. I was left completely alone at the venue. I had to swallow my absolute humiliation, entertain our friends and family, deal with the aggressive media, and finish the reception by myself. After finally sending the last guest home, I received a phone call from Brian. “Kelly needs to be admitted. I cannot leave her side right now. Come to the hospital and pay the bill.” I couldn’t even describe what I was feeling. I felt like I should be furious, screaming, entirely hysterical. But in reality, I just calmly replied, “Okay.” Because this exact scenario had played out far too many times. Kelly came back into the picture the exact day after Brian and I signed our marriage certificate. The moment she saw our bright red legal documents, she had a total psychological breakdown and collapsed in her bathroom. Brian rushed her to the ER and stayed by her bedside all night. The next morning, with dark, exhausted circles under his eyes, he looked at me and said, “Harper, we are canceling the wedding ceremony. Kelly cannot handle the stimulation right now.” “But…” Before the words could even leave my mouth, Brian cut me off. “Harper, this is a human life we are talking about. Stop being so selfish.” His voice was terrifyingly heavy, instantly suffocating every single ounce of anticipation I had for our wedding. We had picked out the dress together. We toured the venues. We chose the rings. We had everything ready. And because of one woman, it all evaporated into thin air. I wasn’t even allowed to argue. I wasn’t allowed to feel wronged. I could only give a dry, hollow response. “Okay.” Because nothing was more important than a human life, right? From that day forward, our marriage became a crowded room of three. She was there on our honeymoon. She was there on Valentine’s Day. She was there on our anniversary. And by now, I was completely numb to it. I took off my wedding dress, drove to the hospital in complete silence, and paid her medical bills. As I was walking out of the hospital entrance, a white mobility cane suddenly struck the back of my calf. “I am so sorry,” a panicked, entirely lost voice stammered. I turned around in surprise. “Aaron? What are you doing here?” 2 Hearing my voice, Aaron froze entirely. His first instinct was to hide, but he completely forgot he could not see. His foot missed the edge of the step, and he tumbled violently down the concrete stairs. My heart leaped into my throat. I sprinted down the steps. “Aaron! Are you okay?” I tried to help him up, but he thrashed against my grip desperately. I couldn’t help but lose my temper. “Aaron Harrington, why are you throwing a billionaire temper tantrum right now? Do you have any idea that you are bleeding?” I don’t know which word triggered him, but Aaron suddenly went rigid, his broad shoulders trembling violently. I leaned in to check his injuries. But the second I got close, his hoarse, tear-choked voice cracked through the air. “Don’t look at me!” It was only then that I realized how drastically different this Aaron was from the boy I remembered. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, groomed from birth to inherit the massive Harrington Industries empire. Whatever he wanted, he got the absolute best. Every move he made used to radiate the effortless arrogance of the ultra-wealthy. Now, he was wearing a cheap, faded t-shirt, clutching a dented white cane, his clothes covered in dirt and his flawlessly sculpted face smeared with grime. I pressed my lips together and swallowed my questions. I practically carried him to a doctor, got his cuts bandaged, picked up his eye medication, and shoved him into the passenger seat of my car. “Where do you live now?” I asked. Aaron did not answer. After an agonizing silence, he finally muttered, “The Southside Projects.” The Southside Projects was the most dangerous, run-down slum in the city. It was a place the old Aaron Harrington wouldn’t have even glanced at from a helicopter. I paused for a second before slowly putting the car in drive. When I finally stepped into the place he called home, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A rotting wooden door, walls stained black with cooking grease, and a bathroom that smelled violently of raw sewage. There was almost zero furniture in the entire unit. Just a brutal wooden slab for a bed, covered by a paper-thin sheet. Aaron tapped his way inside with his cane. He was being incredibly careful, yet his shin still slammed brutally into the corner of the bed frame. He let out a muffled groan. I couldn’t take it a second longer. I stepped forward, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him toward the door. “Aaron, you are not staying in this dump. You are coming home with me.” Taking Aaron home was an act of pure impulse. I didn’t regret it, but it definitely created a massive logistical nightmare. I had no idea how I was going to explain him to Brian. Maybe my moral compass was just a bit too rigid, but I firmly believed that while I was still legally married, I shouldn’t be moving another man into the house I shared with my husband. But throwing Aaron back into that slum was absolutely out of the question. After racking my brain, I decided to hide Aaron in our spacious attic. He sat on the freshly made bed, clutching his white cane tightly. His jaw was set in a stubborn line, but the corners of his eyes were flushed red. He turned his sightless eyes toward me and whispered, “Harper, am I completely pathetic to look at right now?” I had no idea how to comfort a fallen billionaire. I just abruptly changed the subject. “I am going to grab you some food!” Aaron did not say a word. He just sat in silence, listening to my fading footsteps. I did not sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, when Brian finally returned, I was ready to lay all my cards on the table. But before I could even open my mouth, I saw Kelly standing right behind him. 3 “Harper, Kelly is moving in with us starting today.” Brian offered zero explanation. It was a cold, emotionless command. Instead of fighting, I let out a massive sigh of relief. A genuine smile even touched my lips as I nodded. “Okay.” Seeing my total lack of resistance, Brian furrowed his brows. After all, just last month, I had torn the house apart screaming at him over Kelly. Before that fight, I hadn’t stayed quiet out of the goodness of my heart. I stayed quiet because Brian constantly gaslit me, swearing up and down that Kelly was just like a little sister to him and he couldn’t just abandon her. That was until last month, when I went to help his mother pack for a move and accidentally stumbled across his old high school diary. That was when I learned the truth. Kelly was his untouchable fantasy, his perfect white moonlight. When her family went bankrupt and she came crawling back from overseas, his fantasy suddenly became attainable. The only thing standing in their way was me. Three years of suffocating resentment violently erupted. I took the diary and confronted Brian, demanding answers. But he just looked at me with cold, absolute disgust. “Harper, why do you get such a sick thrill out of invading other people’s privacy?” All the blood drained from my face. I don’t remember what happened after that. When I finally woke up, I was lying in a sterile hospital bed, the sharp stench of bleach burning my nose. A nurse noticed my blank stare and offered a pitying smile. “You are still young. You can always have another baby. Please try not to grieve too hard.” That was the exact moment I realized a tiny, quiet life inside of me had slipped away. And my husband was nowhere to be found. By the time he finally finished consoling Kelly and returned to the hospital, I had already checked myself out and gone home alone. Brian stormed into our bedroom, looking at my packed suitcase with intense irritation. “Harper, what kind of tantrum is this? Checking out of the hospital when you haven’t even recovered? Do you think you’re invincible just because you’re young?” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before I cut him off. “Brian, I want a divorce.” Brian’s face went totally blank for a second. Then a flash of sheer panic crossed his eyes, before twisting into an ugly sneer. “Harper, Kelly was having a mental crisis. I was just following the doctor’s orders to stay by her side. Can you stop being so insanely petty? Look at the bigger picture. You look like a bitter, hysterical housewife right now!” I was far too exhausted to argue with him. I dropped the signed divorce papers onto the coffee table, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the front door without granting him a single backward glance. That was when Brian truly panicked. For the next entire month, he completely abandoned Kelly. He chased me relentlessly, doing everything in his power to drag me back. He treated me like a queen during those weeks. It was exactly like how he treated me when we first started dating. But I truly, deeply wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Three nights ago, he knocked on my hotel room door again. I was fully prepared to say the most ruthless things imaginable to get him out of my life forever. But when I yanked the door open, I found Brian down on one knee. He was holding a massive bouquet of flowers and the exact diamond ring I had begged for three years ago. With red, tear-filled eyes, he pleaded, “Harper, let me give you the wedding you deserve.” My mind instantly flashed back to the very first time he proposed. He was on one knee back then too, his eyes overflowing with total devotion, swearing to protect my happiness forever. I figured I could give him one last chance. I let him slide the ring onto my finger, and he held me, crying tears of actual joy. He promised me, “Harper, I am going to throw you the most romantic wedding this city has ever seen.” Brian did not lie. He dropped over a million dollars transforming a luxury hotel ballroom into a breathtaking sea of lavender. The entire venue looked like a dream. But my heart felt absolutely nothing. I hated lavender. I loved the most cliché, blood-red roses. The person who loved lavender was Kelly. So when Brian sprinted out of the venue because Kelly had a “crisis,” my expression didn’t even flinch. It made perfect sense. If he had actually ignored Kelly to marry me, that would have been out of character. So now, moving Kelly into our house was entirely expected. Seeing how happily I agreed, a bizarre, suffocating frustration twisted in Brian’s chest. His expression turned icy, and he snapped like he was trying to provoke me. “Her health is fragile. She needs the master bedroom with the natural sunlight.” 4 A flash of absolute triumph crossed the face of the woman standing behind him, but Kelly expertly masked it a second later, replacing it with a fragile, weeping expression. “Brian, we can’t do that. I could never take Harper’s room. A tiny maid’s quarters or the basement is more than enough for me…” As she spoke, she peeked at Brian through her eyelashes, waiting for his reaction. Normally, whenever she pulled this routine, Brian would viciously scold me for being unaccommodating and literally force my belongings into her hands. But this time, she didn’t get to hear Brian’s defense. I beat him to the punch and nodded brightly. “Okay.” Without missing a beat, I marched into the master bedroom and hauled every last piece of my existence into the guest room down the hall. Brian’s face looked like a brewing thunderstorm. Once I finished moving, I needed to talk to Brian about Aaron. I politely knocked on the master bedroom door. “Can I come in?” I waited in silence for a long time. No answer. Just as I turned to leave, the door violently swung open. Brian stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with fury. Normally, seeing him this angry would make me drop everything to coddle his ego. But this time, I just hesitated and said, “Brian, there is something I need to tell you…” I didn’t get to finish. “Harper, Kelly is starving. Her stomach is sensitive, so she can only eat bland, organic home-cooked meals.” He slammed the door right in my face. I rubbed my nose, sighed, and went downstairs to find our live-in chef. I wired her a massive bonus and told her to take a paid month off. Brian was the one who hired her because he loved her spicy Southern cooking, but now the house had Kelly and Aaron, two patients who couldn’t handle a single drop of hot sauce. After sending the chef away, I tied on an apron and cooked an entire spread of food myself. When we finally sat down at the dining table, Brian’s face was still pitch black. He didn’t say a word and barely touched his food. Clearly, it wasn’t up to his standard. I didn’t want to trigger another fight, but the Aaron situation could not stay hidden forever. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Brian, I have a friend who recently ran into some serious trouble, and right now…” Denied again. Kelly suddenly began gasping for air, her face turning a sickly white as she collapsed against Brian’s chest. “Brian, my heart hurts so much… I think I’m having a severe allergic reaction…” Before Kelly even finished her performance, I shot out of my chair and sprinted out the front door. A torrential downpour was raging outside. I didn’t even grab an umbrella. I ran full speed to the pharmacy outside our gated community and bought every anti-allergy and emergency heart medication they had. I used to think Kelly was just faking it, but yesterday the doctor told me Aaron’s blindness was entirely induced by severe psychological trauma. Mental illness could manifest in terrifying physical ways. They really were that sick! By the time I ran back into the house, I was drenched to the bone, shivering violently. Brian looked at my pathetic, soaking wet state, and his rage finally boiled over. “Harper, what the hell is wrong with you?!” “How many times do I have to explain this?! Kelly and I are completely innocent! There is nothing going on between us!” “She is sick! I can’t just leave her to die!” I opened my mouth, desperate to explain why I actually ran out, but the words caught in my throat. I just stood there in silence. Brian grew even more furious. He gripped Kelly’s hand tightly, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “Harper, pack your things and get out of this house.” The second those words left his mouth, a rhythmic tapping echoed from the top of the stairs. Tap. Tap. Tap. A white cane hitting the hardwood floors. Slow. Hesitant. Then, Aaron’s voice drifted down. “Harper… you haven’t come up to the attic all day. Did you decide to throw me away too?” Brian whipped his head up. The moment he recognized Aaron, his pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.

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Three years ago, at our engagement party, his childhood bestie threw down a ridiculous bet. She dared Jeffrey to walk out on our wedding. To let her win, Jeffrey abandoned me at the altar. He tossed a careless smirk at his groomsmen. “She caves easily. Give her the cold shoulder for a few days and she’ll come crawling back.” His boys cheered, calling me a desperate gold digger, absolutely certain I could never survive without him. His bestie, June, even had the nerve to snatch the veil right off my head, giggling and shoving Jeffrey playfully. With hundreds of eyes burning into my skin, I stood there, my expression completely blank. Jeffrey looked back at me with a proud, approving nod. “Now that is the grace a Goodwin wife should have. Be a good girl and wait for me at home.” Hearing those words, I only felt a bitter urge to laugh. Grace? It was nothing but the absolute death of my love for him. Three years later, Jeffrey blocked the main entrance of my office building with a fleet of luxury cars and a massive diamond ring. “Madness over? I’m here to keep my promise.” I did not even spare him a second glance. I just protectively cradled my heavily pregnant belly. “Excuse me. My husband is picking me up for my ultrasound.” 1 “Is playing dress up with a silicone belly really that fun?” Jeffrey stood with one hand shoved casually into his tailored slacks. His eyes lazily swept over my rounded stomach. His tone was drenched in that same arrogant certainty he always carried. I met his gaze without flinching. “Mr. Goodwin, move.” The front doors of my firm were completely blocked by nine black Maybachs. Drones buzzed in the crisp afternoon air, dragging a massive banner with my name printed in bold letters. A crowd of my coworkers had already formed on the sidewalk, their breathless whispers drifting into my ears. Jeffrey did not look embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he took a confident step forward and offered me a massive bouquet of red roses. “It has been three years. You have thrown your little tantrum. It is time to come home.” He looked at me with what he probably thought was indulgent affection. “You know how much I hate it when women act hysterical. But for you, I made an exception. I gave you three whole years.” I stared at those blood red petals. Three years ago, when I was in the ER hooked up to an IV because of a severe pollen allergy, he had his assistant send me the exact same type of flowers. He told me June had picked them out and warned me not to be ungrateful. I kept my hands firmly on my belly and took a half step back. “Jeffrey, I am not throwing a tantrum.” I looked directly into his eyes, my voice quiet but steady. “I am married. And I am five months pregnant.” Jeffrey let out a low chuckle. He casually tossed the expensive bouquet onto the lid of a nearby trash can. “You are spinning lies like this just to get a reaction out of me?” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a velvet box. It popped open with a soft click, revealing a massive pink diamond that caught the sunlight. “I owed you a ceremony three years ago. I am making up for it today.” He did not even bother to drop to one knee. He just held the box out to me, looking like a king bestowing a rare favor upon a peasant. “Put it on. We will pick out a wedding dress tomorrow. I promise I won’t walk out this time.” He said it with such casual entitlement. I looked at the glittering stone, feeling absolutely nothing. At our engagement party, he turned his back on me and walked out in front of my entire family, all because June wanted to test her power over him. Her sharp stiletto had stomped right onto the hem of my gown, leaving an ugly smear of black mud on the pristine white silk. She ripped my veil away to humiliate me. And what did he say? He praised my grace. He told me to wait at home. That night, I peeled off the ruined dress all by myself. I took a pair of scissors, cut out the muddy footprint, and threw it into the trash along with my engagement ring. From that exact second, the man named Jeffrey Goodwin died in my heart. “I don’t need it.” I sidestepped him and headed straight for the curb. Jeffrey finally frowned. He reached out to grab my wrist. I twisted away, letting his hand grasp empty air. “Monica, enough.” His voice dropped an octave, laced with a heavy warning. “My patience has limits. Who exactly is this little performance for?” Right on cue, his phone chimed. It was a custom text tone. June’s sickly sweet voice spilled from the speaker. “Tristy, did you pick Monica up? I feel a little sick. My head is spinning.” Jeffrey’s icy expression melted instantly. He pressed the audio button to reply. “Be a good girl and take your meds. I will bring her back to see you soon.” He slipped the phone away and looked back at me. “June is sick, and she is still worrying about you. Stop being so hostile toward her.” A note of sharp reprimand entered his voice. “What happened three years ago was just a joke. She is young and does not know any better. You were practically supposed to be her family. Why are you holding such a petty grudge?” Watching his righteous indignation, a wave of intense nausea hit me. Morning sickness was normal, but standing in front of this man made my stomach violently churn. I took a deep breath, forcing the bile down. “Jeffrey, do you lack basic comprehension skills?” I pointed toward the taxi stand. “My husband is waiting for me at the hospital. Get out of my way.” His face turned ice cold. He stared intensely at my stomach. “You really won’t drop this, will you? You are actually using these cheap tricks to force an apology out of me?” “Cheap tricks?” I chewed on the words, finding them hilarious. “Think whatever helps you sleep at night.” I was done wasting oxygen on him. I walked straight to a yellow cab that had just pulled up, opened the door, and slid into the back seat, shielding my bump. Jeffrey moved with lightning speed, slamming his hand against the door frame before I could close it. “Which hospital? I will take you.” He looked down at me, a dark sneer twisting his lips. “I really want to see which random loser you hired to play this little game with you.” I glared at his hand gripping the metal frame. “Let go.” “Don’t push your luck, Monica.” His patience seemed to completely evaporate. He yanked the front passenger door open and threw himself into the seat. Defeated by his stubbornness, I told the driver the name of the private maternity hospital downtown. The driver glanced nervously between us. Jeffrey pulled out a thick stack of hundred dollar bills and threw them onto the dashboard. “Drive.” The cab merged into the bustling city traffic. The silence inside the car was suffocating. Jeffrey leaned back, turning his head to study me. “You used to cry over a simple blood draw. Now you are strapping a fake belly to yourself just to make me mad?” His gaze lingered on my midsection, highly critical. “Take it off. Aren’t you sweating under there?” I pulled the zipper of my coat all the way up to my chin, closed my eyes, and ignored him. Half an hour later, the car pulled up to the hospital entrance. I got out. Jeffrey followed like a dark shadow. The lobby of the private clinic was quiet, smelling of expensive sanitizer and fresh linen. I walked to the kiosk to print my appointment ticket. Jeffrey stood right behind me, reading the screen that clearly displayed ‘Obstetrics Follow Up’. His eye twitched, but he recovered his smug composure a second later. “You are really committed to the bit.” He let out a dry laugh. I took my ticket and headed for the elevator. He stayed glued to my side. When we reached the third floor waiting area, I found an empty seat. The moment I sat down, the elevator doors chimed open again. June stepped out, teetering on designer heels and clutching a massive bundle of white roses. She spotted us instantly and trotted over. “Tristy! Monica!” She shoved the white roses right into my face, wearing a mask of flawless, innocent joy. “I heard you were pregnant! I just had to come say congratulations!” The heavy, powdery scent of pollen flooded my lungs. I violently turned my head and sneezed. Jeffrey immediately frowned at June. “She is allergic to pollen. Move them away.” June bit her bottom lip, her eyes shining with instant, manufactured tears. “Oh no, I am so sorry Monica. I completely forgot. I was just so excited for you.” She dropped the flowers onto the empty chair next to her and naturally slid into the seat right beside Jeffrey. “But Monica, didn’t you get married a little too fast?” June’s gaze dragged over my belly, a malicious glint hidden in her smile. “The baby is already so big. Did you just grab the first guy you saw to get back at Tristy?” She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “It is such an important checkup today. Where is this mysterious husband of yours?” “Did he ditch you here all by yourself? Sounds like a deadbeat to me.” Jeffrey listened to every venomous word and did absolutely nothing to stop her. Instead, he watched me closely, waiting to see me crack. “Her husband is too busy to care about her,” Jeffrey answered for me, his voice dripping with mockery. “How dedicated can a hired actor really be?” I watched them bounce off each other, feeling an eerie sense of total peace. This was the man I had loved for seven years. He was sitting here, watching another woman insult me, and deciding to join in. “Is Monica here?” A nurse stepped out of the examination room, holding a medical chart. “Here,” I said, standing up. The nurse looked at me, then glanced at Jeffrey and June. “The doctor needs a family member to sign the ultrasound consent forms. Which one of you is the spouse?” Jeffrey instinctively took a step forward. “I am.” I turned around, cutting him off with a voice made of ice. “No, he isn’t.” The nurse froze, her eyes darting between Jeffrey and me. Jeffrey’s outstretched hand hung awkwardly in the air. His face darkened dangerously. “Monica, stop acting like a child.” He lowered his voice, packing it with a fierce warning. “This is a hospital. Not a stage for your temper tantrums.” I did not even look at him. I turned back to the nurse. “I do not know them. They are just strangers who followed me here. My husband is parking the car. He will be right up.” The nurse nodded slowly and pulled the clipboard back to her chest. “Understood. Please wait for him out here. We need the actual spouse on record for these documents.” She turned and disappeared back into the room. Jeffrey slowly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket. His eyes narrowed, glowing with a dangerous, volatile heat. “Strangers?” He let out a sharp, breathless laugh. “You have grown some spine in three years. Denying I am family now?” Seeing his anger, June immediately stood up and wrapped her hands around Jeffrey’s arm. “Tristy, don’t be mad.” She looked at me, her eyes brimming with fresh, practiced tears. “Monica, are you seriously still mad about that little joke we played three years ago?” She sniffled, sounding like the ultimate victim. “I just made a tiny bet with Tristy to lighten the mood at the party.” “How was I supposed to know you couldn’t take a joke? You literally ran away from home over nothing.” She framed my ruined wedding as a joke, and my shattered heart as being overly sensitive. Staring at her pathetic, trembling face, I felt a wave of pure disgust. “Turning my wedding into a betting pool was a joke?” I shifted my gaze to Jeffrey.

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Fred Harrington was the quiet light I had spent four years secretly loving. If we had not ended up tangled together in that bed, perhaps we would have remained best friends for a lifetime. Five years after we parted, we met again at my younger brother Jude’s wedding. While everyone else was offering their blessings to the newlyweds, Fred leaned in close, his breath brushing against my ear. His voice was low, heavy with mockery. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas. Doesn’t that make you sick?” 1 “Hey, what took you so long?” Jude stood in his sharp, white tuxedo, the bright, familiar smile still lighting up his face. The kid I used to look after was finally getting married. Time really did fly. “Flight was delayed,” I said, offering a quiet apology. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” “You’re not late. The ceremony hasn’t even started yet.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little girl walking over, having finally finished staring at the goldfish in the lobby fountain. I waved her over and introduced her to Jude with a smile. “This is my daughter, Elia.” “I know, I know! We’re already best friends,” Jude said, dropping to one knee to perform their secret handshake. Watching them mimic each other’s goofy gestures, I couldn’t help but laugh. They had video called a few times before we flew in. Elia was a social butterfly who could strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone. “I’ll take her to see Dad,” Jude said, taking her hand. I nodded and watched them walk hand-in-hand toward the reception room. Finding a quiet corner, I sat down and opened my laptop to reply to some work emails. After moving to London, I had taken up photography, finding a job there right after graduation. My inbox was flooded with inquiries and booking requests. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I drafted polite rejections one by one. Elia had never been to the States before, and I wanted to spend some quality time with her during this trip. The freelance gigs would have to wait until we returned to the UK. As my fingers flew across the keyboard, a familiar, rich scent of cedarwood and amber suddenly drifted into my space. My hands froze over the keys. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if a warm breath had just brushed past them. In my peripheral vision, a hand appeared. It moved closer, slowly, until a set of pale, perfect knuckles rested firmly on the table. The woody fragrance deepened, wrapping around me. Two soft taps echoed against the wood. It felt as if those taps landed directly on my ribcage, sending a sharp tremor straight to my heart. “Long time no see, Silas.” Hearing that familiar voice after five long years made my chest tighten instantly. 2 Fred Harrington. The boy who used to be my best friend. And the one I had loved in silence for as long as I could remember. The chair beside me was pulled back, and a pair of long legs entered my field of vision. He crossed them with a quiet, effortless elegance. The high-end fabric of his tailored suit didn’t even crease. A flash of the signature red soles of his designer shoes caught the light, disappearing into the shadow of the desk like a passing spark. My throat went dry. Forcing my eyes back to the glowing laptop screen, I tried to resume typing. But within seconds, his voice stopped me again. “Five years in London, Silas, and you’ve already forgotten how to speak to me?” The tone was lazy, almost casual, yet it carried that familiar, demanding edge. “No,” I murmured, my voice barely audible. I let my shoulders slump slightly, feeling a quiet wave of defeat. I hadn’t expected to run into him here. Fred was never the type to attend family gatherings like this. “Then answer me.” “Long time no see,” I whispered. But it wasn’t true. For me, there had been no long separation. I had fallen asleep almost every night looking at his pictures, and his face was still the lock screen on every device I owned. Fred let out a short, quiet scoff, though his voice softened when he spoke next. “Finally decided to come back?” The lack of anger in his voice caught me off guard. I stared at the screen, stunned. It was as if the painful event that tore us apart had left no mark on him at all. Then again, why would it? I was the only one who had been drowning in the aftermath. Taking a slow, quiet breath to suppress the ache in my chest, I tried to stay calm. After all, I was the one who had cut off all contact. I was the one who had slept with the sole heir of the Harrington family, got caught by his powerful grandfather, and ended up banished across the Atlantic. Honestly, being sent away was the gentlest punishment they could have given me. I cursed myself silently. How could I have been so reckless back then? Fred was different from me. He was normal, destined for a bright, conventional future. He shouldn’t have been dragged into the dark, complicated mess of my life. I pressed my fingernails into my palms, letting the sharp pain anchor me. “Just here for Jude’s wedding,” I replied, keeping my voice as flat and emotionless as possible. “We’ll be heading back right after.” It was a lie, but it didn’t matter. As long as I didn’t actively seek him out, the chances of us crossing paths in a city this size were practically zero. He would never know when I left, and he likely wouldn’t care. Five years was a long time. It was more than enough to rewrite the history between two people. “You’re cold, Silas,” Fred said, a trace of bitter humor in his voice. “First you vanish without a single word, and now you can’t wait to draw a line between us. Tell me, do you really despise me that much?” It sounded like a joke, but I knew him too well. Having spent three years as his shadow, I could read the subtle shifts in his voice like a familiar book. My wrists felt stiff, hovering over the keyboard. When I finally let my arms drop to the table, they made a dull thud. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. When it came to Fred, I had never possessed an ounce of strength. “I don’t despise you,” I said softly, the weight of the confession heavy in my throat. The only person I despised was myself. “Then why did you…” Fred’s voice grew thick with sudden emotion, and his hand shot out, gripping my forearm tightly. The heat of his palm burned right through the thin sleeve of my shirt, making me shiver. “Daddy!” 3 I turned quickly. Jude was walking back toward us, holding Elia’s hand. The little girl broke free and ran, throwing herself into my arms. I spun around to catch her, shielding her as the heavy warmth on my arm vanished. Pulling a small comb from my bag, I knelt down to smooth the wild curls around her face. “Daddy, Grandpa gave me so many chocolates! I don’t want to eat them now. Can we put them in your bag?” “No sweets before dinner, okay?” I reminded her, opening my satchel so she could drop the colorful foil-wrapped candies inside. Like a little hurricane, Elia was gone as fast as she had arrived, dragging Jude toward the dessert table. “Is she… your daughter?” Fred’s voice drifted down from behind me, much lower and rougher than before. My hands froze as I sat back down. A sudden, cold panic gripped my chest. I silently prayed he hadn’t looked closely enough to see the familiar shape of her eyes, the familiar curve of her jaw. Feeling his heavy, searching gaze on me, I forced myself to nod. “You’re married?” he asked, his voice strained. I nodded again, my fingers returning to the keyboard, though I couldn’t see the screen through the haze of my anxiety. Elia had to remain my daughter alone. She had nothing to do with the Harrington family. “Does your wife know you’re gay?” The raw malice and mockery in his voice made me flinch. It was a tone I had never heard from him before. My fingers began to tremble. “I heard you spent three years pining after me, Silas,” Fred sneered, leaning closer. “Doesn’t that make you sick?” It felt as if a physical blow had landed on my chest, leaving a hollow, aching void. I hid my shaking hands beneath the long tablecloth, forcing myself to look up and meet his gaze. I managed to pull my lips into a fragile, hollow smile. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t feel that way anymore. And I won’t bother you again.” He looked thinner than he used to, his cheekbones sharper, his dark eyes like endless wells of shadow. But right now, his face held nothing but deep, burning resentment. It was a look that shattered the last of my resolve. I could barely draw breath under the weight of it. This was truly the end. We would never see each other again. A sudden rush of air brushed past me as he turned and walked away. 4 The wedding ceremony began, but as I glanced around the beautifully decorated hall, Fred was nowhere to be seen. He had left. I leaned back against my chair, staring down at the deep, red crescent marks my nails had carved into my palm. I had driven him away. No one wanted to share a room, let alone a meal, with the guy who had harbored a pathetic, secret obsession with them for years. It was bound to leave a bad taste in his mouth. The reception was flawless, like something out of a classic movie. “Silas, you should stay at the house while you’re in town,” Jude said afterward, his eyes slightly red from the emotional day. “I had your old room cleaned up and everything.” “It’s alright,” I said, offering a small smile as I squeezed Elia’s hand. “We’d only be in the way. The hotel is closer to the venues anyway. It’s easier.” “Are you still angry with Dad?” Jude asked softly. “The past is the past, Jude,” I murmured, reaching up to ruffle his hair gently. “Look at me. I’m doing just fine.” We were a blended family. My mother had passed away from complications during my birth, and due to my frail health, I spent my childhood living with my grandparents in a quiet coastal town. I was only brought back to the Kingsley estate when I started high school. Someone called Jude’s name from the crowd. I patted his shoulder, urging him to go tend to his guests. Using a ride-sharing app, I booked a car and took Elia to the lobby to wait. “Daddy, a nice mister gave me two candies earlier. One for you, one for me!” “A mister?” I asked, adjusting the hem of her lace dress. “Who was he?” It was probably one of Jude’s friends. “Remember, too much sugar will ruin your teeth. A princess can’t have a ruined smile.” “But these are really good! Better than the chocolates Grandpa gave me.” She opened her small hand, revealing a round candy wrapped in pale blue foil. A sea salt mint. My heart skipped a beat. The first time I had ever tasted that exact flavor, Fred had shoved it into my mouth after a grueling basketball practice. “Do you like them?” I whispered. “I love them!” she beamed. Children usually disliked the sharp, bracing taste of mint, but Elia’s tastes had always been uniquely her own. I took the candy from her hand, slowly peeling back the foil, and let the cool, sharp sweetness melt on my tongue. 5 The sharp ring of my phone woke me the next morning. I quickly hit the mute button, checking on Elia, who was still fast asleep under the heavy hotel comforter. Slipping out of bed, I walked barefoot out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind me before answering. It was Lance, my mentor and closest friend in London. I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment, waiting for his usual burst of high-energy chatter to quiet down before speaking. “Silas! Tell me you didn’t just ignore my brilliant greeting,” Lance’s accented English filled the line. A genuine smile touched my lips. “Of course not.” “How long are you staying in the States?” Lance asked. “I need a massive favor. The local agency I’m partnering with for a campaign needs a temporary photographer. One of their lead shooters went down with the flu.” “I’ll be here for about two months,” I replied. “If the schedule isn’t too crazy, I can help out.” I owed Lance a lot. He had taken me under his wing when I arrived in London with nothing but a camera and a broken heart. “You’re a lifesaver! Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” “Sure. Send me the details.” After hanging up, I went back inside. Elia was awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed and quietly flipping through her picture book. She never woke up grumpy, which was a blessing since I was useless before my morning coffee.

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Ethan’s mistress killed my brother. But he pushed a settlement agreement in front of me. “Stella has depression. She can’t handle prison.” “Sign it. Your grandmother’s heart surgery will proceed as planned. Don’t sign, and that heart goes to someone else immediately.” We loved each other for ten years, and now he’s using my grandmother’s life to buy his mistress’s freedom. I signed. Later, Grandma died anyway. Because Stella went to the hospital and told her personally. “I’m the one who ran over your grandson. Oh, and your granddaughter’s husband? He’s mine now too.” Grandma couldn’t catch her breath. Resuscitation failed. I rushed into the Sinclair mansion with a knife. Before I could even reach Stella, Ethan slapped me across the face. “What the hell is wrong with you!” That night, I jumped from a yacht into the deep sea. Cold seawater flooded my lungs. I didn’t struggle. I thought that was the end. Then Adrian Yale saved me. “Some fools will regret losing you.” He knelt on one knee. “And I’ve waited three years for you. Give me a chance, will you?”

Vivian POV My brother Derek’s body was still cold in the morgue, while his killer laughed openly in court. “Vivian, sign this settlement agreement and this case ends here.” A deep, cold male voice sounded in my ear. I stared at the man before me. He was the all-powerful tycoon of this city, and also my husband of three years in a secret marriage. Ethan Sinclair. At this moment, he stood beside the defendant’s seat, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting cold light as he pushed a document toward me. “Ethan, have you lost your mind?” I trembled all over. “Stella was street racing and ran a red light. The surveillance caught everything! Derek was only nineteen. He was thrown over thirty feet! And now you want me to sign a settlement?” Ethan frowned slightly, his tone impatient. “The surveillance has been destroyed. No one can prove Stella was driving. Vivian, stop making a scene. Stella has depression. She can’t handle imprisonment.” “She has depression, so my brother deserved to die?!” I stood up, my nails digging deep into my palms. I couldn’t understand. Three years ago, Ethan loved me to the bone. If I casually mentioned wanting to see snow, he’d cancel a billion-dollar merger and charter a private jet to take me to Switzerland. When I injured my wrist while painting, this powerful CEO would humbly apply warm compresses and massage it for me every day. To marry me, an orphan with no background, he convinced all his relatives and even took a beating for it. But ever since six months ago, when his childhood friend Stella returned from abroad, everything changed. He said Stella once saved his life, and he owed her an enormous debt. So he could indulge Stella’s arrogance, and now, he was even using my brother’s life to cover for Stella! “Vivian, my patience has limits.” Ethan looked at me coldly, his eyes devoid of warmth. “Your grandmother is still lying in the ICU. Her heart transplant surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. As long as you sign, the surgery proceeds as planned. But if you refuse…” He paused, his voice cruel. “That heart will immediately go to someone else.” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning, my mind going blank. “You’re threatening me with Grandma’s life?” I cried. “Ethan, are you even human!” “I only care about results.” Ethan remained unmoved. “You have one minute. Sign or don’t sign?” The courtroom fell deathly silent. Stella sat in the defendant’s seat, provocatively curling her lips at me. Looking at Ethan’s familiar yet strange face, my heart felt like it was being ground in a meat grinder. I had no way out. My brother was already dead. I couldn’t lose Grandma too. With trembling hands, I picked up the pen and signed my name on the settlement agreement. Every stroke felt like it was cutting my flesh. “Satisfied now?” I slammed the pen onto the table. Ethan collected the documents, handed them to his lawyer, and said indifferently. “That’s better. Go see your grandmother at the hospital. I’ve already paid for the surgery.” Then he turned and walked toward Stella, removing his designer suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders, his voice sickeningly gentle. “It’s over. I’m taking you home.” I collapsed powerlessly into the chair, watching their intertwined figures leave, tears falling silently onto my hands. Ethan, you’ve personally killed the last trace of my love for you.

Vivian POV After visiting Grandma at the hospital, I pushed open the door to the villa. In the foyer, there was an extra pair of women’s high heels. In the living room, Stella was lounging on the sofa in my silk pajamas, casually drinking coffee. “What are you doing here? Get out!” My voice was cold. Stella put down her coffee cup, smiling cheerfully. “Ethan said I was traumatized and needed someone to take care of me, so he told me to move in. What’s wrong, Vivian? Don’t you understand yet? It’s time for you to give up your position as Mrs. Sinclair.” “As long as I don’t sign divorce papers, you’re nothing but a homewrecker who can’t show her face.” I walked over and snatched the cup from her hand. It was a mug Ethan had handmade for me, with our initials carved on the bottom. Stella’s eyes flashed. She suddenly cried out, falling backward and sweeping the nearby floor vase down with her. A loud crash. Shards flew everywhere. “What happened?” The door burst open and Ethan strode in. “Ethan…” Stella sat on the floor, pale-faced, clutching her wrist with tears barely contained. “I just wanted some water. Vivian might be in a bad mood and pushed me… I don’t blame her. After all, with Derek’s situation…” “Vivian!” Ethan cut her off sharply, striding over to scoop Stella into his arms. He turned to glare at me. “What’s wrong with you? Haven’t you caused enough trouble in court?” I looked at his anxious expression and found it absurd. “I pushed her? Ethan, there are cameras here. Check them yourself!” “Enough!” Ethan wouldn’t listen. “Stella’s health is already fragile. Do you have to push her to death before you’re satisfied?” Just then, Stella clutched her chest, her face turning deathly pale as she fainted. “Stella!” Ethan’s expression changed dramatically. He immediately carried her out to the car. Half an hour later, at the private hospital. The doctor came out holding a report, his expression urgent. “Mr. Sinclair, Stella fainted from severe anemia. Combined with her blood clotting disorder, she urgently needs a transfusion. But she has RH negative blood, and our blood bank is critically low. Getting blood from other hospitals will take at least two hours. She can’t wait that long!” Ethan’s head snapped around, his gaze piercing straight at me. I instinctively took a step back. My blood type was compatible. Ethan knew. “Take hers.” Ethan pointed at me, his tone utterly flat, as if discussing an object. “Ethan, have you lost your mind? I haven’t rested properly in days. Drawing blood could kill me!” I looked at him in disbelief. “It won’t kill you.” Ethan grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the blood draw room. “Stella got sick saving my life. You owe her. Today you must repay it!” “I don’t owe her anything! Who’s going to repay my brother’s life?!” I struggled desperately, but couldn’t match a man’s strength. I was forcibly strapped to the blood draw chair. The cold needle pierced my vein. Bright red blood flowed through the tube. I looked at Ethan’s cold profile, a chill spreading from my heart through my entire body. They drew a full 400cc. My vision darkened repeatedly, cold sweat covering me. When the nurse removed the needle, I didn’t even have the strength to stand. I slumped to the floor. Ethan didn’t even glance at me. He took the blood bag and strode toward the emergency room. I leaned against the cold wall, watching his anxious retreating figure, and laughed. Ethan, what is your heart made of?

Vivian POV I recovered on the hospital corridor bench for a full two hours before I could barely stand. I didn’t return to the villa. Instead, I took a cab to my art studio. In three days, my solo exhibition, which I’d been preparing for three years, would open. This was my dream as an illustrator, the result of countless sleepless nights. Pushing open the studio door, the scene before me left me frozen. The floor was covered with torn sketches, paint splattered everywhere. Several large-scale oil paintings, my main pieces, had been slashed to ribbons with a knife. Stella stood there with several socialite friends, holding box cutters, smiling at me. “Oh my, Vivian’s here.” Stella tossed aside her knife and dusted off her hands. “Sorry about that. My hand slipped earlier and I damaged a few of your paintings. But don’t worry, Ethan will compensate you.” “Stella!” I rushed forward and grabbed her collar. “You psycho! Can you even afford to compensate?!” These were three years of my heart and soul! Every brushstroke contained my spirit! “Let go! You’re hurting me!” Stella struggled, then her eyes flashed. She suddenly jerked backward, her back slamming hard into an easel. The easel collapsed. Sharp wooden splinters tore through Stella’s arm. Blood gushed out instantly. Stella screamed. The studio door burst open at that exact moment. Ethan strode in. Seeing the scene, his pupils contracted sharply. “Stella!” He rushed over and shoved me aside. Already weakened, I slammed into the wall from his push. Pain exploded in the back of my head. My vision went black. “Ethan, it hurts…” Stella leaned against Ethan, crying with tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted to see Vivian’s paintings, but she suddenly went crazy…” Ethan looked at the blood on Stella’s arm, his expression terrifyingly dark. He turned to look at me, his eyes like poisoned daggers. “Vivian, do you think I’ve been too lenient with you?” I steadied myself against the wall, pointing at the destruction everywhere, my voice shaking. “Ethan, are you blind? She destroyed my exhibition! Destroyed my life’s work!” “They’re just some worthless paintings!” Ethan cut me off coldly. “If Stella’s hand scars, you couldn’t repay it with your life!” Just some worthless paintings. My heart convulsed violently. Once, even my casual sketches, he would carefully frame and hang in his study. He said my paintings were priceless treasures. Now he said they were just worthless paintings. “Someone get in here.” Ethan ordered the bodyguards outside. “Burn everything left here. Since she can’t control herself, she shouldn’t paint anymore.” “Ethan, don’t you dare!” I lunged forward but was held down firmly by the bodyguards. I could only watch helplessly as the bodyguards lit a fire barrel and threw my remaining sketches in one by one. The flames reflected in my eyes, burning away my last tears. I didn’t cry. I didn’t struggle anymore. I just stared at Ethan. Ethan carried Stella and left without looking back. “Vivian, you brought this on yourself.” Only the crackling sound of burning flames remained in the studio. I knelt before the ashes and laughed. Laughed until my heart broke, laughed with tears streaming down my face. The exhibition was completely ruined. I locked myself in my apartment for three days. On the fourth day, Ethan’s assistant knocked on my door and handed me a gilded invitation. “Mr. Sinclair is holding an engagement party for Stella next month. Mr. Sinclair said she really admires your artistic style. He hopes you can hand-paint a ten-foot-tall portrait backdrop for their engagement party.”

Vivian POV I looked at that invitation, finding it utterly absurd. “He wants me to paint an engagement portrait for him and his mistress?” I laughed coldly. “Is his brain damaged, or does he think I have no dignity?” The assistant lowered his head, his tone businesslike. “Mr. Sinclair said if you refuse, your grandmother’s private care room might need to be reassigned.” Grandma again. Ethan always knew how to exploit my weakness. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Fine, I’ll paint it.” For the next two weeks, I stood before the canvas day and night. A ten-foot oil painting required enormous physical strength and wrist endurance. My wrist already had severe tendonitis, and after being forced to give blood, my body was at its limit. Every brushstroke felt like needles stabbing my wrist. Halfway through, Ethan brought Stella to “inspect” the work. Stella looked at the canvas showing the two of them embracing and smiled with satisfaction. “Vivian paints so well. You made Ethan look so handsome. But the color of my dress train here, isn’t it too dark? Could you change it?” My hand holding the brush trembled uncontrollably. Cold sweat soaked my back. I ignored Stella and mechanically mixed colors. The brush slipped from my shaking hand and fell to the floor. Ethan frowned, looking at my trembling hand, annoyance flashing in his eyes. “Vivian, what are you pretending now? It’s just painting. Are you that aggrieved?” I bent down to pick up the brush, my voice eerily calm. “Not aggrieved. Mr. Sinclair pays, I deliver. As it should be.” Ethan snorted coldly. “Better be. The painting must be finished before the engagement party. If you delay Stella’s event, I’ll hold you accountable.” After they left, I collapsed on the floor, clutching my spasming wrist, gasping for breath. I looked at Ethan’s affectionate face on the canvas and suddenly felt nauseous. I grabbed the palette knife nearby, wanting desperately to slash the painting to shreds. But I held back. Grandma was still in the hospital. I couldn’t be impulsive. Two weeks later, the painting was finally complete. My wrist was swollen like a dumpling. I couldn’t even hold utensils. I delivered the painting to Ethan’s assistant, then went to visit Grandma at the hospital. Grandma’s condition had stabilized considerably. She held my hand and asked. “Vivian, why hasn’t Ethan come to see me in so long?” I forced back the bitterness and smiled. “He’s been busy with the company lately. He’ll visit you in a few days.” Walking out of the room, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes wearily. Soon. Once Grandma finished her final checkup, I’d take her and leave this city. Leave Ethan forever. On the day of the engagement party, Ethan rented out the city’s largest seven-star hotel. I didn’t go. Instead, I stayed in my apartment packing. Suddenly, my phone vibrated frantically. It was the hospital calling. “Vivian, your grandmother’s condition suddenly deteriorated. She’s having acute heart failure. She’s being resuscitated now. We need family members here immediately to sign consent forms!” My mind went blank with a buzz. I nearly dropped my phone. “I’m coming right now! Please, you must save her!” I rushed out of the apartment, only to find it was pouring rain outside. I couldn’t get a cab. Ethan had confiscated my car keys days ago, saying I was emotionally unstable and shouldn’t drive. I bit my lip and ran through the rain toward the engagement party hotel. It was the closest place where I could find Ethan. When I burst into the banquet hall, soaking wet, everyone’s eyes turned to me. Ethan wore a white designer suit, gently placing an engagement ring on Stella’s finger. “Ethan!” I rushed over and grabbed his arm, my voice desperate. “Give me the car keys! Grandma’s being resuscitated. I need to get to the hospital!” Ethan looked at my bedraggled appearance, frowning deeply, and shook off my hand. “Vivian, haven’t you made enough of a scene? Do you not realize what day this is?” “I’m begging you, give me the car keys!” I was crying desperately. “Grandma’s dying. I need to see her one last time!” Seeing this, Stella immediately put on a frightened expression and hid in Ethan’s arms. “Ethan, Vivian is so scary…” Ethan’s eyes went completely cold. “Vivian, you’d make up this kind of lie just to ruin my engagement party? Your grandmother was fine yesterday!” “I’m not lying! The hospital just called!” I sobbed desperately. I tried to grab the keys from Ethan’s pocket, but Stella deliberately blocked my way. As we struggled, Stella screamed and fell to the ground. “Stella!” Ethan flew into a rage and kicked me in the shoulder. I was sent flying backward, crashing heavily into a champagne tower. Glass shattered everywhere, shards piercing my palms and back. Blood mixed with rainwater flowed. “Someone!” Ethan looked down at me, his eyes ice-cold. “Lock her in the upstairs storage room! No one lets her out without my permission!” “Ethan! You can’t do this to me! Grandma’s waiting for me!” I struggled desperately, but two bodyguards dragged me away. The storage room door slammed shut. Inside, there were no lights. Complete darkness. I had severe claustrophobia. The darkness swallowed me like a tide. I pounded on the door, crying until my voice was hoarse. “Let me out… please let me out…” Outside came the cheerful music from the banquet hall and guests’ congratulations. I don’t know how long passed before my phone rang. I answered with trembling hands. “Vivian, I’m sorry. We did everything we could. Your grandmother… didn’t make it.” The phone slipped from my hand. I sat paralyzed in the darkness. I didn’t cry. I didn’t shout. My world had completely collapsed.

Vivian POV The storage room door didn’t open until the next morning. I was curled in the corner. The bodyguard looked at my condition with some sympathy. “Mrs. Sinclair, Mr. Sinclair says you can go now.” I said nothing. I stood up shakily and walked out of the hotel step by step. When I reached the hospital, I only saw a body on a gurney covered with a white sheet. I didn’t cry. I just stood there quietly, looking at Grandma’s peaceful face. The attending physician approached, his expression complicated, hesitant to speak. “Vivian, actually… your grandmother’s condition was very stable. But yesterday afternoon, a woman came to her room. We don’t know what she said to her, but her emotions became agitated, which triggered the heart failure…” I raised my head. In my deadened heart, a towering hatred instantly ignited. Stella! It was her! She killed Grandma! I turned and rushed out of the hospital. At a hardware store on the roadside, I bought a fruit knife and went straight to the Sinclair mansion. At the villa, Ethan was having breakfast with Stella. “Stella, go to hell!” I lunged at Stella with the knife. Stella screamed and dodged. Ethan reacted lightning-fast, pulling Stella behind him and catching the blade with his bare hand. Blood instantly flowed between his fingers. “Vivian, have you completely lost your mind?!” Ethan wrenched away the knife and backhanded me with a vicious slap. He used his full strength. I was knocked to the floor, blood trickling from my mouth, half my face instantly swelling. “She killed Grandma!” I pointed at Stella, screaming hoarsely. “She went to the hospital yesterday and provoked Grandma! Ethan, she’s a murderer!” Stella hid behind Ethan, crying and trembling. “I didn’t… Ethan, I was trying on my dress all day yesterday. I never went to the hospital. Is Vivian hallucinating from too much stress?” “You’re still lying!” I struggled to get up. “Enough!” Ethan cut me off sharply, looking at me with disgust and disappointment. “Vivian, I’m grieved about your grandmother’s death too, but you can’t attack people like a rabid dog! Stella was with me all yesterday. How could she go to the hospital?” I froze. Looking at Ethan’s certain expression, I suddenly understood. He was covering for her. To protect Stella, he could even erase Grandma’s death. “Ethan, you disgust me.” I looked at him and said nothing more. “Since you’re clearly unhinged, go cool off in the basement for a few days!” Ethan ordered the bodyguards coldly. “Lock her in the basement. Without my orders, no one feeds her!” The basement. No windows. No light. It was the place I feared most. Ethan knew perfectly well that I was kidnapped and locked in a dark room as a child, leaving me with severe psychological trauma. The bodyguards dragged me into the basement. The iron door slammed shut with a bang. Darkness instantly consumed me. I huddled in the corner, clutching myself tightly. Ethan, I’ve repaid everything I owed you. The darkness of the basement was like an invisible giant hand, strangling my throat. On the first day, I trembled with fear, sweat soaking my clothes. My mind kept flashing back to being kidnapped as a child, and Grandma’s face under the white sheet. On the second day, I developed a high fever. My wounds became infected. I fell into a semi-conscious state.

Vivian POV In extreme pain, I dreamed of Ethan from three years ago. Back then, because I was afraid of the dark, I had to leave a light on when sleeping. Once during a power outage, Ethan ran through the pouring rain across three streets to buy candles to fill the room. He held me in his arms, kissing my forehead over and over. “Don’t be afraid, Vivian. I’m here. I’ll never let you stay in the dark again.” How ridiculous. The person who said he’d never let me stay in the dark personally pushed me into the deepest abyss. On the third day, my fever broke. Fear and despair were exhausted. What remained was only the calm of stagnant water. I felt around in the dark for a sharp stone and carved marks on the wall. Each mark was a piece of my dying love for Ethan. When the iron door opened again, the blinding light made me instinctively close my eyes. Ethan stood in the doorway, looking down at me. I slowly stood up, brushed the dust off myself. My heart was as calm as a pool of dead water. No hate, no love. “Have you calmed down?” Ethan frowned. “I’ve calmed down.” My voice was hoarse but unusually steady. “Ethan, let’s get divorced.” Ethan paused, then sneered. “Divorce? Vivian, what game are you playing now to get my attention? You think threatening me with divorce will make me forgive you for attacking someone with a knife?” I didn’t argue. I simply walked past him and went upstairs. I returned to the master bedroom, took out a divorce agreement I’d drafted long ago, signed my name, and handed it to Ethan who had followed. “I’ll leave with nothing. Just sign it.” Ethan looked at the agreement, his expression instantly darkening. He snatched it away, tore it to shreds, and threw the pieces in my face. “Vivian, get this straight. When this marriage begins and ends is my decision! You want a divorce? Dream on!” I looked at the scattered paper on the floor. I wasn’t angry. I just said calmly. “Whatever you say.” I turned and walked into the bathroom, washing away the blood and grime. When I came out, I picked up my phone and dialed an encrypted number. “Mr. Yale, it’s me.” “The ‘fake death rescue’ service I booked, can we move it up? I don’t want to stay another day.” On the other end, Adrian Yale’s deep voice came through. “Yes. In a month, at Stella’s yacht party. That’s a good opportunity. I’ll arrange everything.” “Thank you.” I hung up and looked at myself in the mirror. Ethan, since you don’t want a divorce, I’ll just have to become a widow. For the following days, I was abnormally quiet. I no longer argued with Stella, no longer questioned Ethan. Like nothing had happened, I ate and slept on schedule every day. “Ethan, Vivian’s been so strange lately.” I heard Stella lean against Ethan, saying coquettishly. “Is she plotting something? Why don’t you make her move out of the master bedroom? I’m scared looking at her.” Ethan frowned. Looking at Stella’s aggrieved expression, he still nodded. That night, Ethan entered the master bedroom and told me coldly. “Move to the guest room. Stella hasn’t been sleeping well lately. The master bedroom mattress suits her better.” I nodded calmly. “Okay.” I opened the closet and only took a few changes of clothes. I didn’t even glance at the expensive jewelry and designer dresses Ethan once gave me. At the door, I stopped, removed my wedding ring, and casually tossed it in the nearby trash can. “What are you doing?!” Ethan rushed over and looked at the diamond ring in the trash, furious. “It’s dirty. Don’t want it anymore.” My tone was flat. Not just the wedding ring. The trash also contained love letters he once wrote me, dried flowers he gave me, even all our photos together. I threw away everything about him. “Vivian!” Ethan grabbed my wrist, his eyes churning with anger and panic. “What tantrum are you throwing now? I already compensated you for your grandmother. What more do you want?!” “Compensation?” I laughed until tears came. “Ethan, can human life be compensated? Let go of me. You disgust me.” I shook off his hand and walked into the guest room without looking back. Final countdown. Three days. To celebrate her engagement, Stella rented a luxury yacht for a party. She specifically had someone send me an invitation, saying the reason was “the family should be together.” I looked at the invitation and smiled. I’d been waiting for this day for a long time. The night of the yacht party, the sea breeze was cool. I wore a simple black dress, standing in the shadows on the deck. I watched Stella, the center of attention in the banquet hall, with Ethan beside her, looking distracted. I touched the mini voice recorder and camera hidden in my dress. Tonight, I’d make Stella admit she killed Derek and caused Grandma’s death. Then I would jump from this yacht and completely disappear from Ethan’s world. Ethan, get ready for your personal hell.

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On my birthday, Sean, the Alpha of Black Pack, was once again summoned away by his adopted daughter Lila. Furious, I posted a declaration on the werewolf forum: “The best birthday gift Sean gave me is his promise that I’ll become the Luna of Black Pack this year.” The next second, a provocative message from Lila popped up. It was a sex tape of Lila and Sean. In the video, all the buttons on her clothes had been violently torn open. Beneath her disheveled garments, glaring hickeys trailed down from her collarbone. And the broad-shouldered figure of the man on top of her—I could recognize him with my eyes closed. Below the video was a caption: “I gave my first time to my beloved Sean.” My phone screen froze on Lila’s provocative video. Behind the frosted glass, Sean’s silhouette in the shower pierced my heart like a thorn. On my 29th birthday, Sean left me alone in an empty villa and took his adopted daughter to a hotel. Looking at the post I’d made half an hour ago—visible only to him—I felt nothing but bitter irony. Unwillingness sprouted wildly in my chest like weeds. I grabbed my car keys and rushed out the door. His assistant said he was at the golf course today, playing with several Pack Alphas. I needed to ask him face-to-face what these ten years had meant. The golf course lawn was scorching hot. The caddy was about to announce my arrival when I raised my hand to stop him. I wanted to see how he’d explain today’s events in front of his brothers. I’d just walked behind the palm trees near the rest area when Sean’s voice drifted over, grating on my nerves: “I’m done with this hole. Lila just messaged saying she’s awake at the hotel and wants me to come back for brunch with her.” The Alphas playing with him burst into laughter. One of them slapped the table and teased: “Sean’s got eyes for no one but his adopted daughter these days. Last time we played, he took one call from Lila, dropped his club, and left. We were all stunned.” Another chimed in: “Speaking of which, Lila’s really blossomed into a beauty—tiny waist, long legs. Don’t tell me you’re not tempted, seeing her every day?” “Tempted?” His tone dripped with undisguised pride. He leaned back in his chair with a lazy, arrogant posture. “More than tempted. I took her virginity. She gave herself to me on her coming-of-age night.” As his words landed, the Alphas erupted in laughter, exchanging knowing glances. “Way to go, Sean! You know how to play it! Raised a girl for over a decade and made her yours in the end!” “I raised her all these years—what’s wrong with collecting a little interest?” Sean scoffed, his tone matter-of-fact. “Besides, her father died saving me back then. I owe her that much. Better she gives her first time to me than to some rogue or inferior Alpha out there.” Casual words, making his immoral possession sound like a grand favor. Someone laughed and added: “Aren’t you worried Elara will find out? Last time I saw her, she looked terrible. She’s probably sensed something.” At the mention of me, Sean’s tone turned cold, laced with undisguised disgust and impatience: “Her? What can she do even if she finds out? She’s nearly thirty, an Omega with no parents, no pack. Without me, she doesn’t even have a place to live. Does she dare make a scene?” He paused, as if remembering something, and scoffed with contempt: “Besides, who knows if she’s even clean? Ten years ago, she was in that alley with three rogue wolves for so long, her clothes all torn. Who knows what happened? I’m being generous by keeping her around. She should be grateful.” “Lila’s better,” he said, swirling his strawberry milkshake. His tone softened with a tenderness I’d never heard from him. “She grew up by my side. I know everything about her. She’s clean and well-behaved. She doesn’t nag me all day like Elara does. So damn annoying.” The Alphas chimed in one after another: “Exactly! A home-raised Omega is way better than a wild one! Clean and obedient!” “Elara’s so ungrateful. An Alpha willing to take her in is generous enough, and she still tries to control everything!” “If you ask me, Alpha, you should’ve dumped her long ago. Marry Lila—you’ll also win over her father’s old subordinates. Two birds with one stone!” Sean impatiently cut off the conversation, his tone suggesting even mentioning me was a mood-killer: “Enough, enough. Stop bringing her up. Why even talk about her?” “Let’s keep playing. Lila’s driving over to pick me up later. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

I stood behind the palm tree, my entire body freezing cold. So my ten years of companionship were nothing but charity in his eyes. The night I nearly got killed by rogues trying to save my sister Eirlys had become evidence of my uncleanliness in his mouth. Memory yanked me back ten years to that chaotic night. Wind whipped at my loose hair. In a daze, I was transported to that cold, rainy border dusk a decade ago. I was nineteen. Eirlys, who grew up with me in the orphanage, had been lured to the northern border by three wandering rogues. No one at the orphanage cared if we lived or died. The police didn’t take it seriously. I clutched the money I’d saved from six months of part-time work, bought the cheapest bus ticket, and chased after her to the border alone. When I crept into the warehouse, Eirlys was tied to a pillar, her face badly swollen, her clothes torn to shreds. Three rogues surrounded her, taunting her with vile words. My vision went red. I grabbed a rusty steel pipe by the door and charged in, swinging wildly at them like a madwoman. As an Omega, I was no match for three adult Alphas. I was quickly kicked to the ground. Fists and feet rained down on me. The pain was excruciating. But I shielded Eirlys behind me, gritting my teeth, refusing to retreat even half a step. Even if I died, I couldn’t let them touch my sister. Just as the lead rogue raised his club to smash my head, the warehouse door was kicked open. “BANG!” Sean stood at the entrance with Black Pack’s border patrol. His black tactical uniform was soaked with rain, his eyes cold as ice. He merely raised his hand, and the guards behind him rushed forward, pinning the three rogues to the ground. He walked up to me and paused. I was covered in injuries, my face smeared with mud and blood. Though I was trembling with fear, I still shielded my sister behind me. When I looked up at him, tears mixed with rainwater streamed down my face. He crouched down and reached out to wipe the mud from my face: “It’s okay now. You’re safe.” He brought Eirlys and me back to the border camp, found us clean clothes, and called the medical officer to treat our wounds. I sat by the campfire, watching him crouch in front of me, cleaning the wounds on my hands. “You’re an Omega, and you dared to break into a rogue den alone? Have a death wish?” He looked up at me, his eyes carrying a hint of reproach, but more than that, undeniable emotion. I bit my lip, my voice hoarse: “Eirlys and I both grew up in an orphanage. No parents, no one to care about us. She’s my only family. I couldn’t lose her.” His hand cleaning his gun suddenly froze. He looked up at me. For the first time, the sharp edge in his gaze softened, replaced by something indescribable. That night, he gave Eirlys and me his room while he and his team stayed in tents outside, keeping watch all night. Everyone in the camp knew Sean never let anyone into his room. We were the first. The next day when he returned from patrol, he had a handful of milk candies and wildflowers picked from the roadside: “The herder’s kids gave these to me. Brought them for you to try.” The usually cold Alpha’s ears turned red as he handed me the flowers. I stayed at the camp for five days. He avenged us, wiped out that group of rogues, and even found Eirlys a proper office job in Chicago, renting a small apartment with a balcony for her. The day I left, he leaned against his SUV, looking at me with a deep, serious gaze: “Elara, come back to Chicago with me.” “From now on, Black Pack will be your support. Anyone under my protection—no one in Chicago will dare touch them.” He paused, reaching out to ruffle my hair. The gesture was dominant yet gentle. “I’ll give you a home.” In my nineteen years, no one had ever said such words to me. Orphanage kids were always abandoned. No one cared if we lived or died. I looked into his eyes, nodded, and tears fell. He removed the wolf fang pendant he’d worn for over a decade from his neck and personally placed it around mine. “This is for you. When I’m not around, it’ll protect you in my place.” On my first birthday back in Chicago, he—an Alpha—personally baked me a cake. Back then, he sat across from me, smiling: “From now on, I’ll bake you a cake every birthday. We’ll be together forever.” The memory receded like a tide. Ten years. He lured me in with the promise of home, dulled my claws with Black Pack’s protection. In the end, he joined others in mocking my origins and questioning my purity. I steadied myself against the cold wall and slowly straightened up. I glanced one last time at the man laughing and chatting in the main seat, then without hesitation, threw the pendant around my neck into the trash. Sean, it was you who let go first.

I turned and left the golf course, walking aimlessly along the coastline. The sea breeze carried a salty tang, making the tear tracks on my face feel ice-cold. Ten years of genuine devotion wasted. Even hatred felt superfluous now—only endless exhaustion and emptiness remained. I walked to a secluded rocky beach, a place Sean and I used to visit often. He’d once promised me a home here. Ironically, now only I remained. Just as I crouched down to pick up a stone to throw into the sea, footsteps sounded behind me. I turned around. Three men in black hoodies surrounded me, their eyes vicious—clearly not good people. “You’re Sean’s Omega?” The leader sneered. “Our boss got ruined by Sean. Today we’re taking it out on you!” They were sent by one of Sean’s business rivals. My heart sank. I turned to run but they blocked my path. “Where do you think you’re going?” The man reached for my hair. “Sean’s so arrogant, isn’t he? Why isn’t anyone here to save you now?” I struggled desperately but was kicked hard in the stomach by one of them. Searing pain hit instantly. I curled up on the ground, drenched in cold sweat. Seeing I couldn’t move, they became even more brazen, reaching to tear my clothes. Just then, a figure stepped in front of me. A powerful Alpha aura erupted, instantly forcing the three rogues to their knees. “You dare cause trouble on Black Pack territory?” A deep voice came from above my head. I looked up to see a man in a dark blue suit. Behind him stood several guards in Black Pack uniforms, guns drawn and aimed at the three men. The man crouched down, reaching out to help me. His voice was steady: “Are you alright?” I tried to stand with his help, but another wave of abdominal pain struck. Everything went black. The last thing I felt was my body falling forward uncontrollably. I woke to the smell of disinfectant in a hospital. I moved slightly. A clear, heavy pain came from my lower abdomen. The medical officer approached, voice calm: “Elara, you’ve had a miscarriage.” I blinked, staring at the ceiling lights. I didn’t cry or break down. It felt like the moment I heard Sean’s words, my heart had already died. What I’d lost now was simply a child who should never have come into this world. The door opened. The man who’d saved me walked in, holding my examination report. The hospital room door opened gently. The man who saved me entered, my examination report in hand. “You’re awake.” He poured a glass of warm water and handed it to me, his movements gentlemanly, maintaining an appropriate distance. “I’m Kael.” So this was the legitimate Black Pack heir Sean had always been wary of. I took the water glass and said softly: “Thank you.” “Security has taken those three men away. They were sent by one of Sean’s business rivals.” He paused, looking at me. “Do you need to contact your Alpha?” Sean? I thought of how he’d bragged about sleeping with his adopted daughter at the golf course, mocking my uncleanliness. I shook my head. “No need.” Kael looked at me but didn’t press. “I’ve already paid the medical bills. You need to rest. Miscarriages are very hard on an Omega’s body.” I looked at him and suddenly smiled: “Kael, how should I thank you?” He paused, then shook his head: “No need. Protecting Omegas is every Alpha’s responsibility.” He left a business card and turned to leave the room. I was alone in the hospital room. Waves of pain from my lower abdomen kept coming, as if reminding me of my past foolishness. I picked up my phone and opened Sean’s chat interface. The last message was one he’d sent this morning: “There’s a family dinner tonight. Wear that white dress I bought you. Don’t be late.” I stared at those words for a long time. Then my finger slid across the screen. Block, delete, done. From the moment he said those words at the golf course, we were already over. This child’s departure simply gave me a reason to let go completely. I would never look back. Sean, we’re even now.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “407887”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I married my best friend Ethan Cole’s sister, Frost. I was addicted to her for three years, but ever since she gave birth to our daughter, she refused to share a bed with me. When she had needs, she’d rather take care of it herself than come near me. I once suspected something was wrong with me. When I was drinking with Ethan to drown my sorrows, I complained about it. The next evening, I saw Frost pin Ethan against the wall. “You know I’m in love with you! I already did what you told me to—I married Zachary, even gave him a daughter. And now you want me to be intimate with him too? Do you really not care if I live or die?!” Our daughter was wiping away tears beside them. “I like Uncle Ethan too. I want Uncle Ethan to be my daddy.” The veins on Ethan’s forehead bulged as he pulled them both into a tight embrace. “Frost, you’re in my heart too. I want to raise Emma as well. But we’re siblings on the same household register. What would people think if I married you?” “Besides, Zachary saved your life during that earthquake. You married him. You two should just live a good life together from now on.” “Emma, be a good girl. Your daddy gave you his kidney. You need to honor him from now on, understand?” Frost covered his mouth forcefully. “Isn’t giving him a child enough?!” “I can stay married to him, but letting him touch me is impossible. Except for you, I won’t let anyone touch me.” So my wife wasn’t frigid after all. Her body would only submit to another man.

I didn’t want to see or hear what came next. I walked home alone, lost and hollow. My chest hurt so badly I swallowed several painkillers. I barely made it through the night. At dawn, I contacted a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. The lawyer asked me, “Do you want to fight for custody? Your daughter is only six years old. The chances of custody going to the mother are very high.” I didn’t know. I had poured everything into Emma, but she didn’t want me as her father. I could only tell the lawyer, “Let me think about it.” The front door burst open. Frost came home with our daughter. I was about to bring up the divorce when my daughter suddenly wrapped her arms around my leg. Her innocent little face was full of pleading. “Daddy, Uncle Ethan’s company suddenly got scammed out of fifty million dollars. It’s about to go bankrupt. Can you sell the house and lend him the money?” These weren’t words a six-year-old should be saying. Seeing I didn’t react, Frost’s usually cold and distant face showed a panic and nervousness I’d never seen before. “Please, Zachary. If you help, I’ll do anything you want.” I lowered my eyes, not looking at her, my heart bitter. “You’ll do anything? Then if I ask you to give me another child, would you agree to that too?” “Yes!” My nails dug into my palms. I went to the bedroom and took out the property deed. “But think carefully. I’m down one kidney. I can’t work overtime or do physical labor. This house is the last safety net for you and Emma.” Frost didn’t hesitate for a second. She grabbed the deed and left. She mortgaged the house and spent days by Ethan’s side. I didn’t interfere. I just took my daughter to the hospital for another checkup. The doctor said she was very healthy after receiving my kidney and could live normally from now on. Leaving pediatrics, I stopped by nephrology for my regular checkup. I’d had to come every six months since donating my kidney. The doctor looked at my lab results, his brow furrowing tighter and tighter. “Mr. Spencer, you’re down to one kidney, and now this one is showing signs of mild failure. Your creatinine levels are elevated, and your urine protein is abnormal. You absolutely cannot overwork yourself, drink alcohol, or do strenuous exercise from now on, or you might need long-term dialysis.” My heart sank, but I kept my expression neutral. “Do I need medication?” “I’ll prescribe a course of out-of-pocket drugs. Three thousand dollars a box, taken continuously for three months. Your constitution was never very strong to begin with, and with all the stress lately…” The doctor sighed. “You must rest.” I walked out of the consultation room with my report and asked my daughter, “If Mommy and Daddy get divorced, who would you want to live with?” “Mommy.” My daughter answered without hesitation, looking at me happily. “Daddy, are you going to divorce Mommy? Then Mommy’s wish will finally come true.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. I notified the lawyer to give up custody. As I left the hospital, I spotted Frost’s car at the entrance. She looked at me with surprise. “Are you not feeling well? Or is Emma sick? Why didn’t you call me? I could have come with you.” I said flatly, “Emma’s checkup. Nothing serious. Aren’t you supposed to be with Ethan? What are you doing at the hospital?” Frost was silent for a moment, her eyes showing something like guilt. Then she pulled out an appointment slip. “I came to ask about IVF.” “You said you wanted a child. I’ll keep my promise.” For Ethan’s sake, she really was committed to preserving her chastity. She could give me a child through IVF, but she wouldn’t sleep with me. I tore the appointment slip in half. “Never mind. I thought about it. Emma doesn’t want a sibling anyway. Let me change my request.” Frost visibly relaxed. “That’s great. What do you want instead?” I handed her the divorce agreement where I’d given up custody. “Just sign this. That’s all I’m asking you to do.” Frost flipped straight to the last page. Before signing, she was about to look at what was written on the previous pages. The next second, her phone rang. “Frost, did you get the fever medicine? I think my temperature’s up to 102.” “I’ll be right there. Let me ask the doctor about precautions first, then I’ll come over.” She soothed the man on the other end while rapidly signing the agreement. My daughter was clamoring to see her uncle. Frost took her and left, telling me to get a cab home myself. So she didn’t come to the hospital for IVF after all. She came because Ethan had a fever.

I followed Frost to Ethan’s hospital room. I stood at the door like some shameful voyeur, peering through the gap. I could see everything inside clearly. Frost’s face wore the gentle smile I hadn’t seen in so long as she bent down to take Ethan’s temperature. Her movements were delicate, like handling fragile porcelain. After checking his temperature, she turned to pour water, tested its warmth, then counted out two pills from the medicine box and placed them in Ethan’s palm. Ethan lounged lazily on the sofa. He took the pills but didn’t swallow them right away. Instead, he pulled Frost into his arms and kissed her forehead. Frost smiled and pushed him away—that smile I’d never seen at home. The corners of her eyes curved, her lips turned up, looking like a girl acting coquettish. She held the water glass to Ethan’s lips and watched as he obediently swallowed the pills before nodding with satisfaction. I stood outside the hospital room, the cold wind in the corridor blowing through me. My heart felt frozen. After donating my kidney to my daughter, my health had deteriorated. Fevers of 104 degrees were common. She had never treated me with such tenderness. She would never smile at me like that. Never speak my name with honey in her voice. She would only call “Zachary” in that flat tone, like addressing a casual neighbor. She wouldn’t take my temperature or feed me medicine—she’d just tell me to take fever reducers, then sleep in a separate room. The difference between love and indifference was so painfully obvious. I pocketed my phone and turned to leave. Back home, I opened my mobile banking app to check if last month’s salary had been deposited. The kidney failure medication cost three thousand dollars a box. I needed to scrape together the money. The number on the screen made me freeze for a full ten seconds. Balance: $87.42 I checked the transaction history again. Besides the money transferred to Ethan for his “company emergency,” there were several recent purchases: Department store shopping $32,000, phone store $9,900, luxury boutique $21,000… all charged to my credit card. I collapsed onto the sofa and called Frost. It rang for a long time before she answered. “What is it?” Frost sounded impatient. “The credit card charges—was that you?” “Oh, I bought Ethan a suit and a phone. He has to meet with investors. He can’t look shabby.” “But you used my money. It’s almost seventy thousand dollars.” “You’re a grown man. Why are you so petty?” Frost’s tone was like scolding an unreasonable child. “Ethan’s company is going bankrupt. He needs decent clothes for business negotiations.” “Your medicine? Just borrow some money from your parents.” Ethan’s voice came through the phone, lazy and casual: “Come on, Zachary, don’t be so stingy. When my company recovers, I’ll pay you back tenfold.” I hung up and called Frost’s father. “Dad, my kidney is failing. The medication costs…” Her father was silent for a long time, then sighed. “I know you’re struggling financially, but your mom and I aren’t well-off either. We just helped your brother-in-law pay his mortgage a few days ago. We don’t have much left.” “We can give you two thousand at most. That’s it. You’ll have to figure out the rest yourself.” My phone vibrated. It was a transfer notification from Frost’s father. I sat in the empty living room. Sunlight streamed through the window onto me, but I felt no warmth at all. My phone vibrated again. A collection notice from the bank. I stared at the words “minimum payment due” on the screen and suddenly felt like a complete joke. The next day, I went out in my old jacket. Passing a street corner, a homeless man sat on the ground with a paper cup in front of him. I instinctively reached into my pocket and found only two coins. As I bent down to drop them in, a passerby looked at me with pity and also threw two dollars into the cup. I crouched on the curb, staring at those two coins, and laughed for a long time. I laughed until tears choked out of me.

Frost’s social media feed had become all about Ethan. Every caption was a prayer for his recovery, for his company to overcome its difficulties. In the photos, my daughter always nestled against Ethan, as if they were the family of three. I called a cleaning service to clear out everything I didn’t need. The clothes and gaming console she’d given me, the necklace and watch I’d given her, the stuffed animals and toys I’d bought for my daughter. The cleaner kept asking if I was really sure I wanted to throw it all away. I never changed my mind. After everything was tossed out, Frost came home. She stared at the empty house, her face full of shock. “Why did you throw everything away?” “The house is being sold anyway. We won’t need any of this. Why are you suddenly back?” Frost’s first words were a complaint. “Today is Emma’s birthday. Mom and Dad reserved a private room at a restaurant. Did you really forget?” How could I forget my own daughter’s birthday? It’s just that Frost’s parents didn’t like me. Every time, it was just the two siblings taking my daughter. There was never a place for me. When we entered the private room, we found a strange young woman already sitting inside. Frost’s mother beckoned to Ethan to sit down. “Ethan, look at your sister’s kid—she’s already six years old, and you still don’t even have a girlfriend. How can that be?” “This is my colleague’s daughter. You young people should get to know each other. If you’re compatible, get engaged quickly. I’m still waiting to hold a grandson.” Frost’s face immediately turned ugly. She gripped her daughter’s hand tightly, her eyes reddening. “Mom! You want a grandson—isn’t Emma right here? Why are you forcing Ethan to marry someone he doesn’t love!” “What nonsense. Who says he doesn’t love her? Feelings develop over time, just like you and Zachary. Didn’t you two have a good life after marriage?” “What I want is a grandson. What you gave birth to can only be considered a granddaughter from your side of the family.” Frost broke down crying: “That’s because you don’t know how miserable I’ve been since getting married!” “And I specifically let my daughter take my last name. She’s a Cole child. If Ethan agrees, I’ll let Emma call him Daddy!” My daughter crisply called out “Daddy.” Smoothly, as if she’d practiced it a thousand times. My heart felt crushed by a boulder. The surgical incision from the kidney donation throbbed with phantom pain, but I knew it was all in my head. What really hurt was my heart. Frost’s father, who had been silent, finally rebuked her. “You are you, and your brother is your brother. What does it mean for your daughter to call your brother Daddy?” “Sit down and eat properly. Stop making a spectacle in front of this young lady.” Tears streamed down Frost’s face. She turned to leave but didn’t notice the server entering with a stew. The server stumbled several steps from the collision, and scalding soup splashed everywhere. In that critical moment, both Frost and my daughter lunged toward Ethan. And I, forgotten where I stood, was drenched head-on with boiling water close to 200 degrees Fahrenheit. My skin burned with searing pain, like being roasted over a fire. After struggling for a few seconds, I lost consciousness. I don’t know how long passed before I heard voices. My eyelids felt sewn shut, but my ears could still hear. It was Frost’s mother’s voice. “Zachary, are you awake?” I felt someone grasp my hand—rough, warm hands. “The doctor said you have second-degree burns on your face and body. It’ll take months to heal. Mom feels terrible for you, but…” She paused, her voice becoming cautious. “We parents can see what’s going on between Frost and Ethan.” “But Ethan is the only son of the Cole family. You can’t ruin his reputation.” “You’ve already married Frost and had a daughter. Just turn a blind eye. Men need to be magnanimous.” I wanted to speak, but my throat felt stuffed with cotton. Frost’s father’s voice joined in, low and stern. “That’s right. Ethan said when you’re discharged, he’ll give you some money. You can find a woman on the side.” “As long as you don’t divorce, we’re still one family.” “Dad knows you’re being wronged. But think about it—Emma is still young. She can’t be without her mother.” “If you really divorce, you definitely won’t get custody. You’re in kidney failure. You can’t even support yourself.” Tears seeped from beneath my bandages, rolling over my burned skin. It hurt like being cut with a knife. But I couldn’t tell if it was the wound that hurt, or if my heart hurt more.

When I woke again, my daughter was leaning over my bed, her round eyes staring at me. I was about to comfort her that I was fine. But my daughter sighed regretfully. “Daddy, you slept for so long. I thought you died.” “If you had died, that would have been great. Then Mommy could be with Uncle Ethan.” “They’re in the living room talking right now. Mommy is crying so sadly.” My heart was torn open by her innocent tone. Enduring the pain throughout my body, I pushed open the bedroom door. Frost’s voice stabbed sharply into my skull. “Ethan Cole, let’s come clean to Mom and Dad. So what if they know we like each other!” “I can’t accept another woman being by your side. I’ll go crazy.” “As long as you’re willing to leave with me, I can even leave Emma behind. We’ll go somewhere where no one knows us!” Ethan flatly refused. “That won’t work. Have you thought about Zachary? Zachary is my best friend and your husband. I can’t let him lose both of us.” “Then why did you force me to marry him!” “Do you know that I used to feel guilty toward Zachary, but every single second of being married to him, I’ve hated him. You’re the one who made him lose us!” A pathetic groan escaped my throat. The bandaged area slammed hard against the door frame. Ethan’s expression changed drastically. He rushed over to support my shoulders. “Zachary, you’re awake. Does it hurt? Frost and I were just rehearsing a script. The screenwriter sent it earlier saying the emotions weren’t full enough, so we were practicing.” I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and forced a smile. “Is that so? I heard everything just now. I thought you both did very well.” Ethan helped me back to the hospital bed and gave a few instructions to “rest well” before hurriedly leaving with Frost. The moment the door closed, soft laughter drifted from the hallway. She was laughing, as if those words had never been spoken. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The wound started hurting again. It felt like fire burning beneath the bandages, but I didn’t even have the strength to cry out in pain. The door cracked open. Emma’s little head poked through. When her round eyes confirmed I was alone, she swaggered in. “Daddy.” She stood by the bed, clutching a pink hair clip in her hand—the one Ethan had given her last week. “What is it?” My voice was so hoarse it was barely audible. Emma climbed onto the chair by the bed, her legs swinging back and forth. She tilted her head and stared at me for a while before suddenly asking, “Daddy, when are you moving out?” I froze. “Uncle Ethan said his new house is ready. It has a bigger yard where we can have a dog. Mommy said she’s moving there too.” Emma counted on her fingers. “Grandma said after that, I can see Uncle Ethan every day.” “Daddy, can you move out quickly? Once you’re gone, we can live in the big house.” Her tone was as light as discussing tomorrow’s breakfast. There was no reluctance in her eyes, only pure anticipation. “Emma,” I tried to reach out to touch her face, “if Daddy leaves, no one will tell you bedtime stories.” “Uncle Ethan will!” She proudly lifted her chin. “Uncle Ethan tells better stories than you.” I withdrew my hand, my fingertips trembling slightly. Emma jumped off the chair and ran to the door. Then she turned back and seriously reminded me: “Daddy, when you leave, take all your stuff with you. Mommy said not to leave anything here. It takes up space.” With that, she ran off. The patter of footsteps in the hallway grew fainter and fainter. I slowly closed my eyes. Takes up space. So in her eyes, even my existence was superfluous. The string that had been stretched taut finally snapped in that moment. I fumbled under my pillow for my phone and sent a message to the lawyer: “Process the divorce agreement as originally drafted. I don’t want a penny. Just make it fast.”

My face and body were wrapped in bandages. I stayed home for many days without going out. I thought Frost would be thrilled. She could brazenly cling to Ethan without worrying I’d find out. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed home taking care of me. She’d wake early in the morning to make chicken soup, then call me to eat after I woke up. She’d patiently help me apply medicine, and when the wounds were exposed, she’d even have our daughter blow on them gently. I couldn’t understand what she was trying to do. Until I discovered she had transferred our last bit of savings to Ethan as well. Frost could never give me any emotional response. The better she treated me, the more it meant she was hurting me. But fortunately, I didn’t need that money. The seven years I’d been married to Frost were probably the poorest seven years of my life. I just quietly urged the lawyer to process the divorce paperwork. Every night after I went to bed, Frost would quietly leave by car. She thought I didn’t know, but I was awake every time. Even Emma knew. Emma asked me, “Daddy, aren’t you angry that Mommy goes out?” I just shook my head with a smile. I knew where Frost went. The year Emma was born, we had exchanged GPS locations—just a small feature that was easy to forget. Now every day I could see her location appearing at Ethan’s house. That evening, Frost’s mother called about a family dinner to celebrate Ethan’s company “overcoming its difficulties.” I wanted to refuse, but Frost gently persuaded me: “The bandages are off your face. It would be good for you to get out. Besides, Emma wants you to come.” I knew Emma didn’t want me there, but I still put on my cleanest shirt to cover the scars on my neck. At the restaurant’s private room, there was Frost’s father and mother, Ethan, Frost, Emma, and that blind date woman from last time. The atmosphere was much better than before. Ethan wore his new suit, looking spirited as he poured drinks for everyone. Emma wore a pink princess dress today with two little buns. Frost had done her hair. Frost’s mother suggested having Emma pass around cookies to the elders. “Come on, Emma. Start with Grandma.” Emma helped pass around a plate of cookies and walked over, saying sweetly, “Grandma, please have cookies.” Frost’s mother beamed with joy. “Now serve one to your uncle.” Frost’s mother pointed at Ethan with a smile. Emma walked up to Ethan, and suddenly called out crisply: “Daddy, please have cookies.” The entire room fell silent for a moment. The sound of knives and forks dropping on the table was particularly clear. Frost’s mother paused, then smoothed things over. “This child, why are you calling people the wrong names?” Emma said seriously, as if she’d rehearsed it many times, “Mommy said Uncle Ethan is my new daddy. Daddy is moving out soon.” Everyone’s eyes turned to me. My hand holding the water glass was trembling. Scalding water splashed out and burned the back of my hand, but I felt nothing. I looked at Frost. She was looking down at her phone, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned with a trace of smug satisfaction. Ethan, on the other hand, acted magnanimous, pulling Emma close and kissing her cheek. “Emma is such a good girl. Uncle Ethan will be good to you from now on.” Then he looked up, meeting my eyes, and said with a smile: “Zachary, don’t take it to heart. Kids are young and don’t understand.” I opened my mouth, wanting to say something. Frost’s mother across from me sighed, looking at me with an expression that said “why are you so stubborn”: “Zachary, the child made a mistake. Don’t take it personally.” I lowered my head, looking at the water glass in my hands. The water reflected my face—half covered with red marks from the burns, like an ugly birthmark. I suddenly felt a bitter taste in my mouth. More bitter than kidney failure medication. I set down the water glass and said quietly, “She’s right. I am moving out soon.” Then I stood up, grabbed my jacket, and walked out of the private room. Behind me came Emma’s cheers: “Yay! Old Daddy is finally leaving!” Then Frost’s soft laugh, Ethan’s “Come on, let’s keep eating,” and Frost’s mother’s “Don’t worry about him. That’s just his temperament.” I stood outside the restaurant entrance. The night wind poured into my collar, blowing against the scars on my neck—painful and itchy. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Frost. “It’s better that you left. With you there for Emma’s birthday, everyone felt awkward.” I didn’t reply.

My injuries improved day by day. The lawyer finally contacted me. “Mr. Spencer, your divorce certificate has been processed. I’ll send it to you by courier.” I immediately stopped him. “Don’t send it by courier. I’ll pick it up in person.” I couldn’t wait even one more day. Two thin pieces of paper—what I’d been desperately waiting for. I gave Emma the one that belonged to Frost. “When your mommy comes home, show her this document.” Just as I was about to leave for the airport, I suddenly received a call from Ethan. “Zachary, come quick! Something happened to Frost!” I arrived at the bar where Frost was. After asking many people, I finally found the second-floor public restroom. I saw Frost’s thighs wrapped around Ethan’s waist. She was continuously rubbing and kissing the man’s neck, trying to unbutton his shirt. Her voice was sickeningly sweet as she murmured. “Ethan, do you know how happy I’ve been these past days with you? It’s like a dream.” “Accept me. Let’s be together forever.” In the open space, Ethan spotted me immediately. His voice was gentle and coaxing. “What about Zachary? He’d risk his life for you. He’d be devastated to hear you say this.” Frost’s voice carried a sobbing tone. “I don’t care about him. Do you know, when I gave birth to our daughter, I wanted to strangle her?” “I can’t accept that Zachary and I have a child together!” “If only he hadn’t saved me back then. We’d still have a chance to be together, wouldn’t we?” I’d heard these words so many times I’d lost count. Besides feeling sorry for my daughter, I couldn’t summon a single emotion. Ethan called me over. “Zachary, don’t listen to Frost’s nonsense. She drank something spiked just now. She’s confused.” “Take her aside and help her with the antidote.” He said this, but his hands made no motion to push her away. He just watched as Frost’s hand gradually reached for his belt. She even waved her hand to slap me. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you. Get away.” I laughed. “The antidote, right? Fine, I’ll help you both.” The moment I finished that sentence, before I could make any move, several people in uniforms suddenly rushed up the stairs. “Zachary Spencer? Someone reported that you’ve been domestically abusing your wife long-term and threatening to harm your wife and daughter. Please come with us to the station for investigation.” Two officers grabbed me from both sides, twisting my arms behind my back. “I never abused anyone!” I struggled and shouted. Frost suddenly “sobered up,” tears streaming down her face as she rushed to the police: “Officers, it’s him! After he was disfigured, his temper got worse and worse. He hits me constantly.” “Today he got drunk and said he’d take our daughter with him to die. I was terrified, so I called the police!” She cried hysterically, her shoulders shaking, looking like someone who’d been victimized for a long time. I stared wide-eyed at her performance, unable to say a single word. What broke me even more was that my daughter Emma appeared from nowhere, tugging at Frost’s clothes, tears in her eyes as she told the police: “Police officers, my daddy hits my mommy and said he’d kill me.” She said it so naturally, without a single stammer. I crouched down, trying to touch her face. “Emma, when did Daddy ever—” “Don’t touch me!” Emma screamed and dodged, hiding in Ethan’s arms. Ethan looked pained as he told the police: “Officers, I’m her brother. My sister hasn’t had a single good day since marrying him. Today he got drunk and followed us here to cause trouble. We really had no choice.” Under Ethan and Frost’s accusations, I was handcuffed and taken to the police station. I sat in the interrogation room for two hours while a young officer kept repeating the same questions. “Do you admit to domestic violence?” “I didn’t do it.” “Your wife and daughter both identified you. Neighbors also reported hearing arguments from your home.” “Arguments don’t equal domestic violence.” “Then how do you explain the bruises on your wife’s body?” I froze. Frost had bruises on her body?

After staying in the interrogation room for 24 hours, when I walked out of the police station, I felt like I’d been through another lifetime. Ethan’s car was parked at the police station entrance. He got out and walked toward me.He patted my shoulder, his voice as warm as a true brother’s. “Zachary, just revise the property division in the divorce agreement. Give the house and savings to Frost.” “Then I’ll have them drop the case. Otherwise, as a domestic abuser, you can forget about ever seeing your daughter again.” The night wind blew through me. I was chilled to the bone. “You’re the one who called the police.” I said. Ethan didn’t deny it. He just smiled. “Zachary, I’m doing this for your own good. Look, your health isn’t great. Wouldn’t living alone be easier? The assets are useless to you anyway. Give them to Frost and Emma, and they’ll remember your kindness.” I looked at him. At this man I’d once considered my brother. The streetlight stretched his shadow long, like a twisted vine. I signed the case withdrawal agreement. The house went to Frost. The savings went to Frost. Custody of my daughter went to Frost. I left with nothing. Ethan drove away with Frost and Emma. As they passed me, Frost rolled down the window and said flatly, “Smart choice.” Emma pressed against the car window and made a face at me. I stood at the police station entrance, clutching that thin divorce certificate. The night wind blew, and the paper’s corner dug into my palm. It didn’t hurt. I’d already endured worse pain than this. The streetlight stretched my shadow long and faint, like ink that could dissolve at any moment. I remembered the day three years ago when we got our marriage license. Frost didn’t smile once. When the clerk said “congratulations,” she just hummed in response. I thought she was shy at the time. Now I understood—that was the politeness of someone completely indifferent to another person. My phone vibrated. I looked down. It was a voice message from Frost’s mother. I hesitated for two seconds before opening it. “Zachary, Mom knows you signed the papers today.” Her voice was low, as if hiding from someone. “Mom wants to tell you something from the heart—it’s actually better that you’re leaving.” “Your face and neck are covered in scars. Emma’s still young. If she sees them too much, she’ll have nightmares.” “Don’t come to the house anymore, and don’t come see the child. Let her slowly forget you. It’s better for her.” My hand holding the phone trembled. My throat felt blocked by something. I wanted to say: Mom, those scars are from donating a kidney to save your granddaughter. Those scars are from protecting your daughter when boiling water scalded me. But I said nothing, because I knew it would be useless. The voice message finished playing. The screen lit up again—Frost’s mother had recalled the message. A few seconds later, she sent a new one: “Zachary, Mom sent the wrong message just now. Take care of yourself while you heal.” I didn’t reply. I looked up and saw a 24-hour fast food restaurant across from the police station, warm yellow light glowing through the glass windows. Inside sat a family of three. The parents were wiping their child’s mouth. The child laughed and burrowed into the mother’s arms. I watched for a few seconds, then reached into my pocket for my phone and removed the SIM card. I bent down and threw it into a storm drain by the road. When the card fell, it made no sound at all—like a complete and utter silence. I straightened up and hailed a cab. “Where to?” the driver asked. “Airport.”

The car started moving. Through the rearview mirror, I watched the police station gate grow smaller and more distant, finally becoming a point of light that disappeared into the night. Outside the window, this city’s thousands of lights were like a silent river. I sent no messages. I made no calls. Not because I feared they’d ask me to stay, but because I knew too clearly—no one would ask me to stay anyway. So be it. From today on, Zachary Spencer had no more weaknesses. After flying back to New York, I checked into the best hospital. No information leaked out. My grandfather’s people cleared the entire floor. Even the nurses had to sign confidentiality agreements before being allowed in. It wasn’t the Spencer family being ostentatious—I just didn’t want anyone to know where I was. Especially not the Coles. Top dermatology experts came to consult on my case, making sure not a single scar would remain on my body. It wasn’t about vanity or saving face. It was because even the slightest trace proving Frost’s existence made me feel sick. The expert team conducted three consultations. Each time they took dozens of photos and used instruments to scan every inch of burned skin. Professor Smith, who led the team, was a national authority in burn treatment. After examining my wounds, he frowned for a long time before finally saying: “Mr. Spencer, your burns weren’t treated promptly enough at the time. Some areas have already formed scar tissue. To remove them completely will require at least three laser surgeries.” I said, “Do it. I’ll pay whatever it costs.” Professor Smith nodded, then hesitated and asked, “These scars… how did you get them?” I didn’t answer. He probably read something in my expression and didn’t press further. On the third day of hospitalization, I underwent a comprehensive physical examination. When the results came out, the attending physician called me to his office with a grave expression. “Mr. Spencer, your current physical condition isn’t very optimistic.” “You’re down to one kidney, and that kidney’s function indicators have been steadily declining. If we don’t find a suitable kidney source soon, within three to five years, you’ll likely need long-term dialysis.” I sat in the consultation room, looking at the kidney anatomy diagram on the wall, and suddenly felt like laughing. I gave my daughter a kidney, and now even my remaining one was failing. The doctor continued, “The good news is we’ve registered you in the national organ donation system.” “With Mr. Spencer Senior’s network, we could find a matching kidney source within three months at the fastest. However…” He paused, looking at me. “However what?” “However, you need to prepare yourself mentally. After kidney transplant surgery, you’ll need to take anti-rejection drugs for life. You can’t overwork yourself, can’t exercise strenuously, and your immune system will be much weaker than a normal person’s.” “Moreover, a second kidney transplant carries much higher risks than the first.” I was silent for a long time. The sunlight outside was beautiful, shining on the white sheets, so bright it hurt the eyes. I remembered three years ago, lying on the operating table at another hospital. Before the anesthesia was administered, I looked at Frost one last time. She stood outside the operating room with no expression on her face. Before the operating room doors closed, I wanted to say something to her, but the anesthesia had already kicked in. My mouth wouldn’t open. When I woke up, there was a four-inch scar on my side and one less kidney in my body. Frost sat by the bed. When she saw me wake up, the first thing she said was, “The surgery was quite successful. Emma is in the ICU for observation now.” No “does it hurt.” No “thank you.” As if I’d just gone to donate blood—perfectly natural. “Mr. Spencer?” The doctor called me. I came back to myself and nodded. “I understand. Schedule the surgery as soon as possible.” As I walked out of the consultation room, I stood in the hallway for a long time. My phone rang. It was a message from my grandfather: “Rest up properly. Don’t think about useless things. The Spencer bloodline doesn’t fall down so easily.” Looking at that message, my nose suddenly stung. Right. We don’t fall down so easily. I’d already fallen once. I wouldn’t fall a second time. The doctor also said my current physical condition was too poor. Surviving on just one kidney, there would come a day when it exceeded its capacity. But fortunately, I waited less than three months before finding a suitable kidney source. The day I came out of the operating room, the old man had been waiting in my hospital room for half a day. As soon as he saw me, his face darkened. “Do you know what you did wrong?”

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