Category: English

[Ding—Mission accomplished. Would you like to extract from this world?] The moment the mechanical system voice chimed in my head, I had just stepped out of the prison gates. Today was my thirtieth birthday, and it was also the day I regained my freedom. Outside the heavy iron gates, three women were already waiting. Laura, Maria, and Sophie. Ten years ago, one swore she’d marry no one but me, another threatened to crash my wedding to steal me away, and the third promised to shield me from the world forever. Now, their eyes were icy, looking at me as if I were a piece of trash. “You paralyzed Julian. Did you really think serving two years in prison would wipe the slate clean?” Laura sneered. “Do you finally regret what you did?” Maria added. Julian. The little angel they kept close to their hearts. I smiled faintly, remaining silent. I bent down and rolled up my left pant leg. The metallic prosthetic leg gleamed coldly under the harsh afternoon sun. “I do,” I whispered. My only regret was being blind back then. My only regret was trusting them. What they didn’t know was that Julian’s legs didn’t even have a scratch on them. The one who had actually lost a leg, the one who had been tortured to the brink of death in prison for two years, was always me.

Before I was thrown into prison, I had shown them my prosthetic leg, just like I did today. But they didn’t believe me. “You’re a professional dancer, Davis. If you were really crippled, you’d rather die than live like this. Stop faking it,” Sophie had said back then. To avenge Julian, Laura used her family connections to make sure I was thrown into a cell block with the most violent offenders. Those inmates didn’t dare to kill me, but they found every possible way to break me. A dislocated jaw, a broken nose, parts of my scalp ripped off—that was my daily routine. The prison doctor would patch me up just enough to keep me alive, only to throw me back into the pit. Over and over again. Yet, the official reports sent to the guards always read: Inmate 44 is in perfect condition. Now, the fact that I was standing here, breathing the fresh air, was a miracle in itself. Suddenly, Maria grabbed me by my hair. Her fingers dug right into the spot where my scalp hadn’t fully healed. I clenched my jaw, breaking into a cold sweat from the blinding pain. Startled by my reaction, she quickly let go, but her brows immediately knitted into a frown of disgust. “Do you still think you’re some kind of prince, Davis? I barely touched your hair. Why the dramatic reaction? Is it really necessary?” I could feel warm blood slowly trickling down my scalp. The pain was numbing. I didn’t want to waste another second on them. I just wanted to find a cheap clinic, patch myself up, and use the system to leave this godforsaken world. I was a transmigrator, a soul traveling through parallel universes on love-conquest missions. And Laura, Maria, and Sophie were the most unusual targets I had ever encountered. I didn’t even have to try to win them over. The moment they met me, they did a complete u-turn and chased after me like crazy. Thinking back to those ridiculous memories, I let out a self-deprecating laugh. I had traveled through so many worlds and met people far better than them. How did I end up throwing my heart away on these three? But they obviously had no intention of letting me leave. Sophie grabbed my wrist. Her grip was tight, her eyes completely devoid of warmth. “Julian knows you’re getting out today, and he’s in a terrible mood. You’re coming with us to get on your knees and beg him for forgiveness. Make him feel better.” A sickening crack echoed in the quiet air. My wrist was broken. Again. Laura frowned slightly. “Sophie, watch your strength.” Sophie quickly pulled her hand back, looking at her palms in genuine confusion. “I barely touched him.” She was right. She didn’t use much force. But she didn’t know that the inmates in prison had broken my wrists so many times that the bones were fragile. They would snap at the slightest pressure. “Whatever. It’s just a fracture. It’ll heal. Let’s take him to Julian first,” Laura said, waving her hand dismissively. At that moment, Maria pulled out three envelopes from her purse. She took a quick glance at them, and after getting a nod from the other two, she tossed them straight into a nearby trash can. They were the love letters they had written to me years ago. Now, they found their own past words disgusting. “If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have wasted a single second on you, Davis. Only Julian deserves my love.” The blood from my scalp was still dripping, making my head spin. My vision started to blur. Sophie was the first to notice something was off. “Why is his forehead bleeding?” The blood dripped down my forehead, splashing onto the dusty pavement, blooming like tiny red flowers. My body swayed. I felt a strange sense of relief. Finally, they noticed. Maybe now they would take me to a clinic. Instead, Laura let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Playing the pity card? That trick doesn’t work twice, Davis.” “You weren’t like this when you were twenty.” “Over the years, under our protection, you didn’t keep your innocence. You just became more toxic and manipulative day by day.”

Laura mentioning my twenty-year-old self brought back a rush of memories. At twenty, I was the guy every boy in college wanted to be. I came from a wealthy Boston family and had the looks to match. More importantly, I had three stunning girls constantly by my side. Laura, Maria, and Sophie grew up together. Perhaps because their lives were so intertwined, their taste in men was identical. They all fell head over heels for me at the same time. However, they didn’t tear each other apart. Instead, they made a pact to compete fairly. They all had different ways of pursuing me. At twenty, I admired independent, confident women. I couldn’t resist Laura’s elegant, self-assured charm. So, I chose Laura. Everyone at school thought that once Laura and I got together, Maria and Sophie would move on. But they didn’t. They still put me above everything else. If Laura was even slightly neglectful as a girlfriend, they would call her out on my behalf before I could even say a word. Our dynamic was unconventional, but it worked. This lifestyle lasted until I turned twenty-six. That year, my family went bankrupt. My parents passed away shortly after, and I went from a wealthy heir to a nobody overnight. I refused their financial help. I wanted to stand on my own feet, so I got a job as a professional theater dancer. During a cast dinner one night, I ran into Julian, who was being severely bullied by some corporate sponsors. He was four years younger than me, a fresh graduate, looking completely helpless and terrified. I couldn’t stand bullies. Having been protected my whole life, I acted on impulse. I grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it over the bully’s head. The man let go of Julian, but his bodyguards immediately lunged at me. The restaurant turned into absolute chaos. Since I was outnumbered, I got beaten to a pulp. Fortunately, Laura and the girls arrived with their own security detail just in time. Their bodyguards pinned the fat, middle-aged bully to the floor, forcing him to beg for mercy before he was dragged away. Once the air cleared, Julian fell to his knees in front of me. His eyes were red as he cried, “I’m so sorry, Davis. This is all my fault.” I thought I would never see Julian again. But while I was recovering in the hospital, he showed up with a bag of cheap, bruised fruit. I was staying in a luxury VIP suite arranged by Laura, and Julian looked incredibly out of place. He rubbed his hands nervously. “Davis, if it weren’t for you that night, I don’t know what would have happened to me…” “I asked Laura, and she said you like exotic fruits. I bought these. I hope you recover soon.” The fruit he brought was actually half-rotten. But to spare his feelings, I ate it anyway. That night, I ended up with severe food poisoning, throwing up and suffering from acute gastroenteritis. Laura and the girls scolded me for being too naive, then went to confront Julian. Julian, who had never faced such fierce women, panicked. He apologized to me in tears while venting about how he had just been fired from his internship. Back then, I thought he was just a sweet, helpless kid. I felt sorry for him and wanted to help. So, I pulled some strings at the theater and hired Julian as my personal assistant. It was the single worst decision of my life.

“What are you zoning out for?” Laura’s voice snapped me back to reality as she shoved me into the back seat of the SUV. The four of us were sitting in the same car again, a setup that felt like a sick mockery of our past. I was exhausted. I leaned my head against the cold glass window, closing my eyes to endure the throbbing pain in my wrist and head. In the confined space of the car, the metallic scent of fresh blood quickly filled the air. Sophie frowned, sniffing the air. “Is that… blood?” Laura, who was driving, glanced at the rearview mirror with a deep scowl. “Ask him,” she snapped. Sophie nudged my shoulder. I forced my eyes open, looking at her with a dazed, empty stare. Sophie reached out and wiped a bit of the blood from my forehead with her fingertip. “Is special effects makeup really this realistic nowadays?” she asked, her voice laced with skepticism. Looking at her clueless face, the corner of my lip twitched into a bitter smile. “What’s so funny?” she demanded. I shook my head and closed my eyes again. I was laughing at how stupid they were. No, these three women were highly intelligent Ivy League graduates. They were just so blinded by their hatred for me that they refused to see the truth. Since I didn’t say anything, they stopped asking, assuming I was just playing a pathetic prank with fake blood. Soon, the car pulled up to a familiar luxury high-rise. Looking at the building, I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. Before my family went bankrupt, we owned the penthouse here. My parents had to sell it to pay off their debts. From the passenger seat, Maria spoke in a casual tone. “Don’t look so shocked. Julian said he loved this place, so the three of us bought it as a gift for him.” A wave of cold dread washed over me. Standing before the doors of my childhood home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I stared at the three women who had once promised to stand by my side forever. “You knew I was saving every penny to buy this place back for my parents.” “Yet you bought it and gave it to Julian?” My parents loved this place. It held all our family memories. That was the whole reason I worked so hard as a dancer—I didn’t want to rely on these women’s money to buy it back. I was so close to having enough. Then, I was thrown into prison. And during those two years, they handed my home to Julian on a silver platter. My chest felt suffocatingly tight. The three of them exchanged glances, their expressions hardening. “Julian wanted it for his twenty-fourth birthday. Of course we were going to make his dream come true,” Laura said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “There are plenty of other penthouses in this building. If you like it so much, buy a different one.” “Besides, you made Julian a cripple two years ago. What’s wrong with giving him this apartment?” Sophie added. “We’re just helping you pay for your sins, Davis.” Was I supposed to thank them for stealing my home to pay for a crime I didn’t commit? How pathetic. Just then, the front door opened, revealing a pale, handsome young man. He was wearing loose white sweatpants, sitting in a high-tech wheelchair. When he saw me, Julian let out a soft gasp and quickly shielded his face. “He… why did you bring him here…?” Tears instantly streamed down his face. Two years, and he was still a master of crying on cue. If I had known he was this good at acting, I would have introduced him to a Hollywood agent instead of making him my assistant. Julian’s sudden panic immediately triggered the protective instincts of the three women. They glared at me like lionesses, ready to pounce if I even breathed in Julian’s direction. My head throbbed violently from his crying. Staring at his “paralyzed” legs hidden beneath the loose fabric of his pants, I spoke quietly. “Why don’t you roll up your sweatpants, Julian? Show them your prosthetic leg.”

Before my voice could even fade, Laura’s hand whipped across my face. Slap! The force of the blow made my ears ring sharply. Laura looked at me with deep disappointment. “Do you have to keep tormenting him, Davis? How did you become so heartless?” It was almost comical. My ears were ringing so loudly that their shouting sounded like they were underwater. Julian didn’t have to do a thing. All he had to do was sit in that chair and cry, and these three powerful women would fight his battles for him. When Julian first became my assistant, he was like a shadow, following me twenty-four hours a day. Whenever I hung out with Laura and the girls, Julian was always there. The balance of our four-person group was completely shattered by his presence. My dancing career was taking off back then, and within a year, I was headlining solo tours. Because of this, I was barely in Boston. Julian always found excuses to stay behind instead of traveling with me. Though I wasn’t happy with his work ethic, I didn’t make a big deal out of it. But gradually, I noticed that our active group chat had gone completely dead. Soon, I found out why. Julian had created a separate group chat with the three of them. They were talking and laughing in their new group every single day, leaving me completely in the dark. I could accept Julian joining our circle, but I couldn’t accept being pushed out of my own life. Especially when one of those people was my girlfriend, Laura. I had a massive fight with Laura about it. In a desperate attempt to get her attention, I used fake blood to stage an accident. When she saw through it, her eyes were filled with disgust. “I never realized how crazy and manipulative you are, Davis.” That fight led to a cold war. I stopped talking to Laura, and I ignored Maria and Sophie too. Then came my next tour. Julian tried to back out again, but this time, I insisted he come with me. And during the dress rehearsal, disaster struck. The opening act required me to descend from a harness fifty feet in the air. When Julian was checking my harness, I felt something was loose. I repeatedly told him to double-check and tighten the straps. But he smiled and assured me everything was perfect. At that time, the rest of the crew had gone out for dinner. Only the two of us were in the arena. Julian said, “Davis, if you’re scared, I can put on a harness and go up with you.” But he only put on the gear; he didn’t actually rise with me. The moment I reached the highest point, the harness failed. The safety latch snapped, and I plummeted fifty feet, crashing brutally onto the wooden stage. That height was equivalent to a five-story building. I didn’t die, but my body felt like it had been shattered into a million pieces. My screams of agony echoed through the empty arena. Instead of calling an ambulance, Julian dragged my broken body into a taxi and took me to a remote, poorly equipped hospital hours away. Because of the delay in treatment, my legs couldn’t be saved. The day they amputated my leg was my twenty-eighth birthday. And the only person by my side was Julian. He told me Laura and the girls were too busy to come. Though my heart ached, the physical pain was so overwhelming that I couldn’t think straight. Two days before I was discharged, Julian disappeared. When I finally went home with my new prosthetic leg, the police were waiting for me. Laura, Maria, and Sophie had teamed up to put me behind bars. They claimed that out of jealousy, I had tried to murder Julian by rigging his harness, resulting in his permanent paralysis. I was too broken, both physically and mentally, to defend myself. Before they dragged me away, I tried to show them my prosthetic leg. But they looked at me with cold indifference, mocking my “disgusting lies.” I shook my head, trying to clear the fog in my brain. With the massive blood loss and my weakened state, my body finally gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. Before darkness claimed me, I heard Laura’s cold, mocking voice.

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Julian Sterling framed me for corporate espionage in front of the entire city’s media. He shoved a check in my face and told me to take the money and get lost. No one in that press room knew that the woman in the gray janitor uniform, the one my own husband was publicly crucifying, was terminally ill. I couldn’t even afford a basic IV drip at the ER. The real thief was Melanie Crawford, the woman he cherished. With just one sweet whisper from her, Julian made me take the fall for everything. I bit back the blood in my mouth. I told myself I just needed to survive long enough to get the clinical trial payout for my surgery. I just wanted to live a few days longer. But I died on the cold metal table in the emergency room. It was only after I was gone that Julian finally looked at the security footage from the fire escape. He saw the truth. He saw Melanie pushing me down the stairs. Later, he ruined Sterling Enterprises trying to avenge me. He even paid with his own life. But when we finally met again, we were nothing but two fading souls drifting in the morning light. He knelt before my grave, sobbing, begging for forgiveness. I knelt down and wrapped my arms around him. “Julian, I did love you. But it’s too late. We’re both dead.”

Eva’s POV Julian Sterling framed me for stealing corporate secrets in front of every major media outlet in the city. Nobody in the crowd knew that the woman on stage, dressed in a faded gray janitor uniform and labeled a thief, was actually his legal wife of three years. I was Evangeline Vance. And after the Vance family went bankrupt, I became the scapegoat carrying the debt of my family’s blood. Julian hated me to my very core. Meanwhile, Melanie Crawford, the thief and the girl Julian actually loved, sat in the VIP section below the stage. She watched my humiliation with a smug, victorious smile. “Mr. Sterling, is she really just a janitor at Sterling Enterprises?” “I heard she used to be the heiress of the Vance family. Why did she resort to theft?” The reporters pushed forward like a pack of hungry wolves, their microphones raised, camera flashes blinding my eyes. Julian stood at the podium in his custom-tailored suit, looking down at me. His eyes were as cold as ice, staring at me as if I were a piece of trash. “She used to have ties to the Sterling family,” Julian’s voice echoed through the microphone, completely ruthless. “But Sterling Enterprises will never harbor a thief. Evangeline Vance is suspected of stealing core data. I will personally file police charges and see this through to the end.” A simple “ties to the family.” With those words, he erased our three years of marriage and my years of devotion, turning me into nothing but a background nuisance. I bit my pale lip so hard it bled, my hand tightly clutching my lower abdomen. The stitches from my surgery had only been taken out last night, and the rough fabric of the janitor uniform was rubbing against the wound, making it bleed again. Melanie sat in the front row, her manicured fingers gently resting on her expensive white designer handbag. She threw a mocking glance my way. My throat felt tight. Just last night, Melanie had shoved the stolen files into my locker and whispered in my ear, “Take the fall for me, Eva. Julian will only give you the money for your surgery if you cooperate. Aren’t you desperate for cash? Aren’t you dying?” Yes. I was desperate. I was so broke that the hospital receptionist had thrown the unpaid bills in my face three times in public. I was so broke that I almost pawned the last photo of my late father. So here I was, stomping on my own dignity to take the fall for his mistress, all for the “experimental drug trial” money Julian had promised me. I needed that blood money to buy myself a few more days of life. Under the cynical stares of the crowd, I pushed past the security guards and stepped onto the stage. Each step tore at my surgical wound, and cold sweat poured down my back. I didn’t look at Melanie. My lifeless eyes were locked entirely on Julian. “Mr. Sterling.” I picked up the microphone from the table. My voice was dry and raspy, like I had swallowed sand. Julian’s brows furrowed in pure anger. “The evidence is clear. What else do you have to say for yourself?” “My payout,” I croaked. “The money for participating in the clinical drug trial. When will I get it?” The room went dead silent for a second, then erupted into whispers. “Clinical trial? Did she just say payout?” Melanie’s expression instantly shattered, her fingers digging hard into her bag. Julian stared at me, his disgust turning into raw, unshielded fury. “You stole from us, and now you have the nerve to blackmail me on live television?” “I only want the money you promised,” I said, looking him dead in the eyes. “The trial observation period is over. Pay me what’s in the contract, Julian. I earned this.” Julian’s face turned pale with rage. Dozens of cameras pointed straight at me. I could see myself on the massive screens behind the stage. Standing next to Julian in his expensive, glowing aura, I looked like dirt. I used to be Mrs. Sterling. I used to wear designer gowns, holding his arm at high-end charity galas. Once, he had taken a glass of champagne from my hand and whispered softly, “She’s not feeling well. I’ll drink for her.” But now, those memories were dead. Now, he looked at me like I was a disease. Julian let out a cold laugh. He snatched his checkbook from his assistant and quickly scribbled a figure. His pen pressed so hard it almost tore the paper. He ripped the check out, but he didn’t hand it to me. Instead, like tossing scraps to a stray dog, he threw it right at my feet. The thin piece of paper drifted through the air, landing right in front of my dirty sneakers. “Is that enough?” Julian lowered his voice, but the microphone was still on. His cold, mocking words echoed through the hall. “Take the money and get lost, Eva. Don’t ever use these cheap tricks to dirty my company again.” The camera shutters sounded like rapid gunfire. I stared at the check on the floor and slowly bent down. The sudden movement squeezed my wound, and my vision went black for a second. I didn’t kneel. I just trembled, pressing my hands against the cold floor, and slowly pinched the paper into my palm. Melanie let out a long sigh of relief in the front row, her eyes filled with victory. Julian, watching me bend over for money like a beggar, looked even more disgusted. “You really have no dignity left when it comes to cash, do you?” I folded the check and slipped it into my pocket, right against my bleeding wound. The paper pressed against my warm blood, crushing the very last urge I had to explain myself. I forced myself to stand straight and looked at the husband I had loved for three years. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling.” Julian’s throat bobbed, his brow knitting tightly. Maybe he expected me to cry. Maybe he thought I would scream and beg him to believe me, just like I used to. But I did nothing. I was just an empty shell. All my cries for help had died last night. Last night, when I was curled up on a freezing bench in the hospital corridor, I had called Julian ten times. He didn’t pick up once. On the eleventh try, Melanie answered the phone. Her voice was sweet and dripping with venom. “Julian is busy with me, Eva. Grow up.” Right. I had to grow up. So I came to the press conference. I took the fall for his mistress. I let my husband publicly ruin my life. I turned around, dragging my bleeding body off the stage. Security cleared a narrow path through the reporters. I walked steadily, though my fingers were shaking uncontrollably at my sides. Just as I reached the exit, Julian’s ice-cold voice rang out behind me. “Call the police.” I froze. The assistant next to him whispered in confusion, “Mr. Sterling, she… she already took the check.” “I don’t care,” Julian said, his voice carrying clearly over the speakers. “The money was to give her a bit of dignity. But she still has to pay for her crime!” I didn’t look back. I squeezed the check in my pocket so hard that the edges began to tear. At that moment, I realized Julian hadn’t given me dignity at all. He had only given me humiliation.

Eva’s POV Less than half an hour after the press conference ended, I dragged my pale, exhausted body toward the side alley of Sterling Enterprises. Before I could make it out, the sharp click of high heels sounded behind me. “Why are you running so fast?” Melanie stood under the hallway light, draped in an expensive, light-colored designer coat. The gentle smile she had worn for the cameras was gone, replaced by a venomous sneer. I stopped and pressed my hand tightly over the bloody check in my pocket. “I got the money. Leave me alone.” “You got a check that’s basically pennies to us, and you think this is over?” Melanie stepped closer, looking down her nose at my dirty, gray janitor uniform. “Evangeline Vance. You used to be the great Vance family heiress. Now look at you, begging Julian for scrap money in front of the whole city. No wonder he looks at you like you’re garbage.” My fists clenched, my knuckles turning white. “You put those files in my locker, Melanie. You know it was you.” Melanie laughed, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah, I did. So what?” I snapped my head up, staring at her. Melanie stepped closer, whispering in my ear. “But do you have proof? The cameras in that hallway conveniently broke. The locker only has your fingerprints on it. And now, the entire media just saw how greedy you are. Who would believe you? Julian?” Just then, a couple of employees walked past the other end of the hallway. Melanie’s eyes flicked over, and she instantly reached out, gently smoothing down my dirty collar like a caring friend. But the moment they were out of sight, her fingers dug deep into the skin near my collarbone, pinching me hard. “You better keep your mouth shut! Julian already thinks you’re a pathetic thief. He hates even hearing your name.” She shoved me hard. My back slammed against the rough brick wall. A dull, agonizing pain shot up from my abdomen as my surgical wound stretched. I broke out in a cold sweat, but I didn’t make a sound. I just glared at her. “You’re scared. You’re scared I’ll talk about the clinical trials.” Melanie’s face darkened, but she quickly recovered with a cold smirk. “Why would I be scared? You signed the papers yourself. You went into that test group voluntarily. Even if you die on the operating table, it’s just a ‘normal complication’ listed on your consent form!” My heart skipped a beat, feeling like it was filled with shattered glass. Satisfied by my silent despair, Melanie reached into her designer bag, pulled out a gold credit card, and slapped it against my cheek. “Aren’t you desperate for money to save your life? Here’s a little extra.” I didn’t reach for it. So Melanie grabbed my collar and shoved the card down the front of my shirt. “Tomorrow is Sterling’s Annual Charity Gala. I want you to go on stage and give a speech.” “About what?” “Tell everyone how you went from the high-and-mighty Vance heiress to a pathetic janitor at Sterling Enterprises. Tell them how it feels to be stepped on.” Melanie’s voice was light, airy, and dripping with malice. “Make it sad. Make it real. The rich folks at the gala love a good story about someone falling from grace.” My hands shook. “That’s public humiliation.” “Exactly,” Melanie giggled. “I want to humiliate you.” The alley was dead silent, save for the howling wind. Melanie tapped my cheek. “Eva, do you really think you’re in any position to say no? If you don’t take this money, the hospital will cut off your treatment tomorrow. Besides, your job isn’t done yet. I still have the rest of your payout.” My fingertips were freezing. Melanie was like a snake, biting exactly where it hurt. I needed the money. I was dying. I had to pay the hospital bills. And somewhere deep inside, a stupid, pathetic part of me still hoped Julian would search for the truth. But today, Julian had thrown that check at my feet. He wasn’t going to look for the truth. He just wanted me gone. I reached down and gripped the gold card in my chest pocket. Melanie smiled. “That’s a good girl. Play the clown nicely tomorrow, and don’t ruin the mood.” “How much?” I asked. Melanie blinked. I gripped the card tighter. “I want to know the exact amount. Verbal promises mean nothing to me.” “Always about the money. You really are cheap,” Melanie spat. “Yes,” I looked at her with empty eyes. “I only care about the money.” Melanie looked at me like I was a stray dog. “There’s fifty thousand on this card. Do a good job tomorrow, and I’ll give you another hundred thousand.” “Write it down,” I demanded, holding my ground. “Julian promised me dignity today, and look how that turned out.” Annoyed, Melanie raised her hand to slap me. But I grabbed her wrist! I used every ounce of strength I had left. The wound in my abdomen ripped completely, and warm blood began to soak through my gray uniform. My face was as white as a ghost, but my grip didn’t loosen. “Write. It. Down.” Terrified by the sheer desperation in my eyes, Melanie took a step back. She wrenched her wrist free, pulled a notepad and a pen from her bag, scribbled a note, and slapped it onto my chest. “A hundred thousand after the gala! Happy now, you freak?” Melanie turned and walked away in her high heels. After a few steps, she looked back with a wicked smile. “Oh, by the way. Julian will be there tomorrow.” “When you’re up there begging like a dog, make sure to look him in the eyes. Let him see what his ex-wife is willing to do for a few bucks.” I didn’t look back. The cold wind blew down the alley, plastering the bloody uniform against my skin. The pain was so bad I couldn’t even stand straight, but I held the note and the card tightly in my hand. Pain didn’t matter. Humiliation didn’t matter. As long as the money was real, I could take it. As soon as I walked out of the Sterling building, my phone buzzed violently. It was a final notice from the hospital. I glanced at the screen, turned it off, and kept walking. I had to go to the gala tomorrow.

Eva’s POV Before the charity gala started, Melanie pushed me into a dark corner near the backstage entrance. “When the host calls your name, you get up there.” I clutched the thin note in my hand. “Do you have the remaining hundred thousand?” Melanie’s smile instantly vanished. “Do you think I’m going to run off on you?” “Yes.” Melanie stared at me and let out a cold laugh. “Fine. If you beg well enough up there, you’ll get your money.” From the main hall, loud applause echoed. The host’s voice boomed through the high-end speakers. “Tonight, besides our new project launch, we have a very special guest. We have the former heiress of the Vance family. She’s here to tell us what it feels like to fall from the clouds straight into the dirt.” The crowd erupted into laughter. Melanie patted the dust off my shoulder with fake kindness. “Go on. Show the high society of this city how cheap your life is.” I walked onto the stage like a robot. The bright spotlights hit me, making my vision go blurry. The first person I saw in the front row was Julian. Melanie sat right next to him, tilting her chin up at me. Julian, however, was looking down at his tablet, not even sparing me a glance. The host handed me the microphone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ms. Vance, I heard you used to be a high-society socialite, but now you’re cleaning toilets at Sterling. How do you handle such a massive fall?” The crowd laughed even louder. I held the microphone. The cold metal felt freezing against my sweaty palm. “I have no choice but to handle it.” The laughter grew louder. I looked at the crowd with an expressionless face. “The Vance family is broke. My father is dead. I have no other skills, so I clean. I do the dirtiest work.” Some people pulled out their phones, recording me like I was an animal in a zoo. “I used to sit where you are sitting, listening to others. Now, I stand here as a stepping stone. I am your entertainment.” The laughter in the room slowly died down. Melanie’s smile stiffened, and she glanced nervously at Julian. Julian’s hand paused over his tablet. He finally raised his head and looked at me on the stage. Our eyes met. His eyes were cold, filled with disgust. He looked at me as if my public humiliation was entirely my own fault. The wound in my abdomen was throbbing violently. I could barely stand. But I gripped the microphone and kept going. “I need money. I will do anything for money. Cleaning, experimental drug trials, taking the fall for others… as long as you pay me, I will do it.” When I said “taking the fall,” the room went completely silent. Melanie’s face turned pale. Julian’s fingers gripped his tablet so hard his knuckles turned white. The host, sweating profusely, tried to salvage the situation. “Ms. Vance, you have a… unique sense of humor. So, what is the biggest lesson you learned from your recent theft?” I stared directly into Julian’s eyes through the glaring lights. “The lesson is… never treat someone else’s promise as your lifeline.” Julian’s eyes darkened completely, a terrifying aura radiating from him. Melanie couldn’t sit still anymore. She stood up, flashing a perfect smile as she grabbed a microphone. “Eva is just nervous. She’s talking nonsense. Please don’t mind her.” She walked quickly onto the stage, standing right beside me. She put a loving hand on my arm. But out of the crowd’s sight, her sharp acrylic nails dug deep into the flesh of my arm! “We brought her here tonight to show everyone that even when people make mistakes, Sterling Enterprises is generous enough to give them a second chance.” My arm was bleeding from her grip, turning numb with pain. The crowd erupted into applause, praising Sterling’s generosity. This wasn’t a charity event. This was Melanie stripping me of my last shred of humanity, cutting me piece by piece. The moment the gala ended, Melanie shoved me into an empty dressing room. The second the door closed, her fake smile vanished, and she slapped me hard across the face! Slap! My head spun. I tasted copper in my mouth as my lip split open. “Who gave you permission to talk about the drug trials and taking the fall?!” Melanie screamed, her face contorting with rage. I wiped the blood from my lip, my eyes dead. “I didn’t mention Sterling. I didn’t mention you.” Melanie sneered. She grabbed a stack of cash from her bag and threw it at me. The bills scattered all over the floor. “Take it and get out!” I looked at the scattered money. “We agreed on a hundred thousand. This is barely twenty thousand.” “You signed a note,” I said, pulling out the paper. Melanie snatched it from my hand, tore it into pieces, and threw the shreds in my face. Then, she stepped on the pieces. “Now there is no note,” Melanie whispered maliciously. “Eva, look at yourself. You get what I decide to give you. A cheap life is easy to keep alive. This is enough to keep you breathing!” Suddenly, the door was pushed open. Julian stood at the entrance. His eyes swept over the scattered cash on the floor, finally landing on my bleeding lip. Melanie gasped, her eyes instantly welling with tears. She immediately put on a helpless, crying voice. “Julian! I was just trying to give her some extra help because I felt bad for her, but she said it wasn’t enough… She almost ruined our project launch on stage…” Julian stepped into the room, looking down at me. I didn’t argue. I knew exactly who he would believe. I bent down. Under Melanie’s mocking gaze and Julian’s disgust, I picked up the cash, bill by bill, folded them neatly, and put them in my pocket. My desperate, pathetic behavior for money completely set Julian off. His cold voice cut through the air. “Eva, you really have no shame left.” I paused. I looked up, wiping the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, and looked at him calmly. “Shame doesn’t pay for my medical bills, Julian.” Julian’s eyes turned ice-cold. He pointed at the door. “Take your money and get the hell out.” I dragged my heavy feet past him. As I walked by, Melanie whispered, “Spend it wisely, Eva. You won’t get another chance like this.” I didn’t stop. I pressed the twenty thousand dollars deep into my pocket, even though my hands were covered in my own blood. Twenty thousand was still money. It was still a chance to live. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry.

Eva’s POV By the time I finished at the clinic, the money I had left wasn’t even enough for a basic painkiller shot. The nurse at the counter pushed the bill back to me with a cold look. “Since you can’t pay the balance, we’re stopping your antibiotics and pain meds today.” I nodded quietly, folded the bill, and put it in my pocket. My abdominal wound had started leaking pus and blood. The rough gauze was stuck to my flesh, and every step felt like a rusty knife twisting in my stomach. I couldn’t afford a taxi, so I had to walk all the way back to the Sterling building in the freezing rain. My old backpack was still in my locker at the back entrance. It held everything I owned, including the last photo of my father. By the time I reached the back gate, it was pitch black. I leaned against the cold brick wall, trying to slip through the employee entrance, but two security guards blocked me. “Stop right there! Aren’t you the janitor who got fired yesterday?” one of them sneered. “Management gave strict orders. A thief like you isn’t allowed anywhere near this property.” My throat was so dry it felt like it was on fire. “I just want my backpack…” “How do we know you’re not trying to steal more stuff?” The guard shoved my shoulder hard. “Get lost! Don’t die on our doorstep. It’s bad luck.” I was already weak from the fever, and the shove sent me crashing against the rough brick wall. My vision went black, and I slid down onto the wet pavement. My gray uniform was covered in mud. I tried to stand up twice, but my legs gave out. Just then, footsteps came from inside the building. The guards immediately put on fake, polite smiles. I forced my head up, looking past the guard’s legs. It was Julian. He was walking out with his mother, Victoria. She was draped in an expensive wool shawl, looking as arrogant as ever. Julian saw me on the ground. But his glance lasted only a fraction of a second. Before I could even beg for help, he looked away in disgust, as if looking at me would dirty his eyes. Victoria frowned, not hiding her disgust. “Why is she still lingering around like a stray dog?” The guard quickly tried to take credit. “Ma’am, she claims she’s here for her bag. We were just about to kick this thief out!” “Her bag?” Victoria sneered, walking over to stand right in front of me. “The Vance family is dead and broke. What could possibly belong to you? You stole from our family, and now you’re trying to sneak back in?” My fingernails dug into the cracks of the pavement. “My bag… has my father’s picture…” “Julian,” Victoria turned to her son, her voice annoyed. “Melanie is waiting for us at the restaurant. Don’t waste your time on trash like her.” Julian was silent for two seconds. Then, he spoke coldly. “Let security handle it. Throw her out of the property.” Those few words crushed the very last ounce of hope I had left. The guards immediately grabbed my arms, lifting me up roughly. The sudden movement ripped my wound completely. Warm blood and pus began to run down my leg. I bit my lip hard, tasting iron. I looked at the man in the expensive suit. “Julian.” He stopped. “Are you really… not even going to ask?” My voice was as fragile as cracked glass. Julian didn’t turn around. But Victoria snapped at me, “Ask what? Ask how you beg for money on stage? Eva, if you had any decency left, your dead father would be rolling in his grave seeing you like this!” My face went pale. Julian finally turned his head. There was no pity in his eyes, only a cold warning. “Enough. Don’t mention her father. He doesn’t deserve it.” Those words hurt more than any slap Victoria could have given me. My father had loved Julian like his own son. He used to pat his shoulder and say, “Julian is a good, honorable boy.” My father trusted him, and so did I. But now, Julian was stepping on that trust, grinding it into the mud. “Throw her out,” Julian ordered coldly, walking away. The guards dragged me like a dead dog and tossed me onto the cold concrete sidewalk outside the main gates. My knees hit the curb hard, skinning my palms. The cash in my pocket spilled out, fluttering in the wind toward the street. One of the guards kicked the loose bills toward my face. “Get lost! You make me sick!” The heavy iron gates slammed shut behind them. The city traffic hummed in the distance, headlights flashing over my bleeding body. I crawled on the cold pavement, picking up the dirty bills one by one, smoothing them out, and tucking them back into my pocket. With trembling hands, I pulled out the worn photo of my father. The edges were white and frayed. He was standing in front of our old house, smiling so warmly. I pressed the photo against my bleeding palm, my body shivering like a leaf in the wind. “Dad…” My voice was choked with blood. “I can’t… do this anymore.” Julian’s car drove off into the night. No one looked back.

Eva’s POV I woke up from the freezing wind on the street corner. My hand was still clutching the crumpled photo of my father. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. It was a text from an unknown number. It was an address in the old industrial district, with a simple signature: An old friend of your father. I stared at the message for a long time. My fever had gone down slightly, but my body felt completely hollow. I didn’t go back to the clinic. Instead, I used my last few dollars to take a bus to the address. I had to see this person. The shop in the old district was run-down, the metal shutter half-open. When I pushed the door open, a white-haired man was wiping down picture frames. He turned around, and when he saw my state, he froze. “Are you… Eva?” I nodded quietly, holding out my father’s photo. “You knew my dad.” The man was Tom Miller. He took the photo, his eyes turning red. “Back when your father was at his peak, everyone in this city respected him. How did you end up like this?” I held onto the edge of the desk, my knuckles white. “Tom… why did my dad go bankrupt? Why did he jump from that building?” Tom’s face fell. He sighed, reached into the deepest drawer of his cabinet, and pulled out a dusty, yellowed folder. “The night before your father passed, he came to see me. He said if you never asked, I should keep this a secret forever. But if you ever came looking for the truth, I should give this to you.” I stared at the folder. Tom looked at me, his voice shaking. “Eva, for the past three years, have you really believed that the Vance family went bankrupt because of bad management? Have you really believed you owed Julian Sterling?” My throat closed up. Yes. Julian told me, Victoria told me, the whole city told me that my father had left a mess that almost ruined the Sterling family. That was why I kept my head down. Why I took the blame. Why I let them stomp on my dignity! Tom shoved the folder into my hands, his teeth clenched in anger. “Your father didn’t owe them a single dime! He put up the entire Vance family’s assets as collateral to save the Sterlings when their project ran out of funding!” “But when the project failed, the Sterling family pulled out to save themselves! Your father was hunted by banks and loan sharks until he had no choice but to end his life!” “The Sterlings saved their company, and your father became their scapegoat!” Boom. It felt like a bomb went off in my head. My hands shook violently as I tore open the folder. Inside was a property transfer document and several old receipts. Every single page had my father’s signature and the Sterling family’s stamp. The documents clearly stated: The Sterling family agrees to cover all subsequent project losses. But that line had been crossed out with black ink. A liability waiver page had been added to the back. And on that page, there was no signature from my father, only the Sterling family’s stamp! I stared at the red stamp, my vision going black. My chest ached with pure hatred and despair. The Sterling family took everything my father had, bled us dry, and then brainwashed me into thinking I was the one who owed them?! “Your father wasn’t a criminal,” Tom sobbed. “He was set up by the Sterlings!” The sharp edges of the paper cut into my palm, my blood dripping onto the documents. I remembered Victoria sneering, “You stole from us.” I remembered Julian telling the guards to throw me out like trash. I remembered him throwing the check at my feet. This time, the pain wasn’t from my surgical wound. It was in my bones. It was the pain of being skinned alive and serving the very people who destroyed my family. “Does Julian know?” My voice sounded like it was coming from a grave. Tom paused. “Julian was young back then. He might not have known the details. But his mother definitely did!” I let out a laugh. It was a dry, raspy sound, and blood leaked from my split lip. “Just because he didn’t know, he had the right to drag me through the dirt?” Tom couldn’t answer. With red eyes, he pulled a heavy metal box from his desk. “Your father left this for you. He said inside are all the proofs that the Vance family never owed anyone anything.” I took the metal box. At that moment, my body reached its absolute limit. “Eva, you look terrible. Let me take you to the hospital!” Tom said, trying to help me. “No,” I pushed his hand away, holding the folder and the metal box tightly against my chest. “I need to go to Sterling. I need to ask him myself.” I turned and walked out. The afternoon sun was blinding. As soon as I crossed the street, the sounds of the city began to fade. The metal box felt heavier and heavier, and a wave of pain hit my abdomen like a tsunami. I couldn’t fall. Not yet. I had to throw these papers in Julian’s face! I had to clear my father’s name! I had to tell Julian that I didn’t owe him a damn thing! It was his family that owed us a life! I bit my lip hard, gripping the metal railing by the sidewalk. My fingernails bent back, drawing blood. But my broken body couldn’t hold on any longer. Clatter. The heavy metal box fell onto the hard asphalt. My world went black, and my body collapsed onto the street. The documents slipped out of the folder, fluttering in the wind. Bystanders screamed and rushed over. “Call 911! Someone collapsed!” In the last second of consciousness, my fingers were still gripping the edge of the documents. I was not a criminal.

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Ethan was famously cold and arrogant, a man who never bent his knee to anyone. Yet, he would willingly drop to one knee just to change my shoes. He always said my ankle had an old injury and would ache if I stood for too long. So, in the trunk of his car, there was always a pair of white sneakers kept just for me. Everyone joked that Ethan spoiled me so much that I had lost the ability to take care of myself. He didn’t care at all. He would just wrap his arm around me and smile. “I spoiled her. Anyone got a problem with that?” That was until his childhood friend, Chloe, whose family had just gone bankrupt, moved into our home. Tonight, at the end of the charity gala, Chloe sprained her ankle. I was about to ask someone to bring over some slippers, but Ethan had already knelt down. He slid my exclusive white sneakers onto Chloe’s feet. “If you give me these shoes, Olivia won’t be mad, right?” Ethan didn’t even look up. His tone was incredibly casual. “They’re just shoes. She’s not that petty.” “Chloe’s ankle is swollen. Just deal with it tonight, Olivia. I’ll buy you new ones tomorrow. You can have as many pairs as you want.” The chill of the marble floor seeped through the thin soles of my high heels. He took it for granted that because we were married, my things were his to give away. But he forgot. The person whose shoes were taken… her feet hurt, too.

When we got home, Chloe looked down at the shoes on her feet and wiggled her toes slightly. “Olivia, your shoes are so comfortable. No wonder Ethan always keeps them ready for you.” I said nothing. Ethan’s voice was flat. “Just wear them for tonight.” “She has an old ankle injury. She can’t just wear any shoes.” Chloe immediately looked up. “I don’t deserve such nice shoes anyway. If Olivia wants them back, I’ll take them off right now.” Ethan reached out to stop her and looked at me. “Olivia, I’ll tend to your foot in a minute.” I suddenly remembered many years ago when he first found out about my ankle injury. He had frowned just like this. Back then, he said, From now on, I will make sure every path you walk is soft. The path was still the same path. It was just that he had given the softest part to someone else. Chloe sat on the sofa, carefully lifting her leg. “Ethan, where is the first-aid kit? It hurts a bit.” I stood in the entryway, bending over to change into my house slippers. The back of the heel rubbed against my raw wound, making my fingers tremble. Ethan looked back and saw this, his footsteps pausing for a second. Chloe let out a soft gasp. “It looks even more swollen now.” Ethan ultimately turned toward the living room and pulled the medical kit from the cabinet. That tube of ointment was the one I frequently used during my physical therapy. My name was still written on the label. Chloe held it in her hand, looking at it. “Olivia, can I use this?” Ethan unscrewed the cap for her. “It’s just ointment.” He handed the ointment to Chloe, then stood up and walked over to me. “Let me see your foot.” I took a half-step back. His brow furrowed. “Olivia, don’t start a fight right now.” Chloe immediately spoke up. “Olivia, please don’t misunderstand. Ethan is just helping me out first.” “You two have been together for so many years. You’re obviously the one he loves the most.” She sounded so understanding. But those white sneakers on her feet were blindingly clean. I looked down at my own feet. The edge of my high heels had worn my skin raw. A bit of blood was smudged on the edge of my sock. It wasn’t much, but it stung badly. Ethan saw it too. “Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to the store…” I quietly declined. “No need.” His movements froze. “It’s just a pair of shoes. Are you really going to hold a grudge over this?” Chloe gently tugged at his sleeve. “Ethan, maybe Olivia doesn’t care about the shoes. Maybe she cares that you put them on me.” The living room fell silent. Ethan didn’t deny it. I looked up at him. In the past, whenever anyone said something like that, he would always defend me. He would tell them that Olivia wasn’t petty; she was just injured and knew what pain felt like. But now, he just rubbed his temples. “Chloe just got back, and she’s not used to a lot of things yet. Just cut her some slack.” Cut her some slack. I had yielded the guest room, half of my walk-in closet, and my usual spot at the breakfast table. Now, it was my shoes. I didn’t say another word. I turned and walked back to the bedroom. Ethan followed me to the door. “Olivia.” I stopped. “Tomorrow, I’ll have the boutique deliver everything from your favorite brand. Don’t throw a fit tonight. Chloe’s family just went through a crisis. She can’t handle any emotional stress right now.” My hand rested on the doorframe. The throbbing pain in my heel came in waves. “Ethan, I feel pain too.” He stared at me, looking as if he didn’t understand. Chloe called out softly from the living room. “Ethan, I think I put too much ointment on.” Ethan looked at me for two seconds before finally turning around. “Get some rest. Don’t overthink things.” After the door closed, I sat on the edge of the bed and peeled my socks off. The fabric was stuck to the wound. As I tore it away, I bit my lip. From outside the door, Chloe’s giggles drifted in. “Ethan, Olivia’s shoe size is almost the same as mine. Can I keep these shoes for now?” “I have to meet some clients at the office tomorrow.” Ethan’s voice came through the door. “Just wear them. She has plenty of other shoes.”

The next morning, Ethan stood in front of the shoe cabinet. “Come to the office with me this afternoon. We’ll talk about the shoes later.” “Didn’t you spend six months designing that dance therapy curriculum for disabled kids? We are finalizing the launch process today.” Chloe walked out of the guest room, wearing my white sneakers. “Olivia, look. Ethan really cares about you.” Ethan didn’t respond to her. He pushed a shoe box to my feet. “These are similar to the ones from last night. Wear them.” I looked at the shoes in the box. They were expensive, and very soft. But they weren’t mine. Seeing that I didn’t move, Ethan’s tone cooled. “Olivia, I’ve already replaced them.” Replaced. It turned out that to him, some things only required a new package. I put the shoes on. My heel still hurt, but at least I could walk. The launch event was on the first floor of the company’s exhibition hall. My curriculum display board was pushed to the very back. The main screen at the front, however, showed Chloe’s face. She was labeled as the “Charity Ambassador.” Chloe walked up from behind and warmly took my arm. “Olivia, you don’t mind, right?” “I used to take dance lessons too. Although I’m not as professional as you, my family is in a tough spot now. Ethan wanted to give me some exposure to help me start over.” I pulled my hand back. “This is a rehabilitation project, not your comeback stage.” Chloe’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “I just wanted to help.” “Olivia, do you think I don’t deserve to be here?” Ethan walked over right at that moment. He looked at Chloe first. “What’s wrong?” Chloe shook her head. “Nothing. Olivia probably thinks I don’t understand rehabilitation. She’s afraid I’ll embarrass her.” Ethan looked at me. “Olivia, Chloe is just reading the script on stage. You’re still in charge of the professional execution.” I asked him, “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?” Ethan’s brow furrowed. “I was afraid you’d overthink it.” “Besides, this isn’t a big deal. The successful launch of the project is more important than who stands on stage.” In the past, Ethan knew exactly why I created this project. After my ankle injury, my biggest fear wasn’t that I could no longer dance. It was being pinned down by a casual, “Well, you’re broken anyway.” That was why I wanted to give those injured kids a path where they could walk slowly. But now, he hid my name in a corner and gave all the spotlight to Chloe. The event coordinator whispered, “Ms. Olivia, are you still going on stage to present the curriculum later?” Ethan answered for me first. “Her foot is bothering her. She won’t be presenting. Let her manage the backstage flow.” When the launch event started, I sat in the corner of the backstage. When the slide for the curriculum credits came up, the screen flickered. The original line: Curriculum Designer: Olivia had been changed to Charity Founder: Chloe. When Ethan returned backstage, I handed him the run sheet. “Where is my name?” He glanced at it. “The PR department changed it on their own. I’ll have them add it back later.” “You have me. Isn’t that enough?” I flipped to the sign-off page. In the Project Consultant column, Chloe’s name was already stamped with the company seal. My name had been moved to the appendix.

When I returned to the studio, Chloe was standing in front of the mirror practicing her moves, still wearing my white sneakers. Ethan held a new class schedule in his hands. “I asked Chloe to shadow a few classes. She needs to familiarize herself with the project.” I took the schedule. My hours had been cut in half, and Chloe’s name was scheduled for Saturday morning. That was the class with the most children. “Who changed this?” Ethan said, “I did.” I looked at him. “Do you even know the condition of these kids’ ankles? Do you know which ones can’t spin, and which ones can’t stand for too long?” His brow furrowed slightly. “Olivia, don’t make a simple matter sound so dramatic.” “Chloe is just coordinating the promotion. She won’t actually be teaching the movements.” Chloe immediately nodded. “Olivia, I’ll listen to you. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” As she spoke, her gaze fell on the glass cabinet in the corner. Inside the cabinet was an old pair of ballet slippers. The fabric had yellowed, and the silk ribbons were washed soft. That was the pair my mom bought for me when I first stood up after my surgery. She had stroked my head back then and said, It doesn’t matter if you can’t walk fast. Just being able to walk is enough. Chloe walked over. “These shoes have so much history. Can I borrow them for some promo photos?” I spoke almost instantly. “No.” Her hand stopped on the cabinet door, and her eyes turned red again. “Olivia, I just think they’re really meaningful. I didn’t want to steal them.” Ethan looked at me. “They’re just an old pair of shoes. She’ll return them after the shoot.” My tone was resolute. “My mother gave them to me.” He paused. For a second, I thought he would remember. He would remember the year I came out of the operating room, crying because I could never dance again, and how he had placed these exact shoes by my bed. He had said, Olivia, take it slow. I’ll help you stand up again. But Ethan only said, “That makes them even more perfect for the project’s background story. People will connect with it more.” Chloe softly added, “Exactly. Olivia’s journey can inspire so many people.” I gripped the key to the cabinet. Ethan’s face darkened. “Olivia, are you really going to be this petty over a charity project?” “Don’t embarrass yourself in front of the kids.” The children were standing quietly nearby. Suddenly, I found myself unable to speak. Ethan reached out and took the key from my palm. “She’ll return them as soon as she’s done.” The moment the cabinet door opened, a sharp pain shot through my old ankle injury. Chloe took out the old ballet slippers. “Thank you, Olivia. I’ll be very careful.” During the shoot that afternoon, she couldn’t fit into them. The shoes were half a size too small. Chloe looked at Ethan. “Maybe we should forget it. My feet are a bit wide. Forcing them in will ruin them.” Ethan looked at me. “Olivia, how did you fit into them back then?” I said quietly, “Because they’re my shoes.” He thought for a moment. “Cut the silk ribbons off and wrap them around her current shoes. The effect will be the same.” I looked up at him. Chloe had already picked up the scissors. “Olivia, I really will replace them for you.” Snip. The old silk ribbons were severed. I stood frozen, my palms turning ice-cold. Seeing the expression on my face, Ethan looked as if he wanted to say something. But Chloe wrapped the ribbons around her sneakers and twirled in front of the mirror. “Does it look good, Ethan?” Ethan glanced at her. “It’s fine.” After the shoot, the old ballet slippers were carelessly tossed onto the table. The fabric had a dusty footprint on it, and the ribbons were reduced to frayed stumps. I picked them up, rubbing the spot with my thumb for a long time. But the dirt wouldn’t come off. Ethan walked over. “I’ll have someone restore them.” He reached out to touch them, but I pulled the shoes back into my bag. Ethan’s eyes darkened. “Olivia, I’ve noticed you’ve been getting harder and harder to communicate with lately.” Chloe whispered from the side, “It’s all my fault. Olivia probably thinks I stole her memories.” Ethan rubbed his temples. “Don’t let your mind wander.” I grabbed my bag and walked out. Ethan called after me. “Come home tonight. We need to talk.” I didn’t answer. After leaving the studio, I sent a message to Lucas. “Does the rehabilitation center you mentioned still need a curriculum designer?” The reply came almost instantly. “Yes. Have you made up your mind?” I looked at the ruined ballet slippers in my bag. The next second, Ethan’s call came through.

Ethan didn’t ask where I had gone. He only said over the phone: “Come home early tonight. Chloe’s press release needs your sign-off.” I stood on the sidewalk, my ankle wrapped in a cold brace. When I returned to our historic townhouse, Ethan’s PR team was sitting in the living room. Chloe, wearing the sneakers tied with my ruined silk ribbons, was reviewing the interview outline. “Olivia, you’re finally back.” “Some people online are saying I stole your project. Ethan said it would all blow over if you just clarify things.” Ethan handed me an iPad. It showed a statement. The gist of it was that I had voluntarily stepped back from the promotion, and Chloe was simply helping me present the charity work. The so-called “stealing of shoes and projects” was just a misunderstanding between friends. After reading it, I placed the iPad back on the table. “I’m not posting this.” The PR manager’s expression shifted. But Ethan remained calm. “Olivia, the public backlash has already started. Just say a word. It’s better for everyone.” Chloe bit her lip. “Olivia, I’m really getting dragged online.” “You know my family just went bankrupt. I have nothing left now.” I stared at the ribbons on her feet. Ethan stood up. “Olivia, enough.” “I replaced the shoes, and you’re still working on the project.” “Chloe just needs a temporary opportunity. Why do you have to push her into a corner like this?” I shot back, “What about you? Have you not pushed me into a corner?” He stared at me, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You have the studio, you have Blackwood Enterprises’ resources, and you have me.” “What does Chloe have?” I suddenly found it incredibly laughable. So having him was, in his eyes, a form of compensation that could wipe away all my grievances. Ethan handed me his phone. “Olivia, don’t make things difficult for me in front of others.” Chloe said softly, “Ethan, let it go. If Olivia doesn’t want to, forget it. I shouldn’t have come back anyway.” She stood up to leave but tripped on her feet. Ethan caught her immediately. The ribbon-wrapped sneakers struck the leg of the coffee table, ripping the old fabric further. My mind went completely blank. Ethan followed my gaze, and his face turned pale for a split second. But Chloe cried first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m just so clumsy. I can’t do anything right.” Ethan helped her sit down, then turned to me. “Don’t look at her like that.” “Olivia, if you don’t post the statement today, I will freeze the funding for the project.” “The studio’s lease is under Blackwood Enterprises. Think carefully.” The PR team remained silent. Chloe kept her head down, but her fingers were tightly gripping the frayed ribbon. I heard my own voice ask, “So you want me to endorse her lie?” Ethan said, “It’s not an endorsement. It’s for the bigger picture.” The bigger picture. I nodded and took the phone. Ethan’s expression softened as I posted the statement exactly as written. Within minutes, the comments shifted. Some praised my generosity. Some pitied Chloe. Others said that anyone truly doing charity wouldn’t care about getting credit. Seeing the public opinion die down, Ethan looked relieved. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to buy shoes. You can pick whatever limited edition you want.” “Olivia, let’s stop fighting.” I looked at the smear of ointment on his cuff. I suddenly remembered how he had opened the tube of medicine for Chloe last night. My heel was still taped with a band-aid, and it still hurt to walk. But I no longer wanted him to know. The next day, Ethan actually went to the luxury boutique. The sales associate lined up ten pairs of limited-edition flats. The colors, leather, and sizes were all chosen according to my taste. “Wrap them all up,” Ethan said. The associate smiled. “Mr. Blackwood is so good to his wife.” Ethan’s fingers paused, but he didn’t deny it. At nine in the evening, he returned to the townhouse carrying ten luxury shoe boxes. The lights in the living room were off. He frowned and called out, “Olivia?” No one answered. Ethan put the shoe boxes down in the entryway and opened the shoe cabinet. The row that used to be filled with my shoes was completely empty. His hands froze. The door to the walk-in closet was half-open. Only empty hangers remained inside. My suitcase was gone, my passport was gone, and even the ruined ballet slippers in the glass cabinet were gone. On the top shelf of the shoe cabinet, only a single key remained. Beneath the key lay a divorce agreement, signed with my name. The luxury shoe boxes in Ethan’s hands crashed to the floor.

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The day I took my wedding ring to the jeweler to get it resized, the appraiser stared at it through his magnifying glass for a long time. He looked up, frowning. “Sir, is the name engraved inside this ring your wife’s?” I froze. I had worn this ring for five years. I never knew there was anything written inside. Three years ago, an accident left me deaf in both ears. My right hand was ruined, too. Because the ring was swollen onto my finger, I could never take it off to look. “What does it say?” I asked, my voice slightly raspy. He slid the ring off—a painful process—and pointed to the inner band. “Adrien.” My name is Julian Vance. Adrien Hayes was my student. For years, I funded his tuition at the Royal College of Music. I paid for his life abroad. I treated him like my own brother. My fingers trembled. I could barely stand. When I got home, the study door wasn’t fully closed. I heard Victoria’s voice coming from inside. She was on the phone, her tone sickeningly sweet. She had no idea that just last week, I had secretly gotten a cochlear implant. I could hear everything now. “Just wait a little longer,” Victoria whispered into the phone, giggling. “Once that deaf cripple dies, his estate, his music catalog, his connections—it will all be ours.” I stood in the hallway, my blood running cold. Our five-year marriage was nothing but a calculated scam. Slowly, I pulled out my phone, opened Snapchat, and hit the voice recorder. Over the next few days, I quietly gathered every contract Victoria had signed using my name, and every single dollar she had transferred behind my back over the last three years. I packed them all into a secure folder. And sent it directly to my attorney.

When I walked into the living room, both Victoria and Adrien were there. Seeing me, Victoria immediately began mouthing her words. She moved her lips in exaggerated, slow motions, as if teaching a toddler. “Adrien’s studio is being remodeled. He’s going to stay with us for a while.” I looked at her face—a face I once loved, but now felt entirely foreign. I gave a slow, vacant nod. Being deaf for three years had made her think of me as nothing but a brainless, compliant ghost. Adrien dragged his suitcase inside. As he brushed past me, his nose wrinkled in open disgust. Right in front of my face, he typed something on Victoria’s phone and tilted the screen so I could see. *Julian smells like cheap medicine. It’s disgusting.* Those words felt like a physical slap. Victoria just laughed, her eyes crinkling. “He takes a lot of pills. Just bear with it, sweetie.” I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. To them, I was just a smelly piece of broken furniture. That night, Victoria told me to clear out of the master bedroom. “Adrien needs absolute quiet to compose. Go sleep in the guest room.” I gathered my blanket and pillows. I made trip after trip to the cramped guest room down the hall. Victoria just leaned against the doorframe, watching me. She didn’t lift a single finger to help. When I passed her, she instinctively took a step back, terrified she might catch the “smell of medicine” from my clothes. That tiny movement cut deep. I had watched her make that same movement for three years. Only today did I realize it was pure disgust. That night, lying on the narrow guest bed, I stared at the ceiling. My heartbeat thudded loudly in my new implant. It was a brutal reminder: *You can hear now.* *But all you can hear is how much your wife loathes you.* The next morning, I was in the kitchen making breakfast. Suddenly, the beautiful sound of a grand piano echoed from the living room. Ever since my ears and hands were ruined three years ago, no one had touched my Steinway. Adrien was sitting at the bench. He was playing the exact Chopin piece that had won me the International Gold Medal years ago. He missed three notes in the first verse. Each mistake grated on my ears like nails on a chalkboard. My hand shook violently. The chef’s knife slipped, slicing deep into my index finger. Blood gushed out, staining the cutting board a bright, sickening red. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. Adrien spun around. Seeing my bleeding finger, a smirk played on his lips. He turned back and kept playing, deliberately missing another note. It was a silent, arrogant boast. He was mocking me. He was playing with the one thing I used to be proud of, treating it like garbage. Victoria came downstairs. Seeing the blood on the counter, her face instantly fell into a scowl. “There’s blood everywhere. How filthy.” She didn’t walk over. She didn’t ask if I was okay. Instead, she walked straight to the piano. She took Adrien’s hands off the keys, cradling them gently. “Stop playing,” she murmured, her voice dripping with maternal sweetness. “The keys are cold. Don’t ruin your precious hands.” She examined his fingers with absolute devotion. I stood by the kitchen door, wrapping my bleeding finger in a dirty apron. The blood soaked through the fabric, cold and sticky. Three years ago, the day my hand was crushed, Victoria was supposedly on a business trip. I had called her seventeen times. She didn’t answer once. Now I finally understood. Her tenderness was never meant for me. I clamped my jaw shut, turned around, and finished making their breakfast. That afternoon, I went to the clinic for a follow-up on my implant. As I was walking out, someone called my name. “Julian?” I turned. It was Clara Montgomery. Three years ago, before my accident, she was the conductor who contracted me the most. She was a rising star in the orchestral world. After my accident, my social circle vanished overnight. Only Clara had visited me in the hospital. Back then, when I couldn’t hear, she wrote a note on a piece of scrap paper: *The stage will always be waiting for you. Just get better.* But after my hand was declared permanently ruined, I was too ashamed to ever face her again. “I heard you got the implant,” Clara said, stepping closer. “Can you hear me?” I stared at her. For three years, the first person to ask if I could hear wasn’t my wife. It was Clara. “Yes,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “I can hear.” She glanced at my bandaged finger but didn’t pry. Instead, she looked me in the eye. “Julian, the contracts Victoria has been signing under your name these past three years… they’re highly illegal. I have some evidence. Do you want to take back what’s yours?” I gripped the strap of my bag. The wound on my finger throbbed. But compared to those seventeen unanswered calls, this pain was nothing. “Yes,” I said. It was the first real word of defiance I had spoken since regaining my hearing.

On the weekend, Victoria hosted a private dinner party. She invited several prominent figures from the classical music scene. In front of everyone, she played the part of the doting, saintly wife. She placed my pills neatly next to my plate and smiled warmly at our guests. “Julian’s health is quite fragile these days. Thank you all for understanding.” The guests sighed in admiration. “Victoria is such a devoted woman. To stay with him through all this… she’s a saint.” Victoria lowered her head, wiping a fake tear from her eye. For a split second, she looked so sincere I almost believed she cared. But the moment she turned her back to the guests, her mask fell. Looking at me, she mouthed with utter, cold disgust: “Are you done playing the victim yet?” Her face still wore a polite, public smile, but her eyes were venomous. I kept my head down. I swallowed my pills, one by one. Each one felt like a jagged rock sliding down my throat. After the guests left, Adrien went upstairs. I silently began clearing the messy table. Victoria grew impatient with my slow pace. Suddenly, she gave me a violent shove. “Get out of the way, you useless mute!” I lost my balance. My hip slammed hard against the sharp corner of the mahogany dining table. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my side. I let out a muffled groan. She didn’t even bother to look back. She just swept upstairs, treating me like an annoying piece of trash she had cleared from her path. I held onto the table, slowly forcing myself up. When I pulled up my shirt in the bathroom, I saw a massive, deep purple bruise forming on my hip. The skin was scraped and oozing blood. With shaking hands, I took out my phone and took a clear photo. When I came out, Adrien was coming downstairs to get a glass of water. Seeing me clutching my side, he hurried over with a look of mock concern. But the second his hands touched me, his fingers dug brutally into the fresh bruise on my hip. I nearly fell to my knees from the sheer agony. He smiled warmly, typed a message on his phone, and flashed it in front of my eyes: *Be careful, Julian. Don’t go hurting yourself. You’re already enough of a burden to Victoria.* Looking at his innocent, smiling face, my stomach churned. I had treated this boy like a brother. I had paid for his dreams. And now, he amused himself by stepping on my wounds like I was an ant. That night, I sent the photo of my bruised hip and the video of Victoria’s abusive mouthing to Clara. She replied almost instantly on WhatsApp: *Keep collecting evidence. Until we are ready to strike, play the deaf man. The deafer, the better.* I stared at the glowing screen, then switched off the lights. In the dark, I lay awake, my teeth clenched in silence.

When the first winter cold front hit the city, Victoria came down with a severe fever. By midnight, she was delirious. I stayed by her bedside, constantly changing the cold towel on her forehead. Through my implant, her heavy, ragged breathing sounded incredibly loud. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed my hand. Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. “Julian… don’t leave… please, don’t leave me…” Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed like a child terrified of the dark. My stupid, weak heart softened. I let her hold my hand. I didn’t move an inch the entire night. I actually thought, just for a second, that maybe deep down, she still loved me. But when dawn broke, Victoria’s fever subsided. She slowly opened her eyes. The moment she realized she was holding my hand, she recoiled as if she had touched a hot stove. She grabbed a wet wipe from the nightstand and scrubbed her palm with disgust. Then she pointed coldly to the door, gesturing for me to get out. I stood there for a second, numb, before turning to leave. As the door clicked shut behind me, the tiny bit of warmth I had felt during the night froze over completely. I should have known. Her warmth was never meant for me. Even if she called my name in her delirium, she would take it back the second she woke up. At lunchtime, Adrien was carrying a pot of freshly boiled water. As he walked past me, his hand “slipped.” The entire pot of scalding water poured directly onto my right hand. The hand that had already been ruined three years ago. Instantly, my skin turned angry red and began to blister. I dropped to my knees, clutching my hand, gasping in agony. Hearing the commotion, Victoria rushed into the kitchen. She bypassed me entirely, throwing herself in front of Adrien. Her voice was frantic with worry. “Did it burn you? Are you okay? Let me see your hands!” Adrien shook his head, looking pathetic. Only then did Victoria glare at me, her face twisted in annoyance. “Can’t you just stay out of the way for once? Do you have to be a useless burden every single day?” I cradled my blistered, throbbing hand, my whole body shaking. I couldn’t even scream. I watched her gently blow on Adrien’s perfectly fine hands. The very last piece of my heart shattered into dust. That afternoon, Clara took me to the emergency room to treat the burns. The doctor looked at my blistered hand, then pulled up my medical records from three years ago. He sighed heavily. “You know, looking at your old charts… if your hand had been operated on immediately after the accident, it wouldn’t have been permanently ruined. You were brought in way too late. You missed the critical window.” I froze. “How long was the delay?” “According to the logs, there was a delay of over four hours between the injury and the surgery.” My grip on the medical chart tightened. What actually happened that night? I suddenly realized that the “accident” three years ago might not have been an accident at all.

I pulled up my complete medical file from three years ago. As I scrolled through the digital records on my phone, my heart hammered against my ribs. I had fallen off the back of a high stage, fracturing my wrist. It should have been an easy fix. But the record showed a four-hour and twenty-minute delay before the surgery began. And the signature on the emergency authorization form wasn’t Victoria’s. It was Adrien’s. My mind went completely blank. Adrien… the boy I had raised and sponsored, was the only one with me that night. Victoria had been out of the country. Adrien was supposed to be taking care of me. I tracked down the caregiver who had worked on my hospital ward back then. The moment she saw my face, she recognized me. She gave me a look of deep pity. “Ah, the famous pianist. Yes, I remember you. And I remember that young man who always visited you.” She paused, looking around before whispering. “One night, while you were heavily sedated, he stayed in your room alone for a very long time. The next morning, your hand was swollen to twice its size… the doctor said the internal tissue was completely crushed. That’s why it never recovered.” She sighed and walked away. I sat on the plastic bench in the hospital corridor, the world spinning around me. My implant picked up nothing but the sound of my own shallow, ragged breathing. My hand wasn’t ruined by the fall. While I was unconscious, someone had deliberately destroyed it. And that person was Adrien. The boy I had given everything to. When I got home, the sound of cheerful piano music and laughter echoed from the living room. Adrien was sitting at my Steinway. Victoria stood behind him, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. They looked like a picture-perfect couple. I stood quietly in the shadow of the hallway. Adrien hit a wrong note and looked up at her poutingly. “It’s too hard…” Victoria laughed, running her fingers through his hair. “Take your time, sweetie. Your hands are precious. They are worth a thousand of this stupid piano.” She paused, her voice turning contemptuous. “Not like Julian. His hands are useless now. Honestly, it’s better this way. At least we don’t have to listen to his annoying practicing anymore.” Every word was a knife in my chest. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to remain silent. I had to keep playing the deaf man. I walked into the study, scanned the old medical logs, and saved the caregiver’s recorded statement into the secure folder. My mercy was officially gone.

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On the day of our engagement party, Gwen got married. Just not to me. She did it in a fantasy MMO, in front of thousands of digital spectators, while virtual fireworks exploded across her screen for five straight minutes. My mother stood beside her, slightly bent over, waiting for those same five minutes. Gwen casually slid off her noise-canceling headphones. “Sorry, Mrs. Mitchell. Did you say something? I didn’t catch that.” My mother forced a small, apologetic smile. “Gwen, sweetie, I was looking at the catering invoice. It says we only have four tables reserved for Devon’s side of the family. Is that a mistake? I thought we agreed on ten?” Gwen didn’t even look up from her screen. “Are you saying I made a mistake?” My mother’s face went pale. She waved her hands in a flurry of panic. “No, no! Of course not. It must be my Southern drawl—I probably mumbled and got it all twisted. I’m so sorry.” Only after Gwen finished typing out a thank-you to her virtual wedding guests did she offer a solution. “If we’re short on tables, then just tell your family to invite fewer people.” My throat tightened. Ten minutes ago, the venue manager had sent me a text that was still glowing on my screen: “Mr. Mitchell, I am so sorry. Ms. Foster gave us strict instructions. Toby Ward’s sister is returning to town, and she needs the extra ballroom space to host her welcome-back party.” In the corner of the living room, my mother’s eyes brimmed with tears as she unlocked her phone to start texting our relatives in Charleston. I reached over and gently pressed my hand over hers. “Mom, don’t. If she wants fewer of us there, let’s make it easy for her. None of us are going.” She had married Toby in the digital world. In the real world, I was about to give her exactly what she wanted. … My mom’s eyes grew redder as she patted the back of my hand. “I know how hard things are for you two,” she whispered. She thought I was just throwing a temper tantrum. Eager to smooth things over, she told me she’d make my favorite Southern comfort dish tonight—spicy blackened catfish with homemade green tomato relish—and left for the local market with her canvas tote bag. I unlocked my phone and sent a message to our family group chat: “The wedding is off. Don’t worry about booking flights or hotels anymore. Thank you all.” After hitting send, I opened my chat with Gwen, tapped her profile, and removed her from my pinned chats. Hands slid around my waist from behind. Gwen rested her chin in the crook of my shoulder. “Why the long face, Devon? Is your cold still acting up?” Last Wednesday, during a torrential downpour, she had taken my car to pick up Toby from work because he didn’t have an umbrella. I had been left stranded at a bus stop for two hours in the freezing rain. By the time I checked myself into the ER with a 103-degree fever to get an IV drip, she was sitting in a darkened theater, sharing popcorn with Toby. I unwrapped her hands from my waist and took a step back. “That was quite the grand wedding you had in the game.” Gwen’s brow immediately furrowed. “Toby isn’t good at the game. He keeps getting targeted by high-level players. Getting ‘married’ in-game just makes it easier for me to carry him through the high-level dungeons.” She sighed, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “Devon, I know the difference between fantasy and reality. It’s literally just lines of code. Are you really going to start a fight over some pixels?” Years ago, when I begged her to play that exact game with me, she wouldn’t even bother setting up an account, calling it a childish waste of time. Now, for Toby, she had grinded all the way to max level. “When I asked you to play with me, you said it was childish.” A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but she quickly masked it. “Come on, that was years ago. People change. Tell you what—next time I’m helping Toby farm, you can tag along.” I shook my head. “No thanks. I already uninstalled it.” Her shoulders relaxed, as if she had just escaped a tedious chore. “By the way, when is your mother heading back to Charleston?” Gwen had complained that the engagement prep was too tedious, which was the only reason I brought my mother up to Chicago to help. My mom had been here for exactly two days. She was so terrified of making a mess in this sleek, minimalist penthouse that she barely sat on the edges of the sofas. And now Gwen couldn’t wait to throw her out? She reached out to ruffle my hair, a gesture she used when she wanted to placate me. “Toby’s sister is being released from prison tomorrow.” She said it so casually. “She has nowhere to go. I need you to have your mom pack up so we can clear out the guest room for her.” The blood rushed to my ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the apartment with a deafening ring. My voice shook. “You’re kicking my mother out to make room for Tabitha Ward?” “Devon…” “Do you even remember why she went to prison, Gwen? She stole my high school transcripts and sabotaged my Ivy League enrollment! Because of her, my admissions offer was revoked, and I ended up trapped at a sketchy, unaccredited diploma mill!” Gwen frowned, her tone hardening into irritation. “She paid her debt to society. She spent three years in prison, Devon. What more do you want from her?” “She ruined my entire life!” I choked out, the pain ripping through my chest. “And her life is ruined too,” Gwen cut in. The words hit me like a physical blow. The warmth drained from my face. Gwen sighed, stepping forward to pull me into a tight embrace. She stroked my back with slow, practiced movements, as if soothing a stray cat that had bared its claws. “Because you insisted on pressing charges, Toby had to carry the weight of his entire family alone. These past few years have been incredibly hard on him. You didn’t just lock up Tabitha; you shattered their entire household.” She kissed the top of my head. “Be good, Devon. Stop making a scene over nothing.” I held onto a desperate shred of reality. “This is my home.” Her voice turned ice-cold. “It’s my penthouse, Devon.” The last flickering ember of hope inside me died right then. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and forced a faint, lifeless smile. “Fine.” I pulled back. “I bought my mom a train ticket back home for three days from now. She’ll be gone.” Gwen blinked, momentarily taken aback by how easily I’d surrendered. She leaned in to press a kiss to my forehead. “I know this has been stressful for you. Once the wedding is over, I’ll take you to Bali. You’ve always wanted to go there.” She was wrong. The one who had always dreamed of Bali was Toby. I had already booked the tickets. Two of them. One for my mother, and one for me. Around noon, my mother returned with her groceries. She whipped up a fragrant, spicy blackened catfish, then reached deep into her suitcase to pull out a sealed glass jar, a conspiratorial grin on her face. “Devon, look what I brought all the way from Charleston!” The moment she unscrewed the lid, the sharp, pungent aroma of homemade pickled green tomatoes and okra filled the air. It was a Southern staple from my childhood, the perfect, tangy side dish to cut through the heat of the fish. “You always know exactly what I need, Mom,” I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face as I reached for a fork. Gwen emerged from the kitchen holding a mug of artisanal pour-over coffee. The moment the scent hit her nose, her brow contorted into a tight, disgusted knot. “Ugh, what is that awful smell?” She covered her nose and mouth with her hand, her expression sour. “Throw that out. Now.” My mother’s hand froze mid-air. The warmth on her face crumbled into raw embarrassment. She hurriedly screwed the lid back on, looking like a child who had just broken a valuable vase. “Oh, Gwen, sweetie… Devon told me you’ve been exhausted with work. These pickled tomatoes are supposed to help boost your appetite. I packed them in a double-sealed jar so they wouldn’t leak on the trip…” I didn’t wait. I jabbed a fork into the jar, pulled out a slice of pickled tomato, and popped it in my mouth. “I think it smells amazing.” Gwen’s face darkened completely. “Devon Mitchell, are you actively trying to push my buttons today?” Back in college, when we first started dating, she had eaten half a jar of these exact pickles that my mother had mailed us. She had smiled, her eyes bright, and told me it was the most comforting, soulful thing she’d ever tasted. But then, a year ago, Toby had wrinkled his nose at a jar and offhandedly muttered, “Ugh, smells like trailer-park trash.” Since that day, Gwen had never touched another pickled tomato. In fact, she acted as though the mere scent disgusted her. She loved what Toby loved; she despised what Toby despised. She had mastered the art of aligning her tastes with his. I tightened the lid and pulled the jar protectively behind my back. “If the smell bothers you, you’re welcome to stay in your office.” Gwen let out a dry, harsh laugh, turned on her heel, and slammed her office door shut. My mother’s eyes brimmed with tears. She gently tugged at my sleeve. “Devon, please don’t fight with her because of me. You have to spend the rest of your life with this girl. I don’t want her holding a grudge against you because of some silly pickles.” My throat burned with a sudden, sharp ache. I turned and squeezed her calloused, worn hand. “Mom, this has nothing to do with you. And I’m not marrying her.” She stared at me, stunned. I looked back at her with absolute, unwavering certainty. Realizing I meant every word, she pulled me into her arms, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. “Oh, my sweet boy… you’ve been hurting so much, and I didn’t even see it. It’s okay. We won’t marry her. We don’t need her. You and I can make a good life back home.” Gwen didn’t come to bed until well past midnight. I lay under the covers, pretending to be asleep. The shower was running, and through the frosted glass of the master bath, I could hear her laughing—a soft, intimate sound reserved only for one person. She was on a speaker call with Toby. “You want to see my abs?” she teased over the sound of rushing water. “If I show you now, what’s next? You going to want to touch them too?” A pause, then she chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything for your sister. A reward? What kind of reward are you giving me?” The line went quiet for a moment. She cleared her throat, her voice dropping to a slightly flustered register. “Alright, that’s enough. Don’t you dare show that photo to anyone else.” My stomach violently churned. I gripped the edge of the blanket until my knuckles turned white. Gwen stepped out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed, smelling of jasmine and hot steam. She slid under the covers and immediately reached for the buttons of my pajama shirt. It was her usual pattern: get worked up by Toby’s flirting, then come to my bed to relieve the tension. “Don’t touch me,” I snapped, a wave of revulsion washing over me as I shoved her away. “Are you still throwing a tantrum?” she asked, sighing. As I pushed her, her silk robe parted slightly. There, etched into the pale skin just beneath her left collarbone, was a fresh tattoo. A black hawk with spread wings. It was the exact same design that Tabitha Ward had tattooed on her arm. I stared at the dark ink, my voice trembling with cold rage. “You got a tattoo of that?” Gwen glanced down, casually pulling her collar closed as if it were nothing. “Toby has had terrible nightmares these past few years because his sister was locked up. I got the tattoo to help soothe his anxiety. It’s not like I tattooed his name on my body, Devon. Why are you making a big deal out of this?” She had permanently branded herself with the mark of the woman who destroyed my future, placing it right over her heart. All to soothe Toby’s “anxiety.” Without a word, I threw off the duvet and stood up. “Devon!” she called out behind me, but I didn’t stop. I walked into the study, shut the door, and spent the night on the small leather sofa. When I woke up the next morning and opened the door, the guest room was completely empty. My mother’s canvas tote bag, her old suitcase—everything was gone. Gwen was standing by the entryway, slipping off her designer heels. “Where is my mother?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “I booked her an early train and sent her on her way,” Gwen said smoothly. “Toby and his sister are arriving soon. I didn’t want any awkward run-ins to ruin the mood.” She had kicked my mother out while I was asleep. And my mom, terrified of causing a scene or making things harder for me, hadn’t made a single sound. She had just quietly packed her things and slipped away in the dark. My hands shook as I dialed my mother’s number. “Devon, sweetie! I’m at the hotel near the station,” her voice came through the line, forced and bright. “It’s beautiful here, really. Don’t you worry about me.” My eyes stung with hot tears. Only after verifying she was safe did I let out a trembling breath and hang up. The moment the call ended, the doorbell rang. It was Toby, and standing right beside him was Tabitha. “Gwen!” Toby beamed, stepping inside and kicking off his sneakers as if he owned the place. Gwen instantly closed the laptop on the dining table and went to greet them. The laptop screen was still glowing with the files of a high-stakes multi-million-dollar merger she had claimed was so urgent that “the world could end and she couldn’t afford a single distraction.” But now, with Toby here, she abandoned it without a second thought. I remembered the night I lay shivering on this very sofa, burning with a fever, begging her to take me to the emergency room. She hadn’t even looked up from her screen. “Let me finish this email first,” she had said. That email took three hours. “Come on in, Tabitha! This is the room Gwen set up for you,” Toby said proudly, pointing toward the guest room my mother had just been forced to vacate. Tabitha’s eyes slowly swept over me, her gaze slimy and patronizing. “Devon Mitchell. Long time no see.” Swallowing a surge of nausea, I took a step back. Toby strolled over, wrapping his arm familiarly around Gwen’s. He looked at me with an insufferable air of magnanimity. “Hey, Devon. My sister told me she’s willing to let bygones be bygones. She’s a bigger person than most, and she forgives you for putting her away. Now that we’re all living under one roof, we’re basically family.” My hands clenches into tight fists, my nails biting so hard into my palms that they nearly drew blood. “She falsified my transcripts and got me kicked out of Columbia! How dare she talk about forgiving me!” “Devon!” Gwen’s voice cut through the air, sharp and heavy with disappointment. “That was years ago. You have a stable, comfortable job now, don’t you? Why do you have to keep dragging up the past?” She shook her head. “You need to move forward. Stop being so petty.” My vision blurred. Seven years ago, on the day we finally uncovered the truth, Gwen had been the one with tear-filled eyes. She had slapped Tabitha across the face, held my shaking body close, and sworn that she would spend the rest of her life making things up to me, protecting me from ever feeling that kind of pain again. Now, she was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with my abuser, lecturing me on grace. I lowered my gaze, staring down at my shoes. “Right,” I whispered. “You’re right. I need to move forward.” That afternoon, I quietly rescheduled my flight to Charleston for the next day. At nine the next morning, I walked into the offices of Tidal Ventures with my printed resignation letter tucked neatly inside my bag. When I first graduated from that unaccredited, joke of a college, my resume was a black mark. Every prestigious firm shut its doors in my face. I had spent countless nights in a cramped, moldy studio apartment, crying until I physically retched from the sheer despair of a stolen future. Back then, Gwen had held me tight, wiping away my tears. “If none of these corporate bastards will hire you,” she had whispered, “then I’ll build a company just for you.” And she did. Tidal Ventures grew from a tiny startup into a private equity giant. To protect her reputation and avoid any whispers of nepotism, I had refused a high-level entry role. I started at the very bottom, working eighty-hour weeks, slowly grinding my way up to Chief of Staff. My entire youth, my blood, and my tears were poured into these foundations. But before I could even hand in my resignation, HR called me. I was being let go. The very company built on the promise of my salvation was throwing me out like garbage. I pushed open the door to my office. Toby was sitting in my ergonomic chair, casually sipping coffee from my favorite black ceramic mug. I turned to look at Gwen, who was standing by the window. My voice shook. “You gave him my job?” Gwen adjusted the silver cufflinks of her blazer, her face completely indifferent. “Toby was getting lonely sitting around the penthouse all day. Having him here gives him something to do, and keeping him close makes it easier for me to look after him.” “And what about me?” I asked. “You can stay home and focus on the wedding plans,” she said, as if she were doing me a favor. “You need a break anyway. Toby has had a rough life, and with his sister just getting out of prison, he has no safety net. Giving up your seat to him is the least you can do. Consider it a way to make amends.” Toby spun my expensive pen between his fingers, a smug, gloating smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, Devon. After all, my sister spent three years in prison because of you, even though she didn’t really do anything wrong. She only altered your college records back then because of me, so I could—” He froze, abruptly cutting himself off and slapping a hand over his mouth. Every drop of warmth drained from my body. “What did you just say?” Gwen let out a heavy sigh, looking almost relieved. “Alright, since it’s out in the open, there’s no point in hiding it anymore.” She looked me straight in the eye. “I’ve always known, Devon. Tabitha didn’t act alone. Toby was the one who begged her to sabotage your transcripts.” “Why?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Because he was terrified of losing me,” Gwen said, her voice soft with pity. “He was scared that if you got into Columbia with me, you’d be too perfect, too successful, and he’d be left behind. He was just insecure, Devon.” She wasn’t just letting them steal my past; she was romanticizing the theft. “But since we’re being completely honest,” Gwen continued, her tone chillingly casual, “there’s one more thing you should know.” “The night your mother arrived in Chicago and had that severe asthma attack… Toby was the one who swapped her inhaler with a dummy cartridge.” My lungs seized. I couldn’t breathe. I remembered that night vividly. My mother had collapsed on the hardwood floor, her face turning a terrifying shade of blue. If the paramedics had arrived even five minutes later, she would have died. And Gwen had stood outside the ICU, her arms crossed, murmuring coldly, “People from the South are tough, Devon. She’s fine. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” “But in the end, she was fine,” Gwen said now, dismissing the horror with a wave of her hand. “She only spent a couple of days in the hospital.” She knew. She knew Toby had stolen my future, and she knew he had nearly murdered my mother. Yet she still shielded him, excused him, and loved him through it all. Something inside me didn’t just break; it ground down into dust. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Gwen… do you honestly think my mother’s life and my own are that worthless to you?” She frowned, stepping forward to wrap her arms around me, but I flinched away. “Devon, don’t be like this,” she pleaded. “I know Toby can be selfish and reckless. I know he makes terrible mistakes, but deep down, he’s just a broken kid who didn’t know how to handle his fear.” She reached for my hands. “But I will make it up to you. I promise. Once we’re married, I’ll give you anything you want. Whatever you want to buy, wherever you want to go, we’ll do it.” She smiled softly, trying to coax me back into submission. “Be reasonable, sweetheart. Go home and get ready for the wedding. Let me take care of the rest.” Her promises were like rubber checks from a bankrupt bank, and I was done waiting in line to cash them. I didn’t even have the energy to cry. The anger was gone, replaced by a cold, vast emptiness. I nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll go home.” She smiled, reaching up to gently ruffle my hair. “That’s my boy. I’ll have the driver take you.” “No,” I said, stepping back. “I’ll take a cab.” At 3:00 PM, I sat on a cold plastic chair at O’Hare International Airport. I pulled out my phone and sent one last text to Toby: “You can have her. The groom’s spot is yours.” My mother sat beside me, her worn hands clutching mine. Her eyes were filled with quiet anxiety. “Devon… are you sure about this? Ten years is a long time. You two were supposed to get married next week.” I smiled gently, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear. “Mom, I just want to go home.” The tears spilled over her lashes, and she nodded fiercely, squeezing my hand. “Okay. Let’s go home. We don’t need their fancy high life. We’ll go back to Charleston, and I’ll make you the best blackened catfish you’ve ever had.” I took her hand, stood up, and walked down the boarding bridge without looking back.

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On the Fourth of July—the day we were supposed to get married at City Hall—my girlfriend vanished. No calls. No texts. Just dead silence. It wasn’t until late that night, scrolling through social media, that I saw the post she had forgotten to hide from me. “From twenty to twenty-eight, our youth finally finds its forever.” Attached were two photos. One was a stamped, official marriage certificate. The other was a wedding portrait where she was leaning into a stranger’s shoulder, her smile bright, radiant, and completely unfiltered—the kind of laugh she used to save only for me when we were younger. With trembling hands, I tapped open the comments. Before I could even type a question, I saw a comment from Tyler, my best friend. “Congratulations to these two old souls. Finally overcame everything to be together! ~” My chest tightened. I dialed Tyler’s number, my fingers shaking. Silence hung heavily over the line before he finally admitted the truth. “Yeah, Jack. They’ve been together for eight years. Everyone in our circle knew.” “We weren’t trying to hurt you. We were just worried you’d overreact and make a scene. It would have been ugly.” “Jude and Ashley… they just fit better, you know? It hasn’t been easy for them to get to this point. We’re all friends here, Jack. Just… try to be the bigger man.” The tears that fell were cold, but they burned a hole straight through my chest. Twelve years. I had been with Ashley for twelve years. And for eight of them, she was in love with another man. Everyone knew. And everyone had agreed to keep me in the dark. … Like a masochist, I kept scrolling through the comments. It wasn’t just Tyler. So many of our mutual friends had left congratulations. “Jude is the absolute best. If you ever break his heart, Ash, I’m coming for you first!” That was Lauren, Ashley’s best friend. Just last week, she’d hugged me and called me the best brother-in-law a girl could ask for. “Married to the love of her life! So happy for you, Ashley! Drinks on me tonight!” My college roommate. “Let’s celebrate, guys, but remember to keep this on the down-low for my sister and Jude’s sake. Don’t let you-know-who find out.” Sam, Ashley’s younger brother. A few years ago, when his startup was failing, he borrowed eighty thousand dollars from me, claiming I was the only brother-in-law he’d ever accept. “Of course! We would never let the dragon ruin the Prince and Princess’s happily ever after!” Cody, the new intern at Ashley’s firm. He was clumsy and constantly on the verge of being fired, until I stepped in, mentored him, and saved his job. I tilted my head back against the wall, desperately trying to force the tears back. I was the “dragon.” I was the “you-know-who.” A punchline in their encrypted group chats, the obstacle to a fairytale. The feed refreshed, and Ashley’s post suddenly vanished. A second later, my phone rang. It was her. “I’m so sorry, Jack. There was a massive server crash at the office today, and I’ve been buried in crisis meetings. I haven’t even looked at my phone.” “Things are going to be crazy for a while. Let’s put the courthouse appointment on hold, okay?” “By the way… did you see anything interesting on social media today?” Her voice was tight—a clumsy, nervous probe. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I tried calling you, but I’ve been at the hospital with Mom all day. I haven’t had time to look at my phone.” “Go back to work,” I said quietly. “The marriage license… we’ll talk about it when you’re free.” My mother’s health had been failing for years. Last year, she was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. The oncologist told us that, with luck, we might have three years. Her only remaining wish was to see me marry Ashley before my thirtieth birthday. Today was that birthday. She was lying in her hospital bed, eager to see the marriage certificate. And I couldn’t give it to her. Because Ashley was already another man’s wife. I slumped against the hospital corridor wall, running a hand through my hair. The tears blurred the screen of my phone. I wiped it clean and noted the location of their celebration party, which I had memorized from one of the comments before Ashley deleted the post. The Gilded Spoon, Room 302. When I pushed open the heavy door to the private room, a shower of glittery confetti rained over me. Through the shimmering air, I saw Ashley wrapped in Jude’s arms, kissing him so deeply she looked breathless. Our friends were there, phones raised, capturing the romantic moment. Then I stepped in, and the illusion shattered. The room went dead silent. Gasps echoed. People looked away, unable to meet my eyes. Jude looked at Ashley, then at me. “Hey babe, is he a friend of yours? Everyone looks a bit tense.” “Jude, he’s—” Ashley stammers. “I’m Ashley’s boyfriend,” I interrupted, staring directly at Jude. “I know you two have been together for eight years. But she and I have been together for twelve.” “If you don’t believe me, I can show you the videos.” I unlocked my phone and pulled up the albums. Twelve years of history, laid bare. The first video: High school graduation. Ashley, speaking as the class representative, looked out at the crowd and said into the microphone, “My dream isn’t just Harvard. It’s Jack Davis.” The second: College quad. We were holding hands, and she pulled out a set of car keys, her cheeks flushed. “I know how hard it is for you to take the bus to the hospital to see your mom every day. Take this. It’s a cheap used car, but I promise I’ll buy you a better one someday.” It was a three-thousand-dollar beat-up sedan, but it was every penny she’d saved from her part-time jobs. The third: A cramped studio apartment. A tipsy Ashley clung to me, demanding I record her. “I swear to God, Jack, I’m going to make sure we have a good life. I’m never marrying anyone but you.” The fourth: Her company’s IPO celebration. The room was packed with our friends, chanting, “When are you guys finally getting hitched, Jack?” Ashley looked at the camera, her eyes full of devotion. “The house is being renovated. We’re going to City Hall on Jack’s thirtieth birthday.” Today was my thirtieth birthday. The day we promised to bind our lives together. And she spent it marrying someone else. The last video ended. The silence in the VIP room was deafening. These people—my best friend, my close companions—they were the witnesses of our love story, and they were also its betrayers. Jude’s face turned pale, his fists clenching as his eyes reddened. Ashley stepped in front of him, shielding him like a martyr, looking at me with desperate resolve. “Jack, stop. That’s enough.” “It’s my fault. All of it. I couldn’t let go of what we had, but I fell hopelessly in love with Jude. You’re innocent, and so is he. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Leave him out of this.” Jude shifted behind her, subtly twisting the new wedding band on his finger, projecting the quiet confidence of a legal husband. “Look, man, anyone would be devastated in your shoes. I get it,” Jude said. “But Ashley and I are married now. She’s my wife. Whatever lies ahead, we face it together. Ashley is a good, kind soul. If you want financial compensation, just name your price. We will do what we can.” Financial compensation? Twelve years of my life, reduced to a check? Before I could speak, Tyler cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Come on, Jack. Let it go. Ashley and Jude didn’t plan this. Love is messy. You can’t just claim priority because you were there first. I’m telling you this as your best friend—walk away with your dignity and take the settlement. If you make a scene, who’s ever going to want to marry you?” I looked at Tyler, stunned. My throat felt like it was filled with lead. Then came Sam, Ashley’s brother, and the others. “Jack, you’re a good guy, but Jude is great too. I wish both of you could be my brother-in-law, but my sister had to choose. She loves him more. I’m sorry.” “Jack, it’s obvious she loves Jude to her core. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have married him. Let her go.” Ashley and Jude stood closely pressed together, with the rest of our friends forming a human wall behind them. I was on the outside. The fight left me. I felt like a sponge wrung dry. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the worn, scratched key to that old used car. I placed it gently on the table. I had driven that car for ten years, never replacing it even when we could afford better. Now, I was returning it. Along with twelve years of youth, love, and friendship. “Fine,” I said quietly. “I’m out.” “Jack!” Ashley called after me, her voice sharp with sudden panic. I didn’t pause. I didn’t look back. I took a cab to the hospital. Mom looked unexpectedly lively today, a flush of color in her cheeks. She handed me a peeled apple, her eyes bright. “Jack, how did the wedding photos go? Show me the certificate!” My throat tightened, a bitter sting rising in my nose. I didn’t know how to tell her. I couldn’t bear to break her heart. Just as I gathered the courage to speak, the door opened. Ashley walked in. She sat on the edge of the bed and began massaging Mom’s legs, just as she had done for years, offering a warm, soft smile. “Jack thought the photos didn’t turn out well, Mom. We sent them back to the studio for touch-ups. We’re going back to City Hall in a few days. I’ll make sure you’re the first to see the certificate.” Hearing Ashley call her “Mom” instead of “Mrs. Davis” brought tears of joy to my mother’s eyes. She didn’t notice the cold tension between us. I grabbed Ashley’s arm and pulled her out into the hallway. “I walked away,” I hissed, my voice low but furious. “What more do you want from me?” She wrapped her arms around my waist, familiar and warm, sighing against my chest. “Jack, twelve years. Do you really want to throw all of that away?” “You’re another man’s wife,” I said, tearing myself from her grip. “I don’t play the part of the side-piece.” I turned to leave, but she blocked my path, throwing herself into my arms with a desperate, surprising strength. “During college, when I was saving up to buy you that car, I worked at a coffee shop. That’s where I met Jude,” she sobbed, holding onto me. “I was so timid back then, always getting bullied by customers. He protected me. One night, a client slipped something into my drink at a company event. Jude got me out of there, but by the time we reached the hotel, the drug was too strong… we couldn’t stop ourselves.” “I tried to end it. But I couldn’t bear to hurt him. For eight years, Jude stayed in the shadows, never demanding anything, never complaining. I owed him. I had to give him the marriage license to make up for it.” The realization hit me like a physical blow. Eight years. It wasn’t just a number. While I was smiling over the keys to a cheap car, she was in a hotel bed with him. While I was cooking her favorite dinner in our tiny apartment, waiting for her to come home, she was eating with him. A thousand moments of pure, naive happiness, built on a foundation of betrayal. “You were in danger, and you didn’t call your boyfriend? You called a stranger?” “Enough! I don’t care about your origin story. Get out of my sight!” I raised my hand, fueled by a sudden, blinding rage. Ashley flinches, closing her eyes, expecting the strike. But my strength evaporated. I let my hand drop, feeling nothing but a profound, exhausting emptiness. Ashley clung to me tighter. “I gave the legal paper to Jude, Jack. But everything else—my love, my money, my time, my devotion to your mother—nothing changes. It’s all still yours.” “In fact, there’s a new experimental treatment trial in Europe for advanced stomach cancer. Let’s take her there together, okay?” I closed my eyes. Ashley had been good to me over the years. If Jude hadn’t existed, I would have called myself the luckiest man alive. My career had stalled because I spent so much time caring for my mother, but Ashley never cared that she made more than me. She bought me whatever I wanted, took me wherever I wanted to go, and spent nights with doctors discussing my mother’s treatment. She paid the medical bills. I couldn’t leave her. Not yet. Not until my mother was safe. Life fell into a hollow routine. I stayed in the townhouse we had bought together, working by day and staying at the hospital by night. Ashley was busy with her new husband and rarely called. Her absence felt like a reprieve. One evening, I bought a bag of steamed dumplings—my mother’s favorite—and walked into her room. But she wasn’t alone. Two young men were sitting by her bedside. My heart dropped. “Tyler? What are you doing here? And why is he here?” My mother smiled warmly. “Jack, Tyler brought his friend over to keep me company. Such a sweet, polite boy, Jude is. It’s a shame his wife is running around on him with some lowlife. Don’t worry, Jude, people who cheat always get what’s coming to them.” Jude stood up, smoothing his jacket. He looked at me with a cold, cruel smirk, then turned back to my mother. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Davis. Cheaters always get what’s coming to them.” “So, when does your son get his? Actually, he already did. It’s just that the universe decided to punish you instead. Late-stage stomach cancer… I’d say that’s a fair trade.” My mother’s face drained of color. She trembled, clutching her chest. “What… what are you talking about?” Tyler stepped forward, throwing two booklets onto her lap. “He’s saying your son is a homewrecker, Mrs. Davis. Ashley and Jude are legally married. Jack knows this, but he’s still living in her house, using her money to pay for your treatment. That’s marital property. Jude has every right to claw it back!” My mother stared at the date on the marriage certificate. July fourth. My thirtieth birthday. A dark, violent cough racked her chest, and she spat blood onto the white sheets. “Mom!” I screamed, lunging for the emergency call button, but Tyler and Jude grabbed my arms, pinning me back. “Your mother said it herself,” Jude whispered in my ear. “Homewreckers deserve to suffer. If she doesn’t die today, you’ll never learn to stay away from my wife.” “Let her go. Ashley’s money doesn’t grow on trees. Why should she waste it on a dying old woman and her leech of a son?” I looked at Tyler, begging him. “Tyler, please. She’s dying. Help me.” Tyler only scoffed. “We’re not brothers, Jack. Jude is my brother. You’ve always had to be better than me, haven’t you? Smarter, better-looking, with a gorgeous girlfriend. I hated your pity. This is your karma.” I was pinned to the floor, watching my mother struggle for breath. The heart monitor beside her beeped frantically, then slowed, before flattening into a long, continuous, terrifying tone. She was gone. A primal scream tore from my throat. I broke free, grabbed the small paring knife on the bedside table—the one she used for my apples—and lunged at them. “I’ll kill you both!” Suddenly, the door flew open. Ashley stepped in, catching only the tail end of the chaos. “Jack, are you insane?!” she screamed, throwing herself in front of Jude to shield him. I tried to pull back, twisting my wrist at the last fraction of a second to avoid her chest. The blade sank deep into my own shoulder, warm blood splattering across Ashley’s face. She caught me as I fall, her screams echoing down the sterile corridor. “Jack!”

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It took three years for the entity who hijacked my body to fail her mission. To win over the elite heirs of Manhattan, she had used my face to play a desperate, clawing game of seduction. Instead of succeeding, she made me the laughingstock of the city and tore my family apart. Before she finally vanished from my consciousness, she left a parting note in my mind, dripping with malice: “What a shame. I played this hand straight into the ground.” “Your three brothers wish you were dead, and your man treats you like a stray dog he can’t shake off.” “Have fun cleaning up the mess.” I gasped, opening my eyes to the sudden, disorienting rush of reality—only to be met with a stinging slap across my face. 1 “Smack.” My head snapped to the side, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears. “Summer, when is this endless drama going to stop?!” The roar of fury came from above me. I forced myself to look up. Standing over me was my second brother, Dylan. This was the same man—a famous pop star—who had once stood in a torrential downpour for three hours just to buy me a limited-edition birthday cake. Now, he looked down at me with nothing but disgust. A few yards away, the poolside was in utter chaos. My adoptive sister, Tiffany, was shivering on a lounge chair, wrapped in towels, coughing weakly as water dripped from her hair. The man holding her was Adrian Lockhart. Adrian was the untouchable heir of New York’s old money, and the primary target the soul-hijacker had spent the last three years shamelessly chasing like a dog. Adrian gently patted Tiffany’s back, then raised his eyes to glare at me, his gaze cold and sharp as ice. “Dylan, your family’s lack of breeding is truly something to behold,” Adrian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Since Miss Harrington loves the water so much, perhaps she should spend the night in the pool to clear her head.” Dylan’s face paled at Adrian’s words, turning even more hostile. He whipped around and snarled at me, “What are you waiting for? Get over there and beg Tiffany for forgiveness!” “If you had actually drowned her today, I would have been the first to throw you to the wolves!” I said nothing. For three long years, I had been locked in a dark room of my own mind, a silent observer forced to watch that imposter use my body. I watched her put on gaudy, heavy makeup and throw pathetic, hysterical tantrums just to get attention. To please Adrian, she had gone so far as to slip drugs into his drink. To steal her brothers’ affection back from Tiffany, she had resorted to cheap manipulation, self-harm, and endless lies. She had dragged my dignity through the mud and exhausted every ounce of my family’s love. And now, she had patted herself on the back and vanished, leaving me to stand in the wreckage. Seeing my silence, a dry chuckle echoed from the other side of the patio. My eldest brother, Lawrence, stood up from his chair. He walked over and casually tossed a stack of papers at my feet. “Don’t waste your breath demanding an apology, Dylan. She doesn’t have a soul.” Lawrence looked down at me, his eyes entirely devoid of warmth. “Summer, we gave you countless chances over the last three years. You threw them all away.” “Sign the severance agreement. From this moment on, you are no longer a Harrington.” “Lawrence…” Tiffany whimpered from Adrian’s arms, looking up with big, watery eyes. “Please don’t do this. Summer only did it because she loves you all so much. It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have come back to this family…” “Tiffany, you’re far too soft. That’s why she keeps stepping on you.” My third brother, Oliver, walked over from the shadows. As a prominent surgeon, his voice carried a clinical, detached authority. “Summer, you are suffering from severe manic episodes and paranoid personality disorder. As a medical professional, I highly recommend involuntary psychiatric admission.” “Tiffany survived today, but you should use whatever sanity you have left to keep some dignity.” The onlookers at the party whispered among themselves, enjoying the spectacle. They were waiting to see the once-spoiled heiress of the Harrington family get publicly cast out. According to the memory of the entity who had run my life, this was the part where I was supposed to throw myself at Lawrence’s feet, weeping and begging for mercy. Or scream at Adrian that I was innocent, that Tiffany had jumped in herself. They were waiting for my hysterical break. They expected me to kneel. But I didn’t. I stood quietly in the cool night air, raising a hand to wipe the corner of my lip. It felt sticky. I stared at the smudge of blood on the back of my hand for a second, then slowly bent down to pick up the severance papers. “Do you have a pen?” 2 My voice was quiet, but it made everyone freeze. Dylan looked bewildered, his brow furrowing deeper. “What kind of game are you playing now? I swear to God, Summer, you could die right here and none of us would shed a single tear.” “I’m not playing a game.” I straightened my back and looked him dead in the eye. “I asked for a pen. Don’t you want me to sign?” The utter lack of emotion in my face made Lawrence frown. He let out a harsh breath, pulled a sleek fountain pen from his breast pocket, and threw it at my feet. “Stop acting.” “If you sign this without making a scene, I’ll have accounting wire a million dollars to your account, so you don’t starve on the streets and embarrass us.” I bent down and picked up the pen. Without a single word of protest, without even skimming the legal clauses, I flipped straight to the signature page and wrote my name in clear, elegant cursive. I handed the papers back to Lawrence. He didn’t take them. He just stared at my face, a flicker of shock crossing his eyes. “You don’t want them? I’ll leave them here then.” I placed the document gently on the table, then turned my gaze to Oliver. “Dr. Harrington,” I said, dropping the title of ‘brother’ entirely. Oliver stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not sick, but thank you for the clinical assessment,” I said softly. “Going forward, you should tell the chef to put less salt in your food. Your stomach has always been sensitive. If you keep eating like you do, you’ll get ulcers.” I turned my eyes to Dylan. “That slap just now clears whatever debt we had between us.” “All those embarrassing airport pickups and film-set visits that made you feel so ashamed? You don’t have to worry about them anymore.” Finally, my gaze drifted past them, resting on Adrian and Tiffany. Whether the intruder had actually pushed Tiffany tonight didn’t matter to me anymore. “Mr. Lockhart,” I said, looking at his handsome, stony face. “I apologize for the last three years of desperate clawing. I won’t cross your path again. Have a long, happy life together.” Saying all of this felt like it had drained the last reserves of my physical strength. I turned on my heel and walked toward the grand entrance of the estate. Behind me, the silence was absolute. They were likely paralyzed by this unfamiliar, eerie calm. As I reached the threshold, the heavy wooden doors swung open, letting in a gust of cold night wind. It was starting to drizzle. I was wearing the intruder’s favorite dress—a cheap-looking, low-cut red gown that offered no warmth. The wind hit me, and a violent shiver ran through my bones. “Summer!” Dylan’s voice came from behind me, sharp and frantic. “If you walk out of those doors, don’t you ever think about coming back!” “Do you honestly think this reverse psychology is going to make us feel sorry for you? Dream on!” I didn’t look back. I pushed through the heavy doors and stepped out into the rainy night. The wind was howling now, and the cold rain instantly soaked through my hair. Before I could even make it down the grand stone steps, a dozen blinding flashlights cut through the darkness. “She’s out! Summer Harrington is coming out!” “Block her! Don’t let her run!” A girl with short hair rushed to the front of the crowd, throwing a cup of ice-cold water directly onto my chest. 3 “We saw the group chat! You actually tried to drown Tiffany tonight!” “You toxic, miserable bitch! Why don’t you just die?!” A crowd of young girls carrying light-up signs blocked the path down the steps. The signs bore Dylan’s name. These were his fans. Over the last three years, the entity in my body had constantly crashed his filming sets to gain attention, turning his fanbase into my fiercest enemies. The schedule of tonight’s private gala was no secret, and they had clearly gathered here specifically to ambush me. The freezing water soaked through my thin dress. As the wind blew, my teeth began to chatter. According to the intruder’s habits, she would have shrieked, covered her face, and run back inside to throw herself into Dylan’s or Lawrence’s arms, screaming for protection. But I didn’t hide, and I didn’t cry. I just stood there, letting the rain wash over me. Behind me, the heavy double doors clicked open again. My three brothers, along with Adrian who was still sheltering Tiffany, walked out onto the landing. Security guards immediately stepped forward, holding large black umbrellas to shield them from the elements. They stood at the top of the grand steps, watching me get swarmed by the angry crowd in the freezing rain. Dylan didn’t try to stop his fans. Instead, he let out a bitter laugh. “Summer, is this another one of your pathetic pity plays?” “Did you choose the front exit on purpose just to rile up my fans so I’d feel bad for you?” His eyes were filled with nothing but disgust. “I’m telling you right now, even if they tear you apart tonight, I won’t lift a finger to save you.” Lawrence adjusted his gold cufflinks, his voice matching the coldness of the rain. “Get her out of here. She’s embarrassing the family just by standing there.” Oliver pushed his glasses up his nose, looking at my shivering, soaked figure. “You brought this on yourself.” As for Adrian, he didn’t even look in my direction. His attention was entirely focused on Tiffany. They were waiting. They were waiting for me to break down under the weight of the crowd’s insults, to weep and beg them to save me. Suddenly, Tiffany pulled away from Adrian’s chest and took a small step forward. “Summer… the rain is so heavy. You’ll get sick if you walk home like this.” She blinked her damp eyelashes, her eyes dropping to the glittering diamond necklace around my neck. “Summer… that necklace is the coming-of-age gift Mom left for me before she died. If you’re really leaving for good, could you please give it back?” The crowd erupted instantly. Several fans pointed directly at my face, shouting, “How shameless! Even after getting kicked out, she still stole Tiffany’s inheritance!” “She’s a thief! Don’t let her take Tiffany’s things!” Dylan’s face turned livid, and he marched down the steps. “Summer, you really are a piece of trash! Stealing from Tiffany? Take it off. Right now!” Lawrence’s expression grew even colder. He turned to the security guards. “Go strip the necklace off her. If she resists, use force.” Adrian finally looked up, his eyes filled with mocking disdain. “Summer, if you need money, I could have given you some. But resorting to theft is just pathetic.” Hearing his words, my heart didn’t even flutter. Before the soul-hijacker took over my body, Adrian and I actually had a real engagement. 4 Back then, he was cold to everyone else, but he saved every ounce of his warmth for me. He had severe germaphobia and hated physical contact, yet during the freezing winter months, he would naturally take my cold hands and tuck them into his coat pockets to keep them warm. He was a notorious workaholic, but when I once mentioned offhand that I wanted to see the ocean, he canceled a multi-billion-dollar merger without hesitation just to drive me to the coast overnight. He would frown and scold me for being reckless, all while wrapping his own heavy coat around my shoulders. But over the last three years, the entity had ruined every memory of us. She had drugged him, tried to climb into his bed, and acted like a hysterical, jealous lunatic in public. She didn’t just throw my own dignity out the window; she systematically turned Adrian’s deep affection for me into absolute disgust. The only reason he was treating Tiffany so well now was because she reminded him of the quiet, gentle girl I used to be three years ago. Looking at the deep contempt in his eyes, I felt nothing but exhaustion. This necklace was indeed a maternal heirloom—but it belonged to me. My mother had left it to me. Yet, because the intruder had worn it every single day just to spite Tiffany, everyone in the family had somehow convinced themselves it belonged to her. Under normal circumstances, the intruder would have screamed and fought to prove the necklace was hers. But I didn’t care to argue. Explaining anything to these people was a waste of breath. I reached behind my neck and unclipped the clasp. “Click.” A triumphant smirk flashed across Tiffany’s face, and she reached out eagerly. “Thank you, Sum—” I didn’t hand it to her. With a flick of my wrist, I tossed the diamond necklace directly into the muddy puddle at my feet. Dirty water splashed up, staining the hem of Tiffany’s pristine designer dress. “Ah!” Tiffany shrieked, jumping back and bursting into tears. “Summer, if you didn’t want to give it back, you could have just said so! Why would you throw away Mom’s memory like that?!” “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Adrian yelled, pulling Tiffany back under the umbrella and glaring at me with raw fury. Dylan looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. He rushed forward, raising his hand to strike me again. “You miserable bitch! I’ll teach you—” I didn’t flinch. I just stood there, staring directly at his raised hand. “Go ahead,” I said, my voice cutting through the rain. “Hit me. If that hand lands, tomorrow’s front-page headline will read: “‘Pop Icon Beats Defenseless Woman on the Street.’” Dylan’s hand froze mid-air. He was shaking with rage, but he didn’t dare let his hand fall. I ignored him, turning my attention back to the rest of them. Right there, in front of the cameras and the crowd, I unclipped my diamond earrings and unclasped my bracelet, letting them drop into the mud. Finally, I bent down and slipped off my designer heels—the ones that had rubbed my heels raw, leaving them slick with blood. I stood barefoot in the cold rainwater, looking up at the figures on the stone steps. “I am leaving nothing that belongs to the Harringtons. From this moment on, I have absolutely no relation to any of you, or the Lockharts.” I turned around. The fans at the bottom of the steps seemed stunned by the cold, quiet intensity radiating from me. Without anyone saying a word, the crowd parted, leaving a clear path through the dark street. The rain poured over my face as I took my first steps into the night. Behind me, Dylan’s hand was still hanging in the air, his eyes slowly dropping to the pair of discarded high heels on the wet stone. Suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine. The inner back of the heels was completely stained with deep crimson blood. It wasn’t just him. Every man standing on that landing was staring at that smear of red. For the past three years, the “Summer” they knew would cry and scream for weeks if she so much as nicked her finger on a piece of paper, forcing everyone in the house to appease her. But just now, with her feet rubbed raw and bleeding, she had walked barefoot onto the gravel-strewn pavement without even a flinch. The behavior was unfamiliar, yet terrifyingly recognizable. Because three years ago, before she “went mad,” the real Summer Harrington had been exactly like this. Tiffany sensed the sudden shift in the air. Seeing the men stare intensely at the direction where Summer had disappeared, a flash of panic washed over her. She quickly knelt down and scooped the muddy necklace out of the puddle. “Brothers, please don’t be mad at Summer,” Tiffany said, holding the muddy jewelry in her hands with a fragile smile. “She must have just been confused when she took it from my room. I told her I didn’t mind, but she still has such a temper…” She leaned instinctively back toward Adrian’s chest. In the past, Adrian would have immediately wrapped his arm around her. But this time, Adrian didn’t move. Instead, he took a step back, letting her lean into empty air. Tiffany stumbled, looking up in disbelief. “Adrian…?” Adrian stared at the muddy necklace in her hand, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Tiffany, you said she stole this from your room?” Tiffany’s heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to nod. “Y-yes, it’s the coming-of-age gift my mother left for—” “You’re lying.”

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Margot fell in love with my roommate at first sight. She snapped a candid photo of him and dropped it into our university’s most notorious, invite-only group chat for trust-fund kids. [Does anyone know who this guy is? Ten grand to whoever gets me his number.] Someone replied almost instantly. [I have it.] But they made a typo. They sent her my number instead. Margot and I dated exclusively online for the entirety of winter break. It wasn’t until the spring semester started, when we finally met face-to-face, that she realized the massive mistake. She stared at me, thought about it for a long, agonizing minute, and then offered a compromise. “We break up. You help me get Wyatt. And when it’s done, I’ll give you a blank check. Write whatever number you want on it. Do we have a deal?” 1. Margot’s attitude was remarkably sincere. We went to the same university, but this was the first time she was truly looking at me. I, on the other hand, had stolen hundreds of glances at her over the years. In my mind, she was always this effortlessly aloof creature, as if nothing in the world was quite worthy of her attention. But now, for Wyatt, she was being incredibly generous. She literally slid a blank check across the table. “Don’t worry,” she told me, her voice smooth. “The second I get back, I’m going to wring Delaney’s neck for this.” I knew who Delaney was. A notorious rich kid with a reputation for chaos. She was the one who had accidentally sent Margot my number. I clenched my hands under the table, forcing my breathing to steady. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.” There wasn’t much point in hesitating. Yes, I liked Margot. I liked her a lot. But at the same time, I was desperately broke. I just hadn’t expected my first foray into love to end in such a pathetic, transactional disaster. A gust of freezing wind tore past us, and I instinctively pulled my scarf tighter around my neck. Margot looked at me sideways, her eyes as dark as ink. She sighed. “I’m sorry.” It suddenly hit me that the day she first added me, it had been snowing just like this. I had just gotten back home from the bus station, standing in the freezing snow, reading her friend request over and over again. We had gone to the same high school. I had memorized her profile picture and screen name years ago. And now, we were college juniors. Six whole years had passed. My hands had literally shaken when I hit accept. Her first message to me had been: [Hey, I’m Margot. I saw you this afternoon, thought we should get to know each other.] That fleeting moment was the happiest of my entire life. Only now did I realize that from the very beginning, the whole thing had been nothing but a beautiful, cruel illusion. 2. After getting Wyatt’s permission, I passed his number to Margot. Wyatt wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but he had this golden-retriever, sun-kissed energy that naturally drew people in. He had plenty of girls chasing him. But obviously, none of them could compete with Margot. He sat on his bed, phone in hand, typing out a message to her before looking up at me, thoroughly confused. “How do you even know Margot?” I fell silent for a second. I swallowed the truth. “Randomly got added. We never really talked.” Wyatt looked relieved. “Man, I’m so nervous. I don’t even know how to talk to a girl like her. Do you really think she’s into me?” I nodded. “Yeah.” I grabbed my textbooks and walked out of the dorm. Just as I reached the bottom of the library steps, my phone buzzed. It was Margot. [I want to take him to dinner tomorrow. Does he have any allergies? What kind of food does he like?] I took a deep, heavy breath. I rested my thumb on the screen and scrolled up. Just a few weeks ago, she had been calling me by my childhood nickname. For two months, we had texted from the second we woke up until we fell asleep. She knew every tiny detail about what I liked. Before we were supposed to meet, knowing I had a sweet tooth, she had actually spent days learning how to bake a complicated French pastry from scratch. Wyatt’s tastes were the exact opposite of mine. [He hates sweets. He likes it spicy,] I typed back. The three typing dots appeared, vanished, and appeared again. A long silence stretched over the digital space before she finally replied. [Okay.] Staring at that single word, I locked my screen. Sometimes, the sheer whiplash of life makes you want to laugh out loud. Just days ago, she was the one coaxing me to sleep, texting me things that made the blood rush to my face. [I’m not a good girl, you know,] she had teased.[You’ll find out when we meet.] But when we finally met, the only thing she left me with was an apology. 3. Margot didn’t text me often after that. Only occasionally, to ask for intel on Wyatt’s preferences. I played my part dutifully. If I knew the answer, I gave it to her straight. Then came the day I walked back into the dorm to find Wyatt shivering under his blankets, looking awful. I pressed a hand to his forehead. He was burning up. Right on cue, Margot’s name flashed on my phone. [Is Wyatt in the room? I’ve been calling him but he’s not picking up.] I quickly explained that Wyatt was running a high fever. Her reply was instant. [Help him downstairs. I’m pulling the car around.] I texted back a quick ]Okay.] The problem was, I had badly sprained my ankle a week prior. Hauling Wyatt’s dead weight down three flights of stairs was agonizing. By the time we made it to the lobby doors and I saw Margot, my grip slipped for just a second. Wyatt bumped into the doorframe and nearly crumpled to the ground. Seeing this, Margot sprinted out of her car. Her brow was furrowed, her voice icy. “Jonah.” “You almost let him fall.” Swallowing the sharp, shooting pain in my ankle, I quickly muttered, “I didn’t mean to.” Margot didn’t even look at me. She just wrapped her arm around Wyatt and guided him into the passenger seat. I stood there on the pavement for a long time, watching her taillights disappear. So this is what it feels like. Watching the person you love meticulously care for someone else. 4. For a long time after that, Margot vanished from my inbox. Once Wyatt got back from the hospital, they started FaceTiming every single night. Our other two roommates would occasionally pop into the frame, cracking jokes or saying hi to her. Except me. Every time she called, I retreated to the furthest corner of the room, completely silent. She used to call me like that. Back then, I really believed we were the start of a great story. Then, one evening, Wyatt was in the shower. He had left his phone on his desk. It rang, loudly and persistently, for a solid minute. “Hey man, can you answer that for me?” Wyatt yelled over the water. I looked at the screen. Margot’s name was glowing brightly. She had already called three times. She was probably panicking, worried he had spiked a fever again. I hesitated, then tapped the green button. Margot’s voice came through the speaker, impossibly soft. “Wyatt?” A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. I pressed my lips together. “He’s in the shower.” A beat of silence. Then, Margot spoke, her tone shifting into something definitive. “It’s you.” Of course she recognized my voice. “Yeah,” I replied. The line went quiet. I had delivered the message. I thought about it, and started to pull the phone away to hang up. Suddenly, her voice came back. “I didn’t mean to snap at you the other day.” I gripped the phone. I didn’t know what to say. It took me a long time to force out two hollow words. “It’s fine.” She seemed caught off guard that after such a long pause, that was all I had to offer. She let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Right.” That night, for the first time in weeks, Margot texted my actual phone. It felt like a fragile olive branch. [Thanks for answering today.] Margot’s devotion to Wyatt was bordering on obsessive. She showered him with expensive gifts. A PS5, a vintage Rolex, limited-edition sneakers. So much stuff he could barely fit it in his closet. But despite it all, Wyatt seemed frustrated. “She treats me amazing. But I don’t get it. It’s been over a month, and she still hasn’t made it official. Does she want me to make the first move?” One of the roommates leaned over, curious. “Have you guys kissed? Hooked up?” Wyatt shook his head. “No.” He paused, looking almost embarrassed. “Honestly, we haven’t even held hands yet.” I sat on the sidelines, listening in absolute silence. “I heard Margot has never dated anyone,” another roommate chimed in. “She’s practically royalty on campus. Before you, she never looked twice at a guy. You gotta step it up, man. Lock it down.” But I remembered winter break. We had been texting for barely two weeks before she confessed her feelings to me. My guess? She had gotten burned by rushing in with me, and now she wanted to take it agonizingly slow. Either way, it didn’t matter. They were bound to make it official soon. I just didn’t expect to run into Margot the very next night. 5. She was playing volleyball on the campus courts with some friends. I was just passing by when a stray ball slammed hard into the side of my head. The girl who hit it came jogging over, breathless. She took one look at the forming bruise on my temple and grabbed my arm. “Shit, sorry. Come on, I’m taking you to the clinic.” I looked up. The stadium lights were blinding. The girl finally got a good look at my face and froze. Right at that moment, I saw Margot walking up from behind her. Her face was dangerously dark. “Delaney,” Margot warned, her voice low. It suddenly clicked. This was Delaney. The girl who had accidentally handed Margot my phone number. Margot’s eyes dropped to where Delaney’s hand was wrapped around my arm. There was no warmth in her expression. “You’re just taking him to the clinic. Do you really need to be grabbing him like that?” Delaney immediately dropped my arm like it burned her. In the end, they both escorted me to the campus hospital. Thankfully, it was just a mild concussion. Throughout the whole ordeal, Delaney wouldn’t stop hovering, asking me rapid-fire questions. [Does it hurt? Do you need water? Are you dizzy?] Margot just stood by the wall, arms crossed, wrapped in a suffocating silence. It wasn’t until we were leaving the clinic that Delaney casually pulled out her phone. “Hey, let me get your number? Just in case you feel weird later, I can cover your medical bills.” I blinked. Before I could even open my mouth, Margot let out a cold, sharp laugh. “That’s Jonah. The guy you tricked me into dating for a month. You already have his number.” Delaney cursed under her breath. “Holy shit, it is you. I completely forgot when I even added you.” “Your last name is the same as Wyatt’s, right? I totally got you two mixed up in my contacts.” I tightened my jaw. “A few weeks ago, I was supposed to be a volunteer for a campus event you were organizing. You reached out to me online.” The event had been canceled, so we had never actually crossed paths. Delaney’s eyes lit up with sudden realization, a bright smile breaking across her face. “Right! Wow, small world. I guess we were destined to run into each other.” 6. That night, not long after I got back to my dorm, I got a text from Delaney. [Feeling better?] [Yeah,] I typed back. The little typing bubble popped up on her end. It stayed there for a solid five minutes. Finally, the message came through. [Margot almost killed me over that mix-up. I wanted to text you and apologize back then, but she wouldn’t let me. Said the damage was done and I shouldn’t poke the bear.] [But since we actually met today, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.] I thought about it for a second, then replied. [It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.] I set my phone down and went to take a shower. When I came back out, there was an absurdly elegant pastry box sitting on my desk. The packaging alone screamed luxury. Wyatt was lounging on his bed. “Margot bought those. I hate sweets, so I just split them between you guys. Smells pretty good, though.” I glanced over. My other two roommates were happily digging into their boxes. Maybe it was just the steam from the shower, but my throat felt incredibly dry. My voice came out raspy. “I’m cutting carbs. I’ll pass.” 7. Wyatt and Margot’s relationship seemed to be sailing smoothly. But secrets don’t stay buried forever. It didn’t take long for him to find out about the whole ‘wrong number’ fiasco. It happened at an off-campus party. Someone had too much to drink and let it slip to Wyatt. “Hey man, heard you’re rooming with the fake boyfriend. What’s he look like? Bet he’s not half as good-looking as you.” “Who knows, though. Delaney hasn’t shut up about him all week…” Wyatt came back to the dorm completely furious. In front of all our roommates, he grabbed me by the collar and punched me square in the jaw. He spat out a warning, telling me to stay the hell away from Margot. I tasted copper and was just about to push back when my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Margot. [Wyatt knows. He has a temper. Just let him vent, please. Consider it repaying the favor you owe me.] During winter break, when we were on a late-night call, my grandmother had taken a bad fall and hit her head. I was entirely alone, terrified, and broke. Margot had instantly stepped in. She made the calls, got my grandmother transferred to a top-tier hospital, and even secured an elite neurologist. She had been so apologetic back then.[“I’m stuck in New York, I can’t leave. Otherwise, I’d be right there with you.”] She had no idea that just the simple act of her caring so much was enough for me. And now, she was calling in the debt. I stood there in the dorm, bleeding, and texted back: ]Okay.] Then, I looked at Wyatt and apologized. After lights out, the other two guys were still whispering, trying to stroke Wyatt’s ego. “Always the quiet ones, right? Doing sneaky shit behind your back.” “Seriously, who tries to move in on another guy’s girl?” Wyatt laughed, the tension finally leaving his voice. “She’s not even officially my girl yet.” I lay in the dark, my face throbbing. It was definitely going to bruise by morning. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the sickening ache left by Margot’s text. 8. When it rains, it pours. The next day, during my shift at an upscale restaurant, I was still so distracted by the previous night that I completely zoned out. A customer bumped into me, and I ended up wearing a tray of iced cola. Combined with the ugly purple bruise blooming on my jaw, I looked utterly pathetic. The customer was livid, screaming about two tiny drops of soda on his designer shirt and demanding I pay for the dry cleaning. I was exhausted. Bone-tired. I looked up, and there, standing near the host stand, were Margot and Wyatt. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Looking at them, you’d think they were cut out of a magazine. The perfect, wealthy couple. When Wyatt noticed me, he let out a scoff of disgust and tried to pull Margot toward their private booth. Margot had Wyatt’s trench coat draped over her arm. She stopped and looked in my direction. Her eyes skipped over my soaked uniform, landing squarely on the bruise on my face. Her lips parted slightly. She looked like she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She slowly pulled her gaze away, turned, and followed Wyatt into the dining room. I watched her walk away, fighting back the humiliating sting of tears. I swallowed my pride, apologized profusely to the angry customer, and cleaned up the mess. At the end of my shift, the manager pulled me aside. He told me someone from the private booths had formally complained about me. He had no choice but to let me go. “It was a guy about your age,” the manager sighed. “What the hell did you do to piss him off?” I kept my head down. I didn’t answer. That night, I missed the last bus to campus. I stood alone in the biting cold wind, scrolling aimlessly on my phone, and saw Wyatt’s latest Instagram post. A photo of him and Margot at the beach. He was smiling; she was looking slightly away from the camera. They looked flawless together. The caption was simple: ]Finally official.] I stared at the screen until the edges of the photo blurred. Right then, a banner notification slid down from the top of my screen. A text from Margot. Her tone was utterly clinical. [I’ll have Keeley drop off the check for you in a few days.] I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask her: ]When Wyatt complained to the manager and got me fired, were you sitting right next to him?] Seeing me so broken and pathetic, was she relieved she dodged a bullet? Or, for the sake of those two months we spent talking every night, did she feel even a fraction of guilt? In the end, I typed a single word. [Okay.] 9. Wyatt made sure the whole world knew they were dating. His social media became a shrine to Margot. But none of that was my business anymore. To replace the restaurant job, I picked up two new part-time gigs. I was constantly running, leaving before dawn and crashing after midnight. One afternoon, I was standing on a busy street corner handing out flyers when Delaney found me. She had just gotten back from an out-of-state academic competition. She stood before me, looking travel-worn but wired with energy. She reached into her bag and handed me a folded check. “Margot told me to give this to you.” I hesitated. “Didn’t she say someone named Keeley was going to bring it?” Delaney coughed, looking a little guilty. “I heard about it and intercepted it. Margot doesn’t know, so… don’t tell her, alright?” I pressed my lips together. “I won’t.” Margot and I were never going to speak again anyway. Delaney let out a visible breath of relief. Then, without asking, she grabbed half the stack of flyers from my hands. “I’ll help.” When we finally finished, we walked back to campus together. Under the glow of a streetlamp, I turned to say goodnight. She stared at me, her eyes catching the light, and asked a question that came entirely out of left field. “I never asked you. Aside from that whole fake-dating disaster with Margot… have you ever actually had a girlfriend?” My heart skipped a beat. I opened my mouth to answer.

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In the world of broadcast journalism, Zack and I were the undisputed golden couple. He was the brilliant, obsessive executive producer, and I was the face of the network. Together, we were a “one-plus-one-equals-three” kind of phenomenon. But Zack’s genius came with a sharp edge. He was notoriously demanding, the kind of producer who could reduce seasoned anchors to tears with a single sigh. He’d say it openly in production meetings: “If any of you had a tenth of Leona’s drive, we wouldn’t be bleeding hours on these edits.” When I was selected for a prestigious three-month media fellowship in New York, he spent the night before my flight holding me tight. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice muffled and unusually soft. “I dread having to work with anyone else,” he murmured. “They’re all so slow. Promise me you’ll come back the second it’s over.” I laughed, running my fingers through his hair, but I couldn’t help but worry. “The girl stepping in for me is my own protégée,” I reminded him. “Olivia works incredibly hard. She just needs a break. Don’t go tearing her to pieces on day one.” Three months later, I walked back into the Chicago studio, dragging my suitcase straight from the airport. I stopped at the heavy double doors of Studio B. Zack was standing on the stage, leaning in close to Olivia. He was adjusting the lapel mic on her collar, his hands lingering just a second too long. Then, he patted her head and smiled—a warm, bright expression I hadn’t seen on his face in months. “You’ve got this,” he said, his voice carrying over the quiet stage. “Don’t be nervous. Frankly, you’re bringing something to this that Leona never did. This show belongs to you now.” … My hand slipped, and my heavy duffel bag hit the floor with a dull thud. The noisy control room suddenly went dead silent. Olivia’s face turned pale, her smile freezing. “Leona… you’re back.” She flusteredly began unclipping her mic, stepping down from the stage. “I—I can hand this broadcast back to you.” But before she could take two steps, Zack grabbed her wrist. He didn’t even look at me. He just stared at Olivia, his voice firm. “No. Stay. We’re keeping you on tonight.” The tension in the studio became palpable. The crew stood frozen, trading uneasy glances. Olivia looked at me with wide, panicked eyes, pleading for help, but her feet stayed glued to the floor. I looked at the shifting gazes of the staff, forced a polite smile, and said, “It’s fine. Keep going with the scheduled run-of-show.” The recording began. I sat in the very back row of the dark studio audience seats, watching Olivia shine under the studio lights. She used to sit at my desk, practically trembling, asking me, “Leona, do you really think I can do this? What if I freeze up?” I always told her that one day, she’d own the camera. Now, she was doing exactly that, but I felt no pride. Because Zack was standing by the monitor, a soft smile playing on his lips. The way he looked at Olivia—the sheer warmth, the absolute focus—was a look I knew all too well. It was the look that, for five years, had belonged only to me. It was past midnight by the time the taping wrapped. The crew was buzzing, talking about heading out for late-night drinks. Zack finally pulled off his headphones and looked in my direction, giving me a brief, casual nod. “You’re back. Why didn’t you let me know?” I lowered my eyes. “I texted you.” He blinked, momentarily confused, and reached into his pocket for his phone. But Olivia appeared from behind him, handing it over with a playful grin. “Producer’s rule, remember? Phones go on silent the moment you step into the studio. You forgot, so I did it for you.” Sensing the sudden chill between Zack and me, she faltered, her smile slipping. “Did… did I do something wrong?” Zack recovered first. He took the phone and let out a soft laugh. “Bold of you, using my own rules against me.” He tapped her lightly on the head. “Go on, didn’t you guys want sushi? Take the team and order whatever you want. It’s on my card.” Once she was out of earshot, Zack turned back to me, taking my suitcase. “I’m sorry, Leona. Today’s broadcast was a massive ratings hook. I couldn’t slip away to pick you up at the airport.” At the high-end sushi restaurant, the crew was loud, thanking Zack before diving into the menus. Olivia laughed, rubbing her stomach. “I am absolutely starving. I could eat an entire cow right now.” Zack poured himself a cup of green tea, deadpan: “Waitress, bring this lady an entire cow.” The table erupted in laughter as Olivia blushed. My stomach twisted. After a long silence, Olivia looked up at me cautiously. “Leona, you’re so quiet. What are you having?” I forced a thin smile. “Nothing for me, thank you. I’ve been recovering from a bad bout of gastritis. My stomach can’t handle raw food right now.” Zack frowned, a flicker of irritation passing through his eyes. I looked down, a bitter ache spreading through my chest. Sometime during my three months away, his texts had grown sparse, his replies taking hours, then days. When the gastritis had hit me in New York, leaving me curled up alone in an ER chair under the fluorescent lights, hooked to an IV drip, I had sent him a text: “It hurts so bad. I wish I was home.” He still hadn’t replied to that message. I had convinced myself he was just in his typical workaholic zone, blind to the world. But clearly, he wasn’t too busy to remember who wanted sushi. The dinner felt like chewing on cardboard. I rode home in the passenger seat of Zack’s car, surrounded by a suffocating silence. When we unlocked the door to our apartment—a place I hadn’t stepped into for ninety days—the living room was pitch black. Zack’s voice cut through the dark behind me. “Leona. We need to talk.” Zack sat on the leather sofa, lighting a cigarette and letting it burn halfway down in silence. “In the three months Olivia covered for you, the ratings for “The Point” jumped by twenty percent. We picked up two major national sponsors. I’m going to keep her on as the permanent anchor.” My heart skipped a beat, then began to thud violently against my ribs. “What does that mean?” The moonlight cut through the window, illuminating only half of his face, leaving the rest in shadow. “I’m giving her “The Point”. I’ll put together a pitch for a brand-new show for you.” His tone was final. With those words, he pulled the rug out from under my life. “The Point” was our baby. Five years ago, when we were just two hungry kids trying to make a mark, we had pitched it together, signing a virtual blood oath with the network executives. The show, with its razor-sharp journalism and uncompromising truth, had taken off. It gave Zack his power, and it gave me my reputation. It was the foundation of our careers, and the backdrop of our entire five-year relationship. I let out a hollow laugh. “Do you have any idea what I poured into that show? Do you even care what it means to me?” Zack pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. “Leona, we have to look at the bigger picture. We have to move forward.” I stared at the face of the man I loved, searching for something familiar. “Moving forward? Is that about the show, or is it about her?” Though I hadn’t used her name, Zack’s expression instantly hardened. “Olivia works hard. She just needed a platform. Leona, you have the status, the awards, the financial security. You have everything. What hurts you to give her a little room to breathe?” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, the sound sharp and ugly. “How incredibly familiar.” Three months ago, I was the one begging him to be patient with Olivia, telling him to go easy on her. Three months later, he was throwing my own kindness back in my face to justify taking my life’s work. I cared about Olivia. I wanted her to succeed. But “giving her a chance” did not mean letting her steal the ground from under my feet. “I’m not stepping aside,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “If you think she’s so brilliant, produce a new show for her.” Zack looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Leona, I am the executive producer of “The Point”. I have the final say on who anchors the desk.” He stood up abruptly. “You just got back. Get some rest. I’ll sleep in the study.” I pressed a hand to my aching stomach, wiping a cold bead of sweat—or a tear—from my temple. Late that night, lying in our king-sized bed that felt as vast and freezing as an ice sheet, my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification from Olivia. A photo of her smiling in the studio. Caption: “Grateful for the climb. Never look back. Let’s do this!” And there, right at the top of the likes, was Zack’s name. He had liked it seconds after she posted. I stared up at the dark ceiling. It turned out my desperate rush to finish my fellowship, to catch the earliest flight home, was just a return to a life where I was no longer wanted. The next morning, I walked into the dressing room. Olivia was in the makeup chair, and she froze when she saw me in the mirror. The assistants in the room quickly found excuses to slip out, leaving us alone. Olivia hesitated, then stood up and gave me a deep, stiff bow. “Leona. I’ve looked up to you since college. You’ve been my mentor, my idol. You’ve helped me so much, and honestly, I would do anything for you. But I’m not giving up “The Point”.” “You were the one who taught me to seize every opportunity,” she added, her chin lifting slightly. I smiled, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “I told you to seize opportunities, Olivia. I didn’t tell you to build your career on theft.” “During my fellowship, the network executives talked about launching a new weekend segment. I put your name forward to anchor it.” Olivia’s face shifted, the sweet, deferential act melting away in an instant. She let out a sharp, cynical breath. “Oh, how noble of you. I’ve trailed behind you for years, Leona. When did you ever actually give me a real shot? Even when your stomach was tearing you apart and you were practically fainting on set, you wouldn’t let me fill in. If the network hadn’t forced you to go to New York, you would have kept me in your shadow forever.” She sneered. “In this business, Leona, it’s survival of the fittest.” I looked at her, seeing the ugly distortion on her face, and felt a strange sense of clarity. “Fine. Let’s see what you’re actually made of.” Before the evening taping, I walked onto the studio floor dressed in my anchor wardrobe. Zack’s brow furrowed immediately. “Leona, we talked about this last night—” “Zack,” I cut him off, keeping my voice professional. “We work in television. The audience is the only boss that matters. If you want to decide who gets “The Point”, let the ratings do the talking.” The studio fell dead silent. Olivia, standing nearby, smiled sweetly. “I think that’s incredibly fair. It would be an honor to compete with you, Leona.” Zack’s frown deepened. He opened his mouth to object, but Olivia stepped in, playfully tugging his arm. “Come on, boss. Don’t tell me you don’t think I can win?” Watching their easy, familiar intimacy in front of the entire crew felt like a physical blow. My eyes stung, but I kept my posture perfect. Zack finally sighed. “Fine. Tonight…” I interrupted with a cool smile. “My segments aren’t fully prepped yet. Tonight’s broadcast belongs to Olivia.” I took a deliberate step back, leaving the stage entirely to them. I sat in the darkness of the back row, watching the monitor. As her mentor, I knew Olivia’s technical skills were impeccable. But tonight, on camera, her tone was different. It was sweet, dripping with sentimentality, and midway through the lead story, she let tears well up in her eyes. She wiped a tear away, her voice trembling but dramatic. “I’m sorry, everyone. But looking at the footage of this woman… a simple housekeeper trying to make an honest living, humiliated and abused by her wealthy employers… it breaks my heart. Because she’s vulnerable, does she deserve to be treated like trash?” Her story was about a domestic worker allegedly abused by a wealthy family. I shook my head in the dark. Journalism is supposed to be objective. An anchor weaponizing their own tears to manipulate the audience is a betrayal of the craft. Under my tenure, “The Point” had always been clinical, calm, and devastatingly precise. We didn’t sell cheap tears; we delivered cold, hard facts. When the lights went down, Olivia came off the stage, flushed with excitement, clearly looking for approval. I stood up and intercepted her. “I taught you better than this,” I said, my voice low but firm. “When a story is this polarized, you do not take sides on air. You are an anchor, not an activist. You took a complex situation and turned it into a witch hunt.” Olivia’s face flushed red, then went white. She ripped off her earpiece and slammed it onto the desk. “I am sick of your lecturing! You just got lucky, Leona. You got Zack, you got a hit show, and now you think you’re God. Who are you to judge me?” She snapped her fingers at a production assistant. “Do we have the overnight ratings?” The assistant stepped forward, swallowing hard, stammering. “Yeah… they just came in. We… we beat Leona’s historic peak. By three points.” Olivia threw me a triumphant, venomous look. I didn’t say a word to her. I turned my eyes to Zack. “You’re okay with this?” Zack avoided my gaze for a second, then looked up. “Leona, the numbers don’t lie.” I nodded slowly. “Understood.” I turned and walked out. A week later, our scheduled broadcasts fell on the same day. When I walked into the makeup room, I saw the artist applying fake bruises and cuts to a man’s face. I stopped. “What is this?” A production coordinator mumbled, “Olivia’s segment. It’s the exposé on the construction worker beaten up by the trust-fund kid. The actual victim is too shy to speak on camera, so they brought in his brother to do the interview. The makeup is just to make it look… more authentic.” Cold dread settled in my chest. “Faking physical evidence? Are you out of your minds?” Olivia strolled into the room, leaning against the doorframe with a smug look. “Leona, this is my segment. I don’t recall asking for your input.” “This is a news broadcast, Olivia,” I said, my voice rising. “We have kept this show clean for five years. Fabricating a victim’s injuries is career suicide. Do you have any idea what this will do to the network if it gets out?” She matched my gaze, entirely unbothered. “The facts are the facts. We’re just using a visual aid to help the audience understand. What’s the big deal?” The shouting drew Zack into the room. His first instinct was to step in front of Olivia, shielding her. I looked past her, straight into his eyes. “Did you know about this? Faking a news package?” Zack remained silent. “What happened to the ethics we built this department on?” I asked, the words cutting through the chaotic room. “Do you even remember why we started this show?” We had been in a cold war since the night I returned, sharing a bed of silence, avoiding each other in the halls. I had planned to wait for the ratings war to settle before forcing a conversation about our marriage. But standing here, watching him protect a fraud, the fight evaporated from me. We had met in college. We were the top two students in the journalism department, rivals who fell in love over late-night editing sessions. He used to hold my hands, his eyes bright with a fire that consumed us both. “We’re soulmates, Leona. You’re my partner in everything. My dream only exists because of you.” Zack finally spoke, his voice quiet, flat. “Leona, this is the real world. Integrity doesn’t pay the electric bill. The market dictates what we do.” I stared at him. The passionate, idealistic boy I had loved was entirely gone, replaced by a cynical corporate empty suit. The silence stretched between us until Zack sighed, reaching out to touch my hand. I took a step back, out of his reach. “I won’t be a part of a network that fakes the news,” I said quietly. “You want “The Point”? It’s yours.” I didn’t look at Zack’s suddenly pale face as I walked out the door. I submitted my resignation that afternoon. Zack called my phone repeatedly, but I ignored every ring. I left a signed copy of the divorce papers on the kitchen island and moved my things into a short-term rental. From that day on, Olivia became the undisputed face of “The Point”. Zack launched a second, lighter entertainment show for her, and her star rose exponentially. She was guest-starring on talk shows, signing brand endorsements, and becoming a household name. On “The Point”, there were still viewer comments calling out the shift in tone—noting that the show had lost its objective, analytical edge. But those voices were quickly drowned out by a highly coordinated PR campaign. One night, around 2:00 AM, my phone lit up with a text from Olivia. It was a photo of Zack, flushed and half-asleep from too many drinks, resting his head heavily on her shoulder. “Leona, did you ever think things would turn out like this?” I didn’t reply. I was too busy drafting a pilot script. After leaving the network, I accepted an offer from their main competitor—a rival station that had tried to recruit me for years. They offered me absolute creative control. A new team, a new format, a blank slate. I worked eighteen-hour days, barely keeping my head above water. Sometimes, during the quiet hours of the night, I would look out at the city skyline and let my mind drift back to college, to the early days at the studio, to the husband who used to hold me in the dark. But the nostalgia only lasted a minute before I pulled myself back to the page. We decided on a live format. It was high-wire journalism, leaving no room for errors or second takes. Right before our debut broadcast, the energy in the studio was electric. Some of the crew members whispered anxiously, “Our time slot is directly against “The Point”. We’re going head-to-head with Zack.” I just smiled. “Zack? Let him come.” The director gave me the thirty-second cue. The makeup artist touched up my lipstick, and the technical director flashed a thumbs-up from the booth. I looked at the exhausted, hopeful faces of my new crew, pumped my fist in solidarity, and sat in the anchor chair. I took a deep breath as the red light flared on Camera One. “Good evening. Welcome to “The Lens”. I’m Leona.”

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On the day of my wife Elena’s funeral, a man with a face carved from pure grief walked through the chapel doors. He didn’t leave after placing a single white chrysanthemum on the casket. Instead, he walked straight toward me. “To be honest, I’ve envied you for thirty years.” My brows knit in confusion. He let out a bitter, humorless laugh, his eyes welling with tears as his gaze drifted to the framed portrait of Elena. “For thirty years, she gave me everything. Her love, her time, her money—she was never stingy with any of it.” He paused, turning his head to look at me, his eyes burning with a deep, unresolved resentment. “But she had one absolute rule. I was never, under any circumstances, allowed to appear in front of you.” A cold dread seized my chest. “What the hell are you talking about?” He let out another soft laugh. “I mean that for the thirty years you two were married, she was with me.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there as the blood drained from my face. My eyes stretched wide, my lungs begging for air. The sudden, suffocating weight of thirty years of betrayal and lies crashed over me. A violent rush of heat surged to my head, and the chapel floor rushed up to meet me as I collapsed beside her casket. … When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the altar on our wedding day. “Jason, do you promise to love me and be with me for the rest of our lives?” I stared at her in silence for a long, agonizing moment. Then, I took the platinum band from the velvet box and tossed it directly down the drain of the nearby baptismal font. The romantic, beautifully decorated chapel fell into a suffocating, dead silence. The hands of our friends and family, poised to clap, froze in midair. Elena looked up at me, her face a mask of utter bewilderment. “Jason?” She didn’t raise her voice or scold me. Instead, she immediately reached out and grabbed my hand, her eyes filled with frantic worry. “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Is it me?” I looked down at her, memorizing the soft curves of her face. She looked exactly the way she did in my memories. For thirty years, she had looked at me exactly like this. No one in our social circle would have ever dared to say Elena didn’t love me. They all said she loved me more than her own life. Even when we got into that horrific car crash years later, her immediate, instinctual reaction had been to throw her body over mine. She hadn’t cared that she walked away with three broken ribs, as long as I didn’t have a scratch. Yet, this very woman—the one who supposedly loved me to the point of madness—had built our entire life on a thirty-year lie. I closed my eyes, forcing down the suffocating wave of nausea rising in my throat. Under her frantic, searching gaze, I slowly pulled my hand from her grasp. My voice was entirely devoid of emotion. “We’re done. The wedding is off.” Her pupils dilated in terror, and the color drained from her lips. “What?” She scrambled to grab my arm again, her voice shaking so hard she could barely form the words. Her eyes darted around the room, full of desperate, trembling panic. “Is it the crowd? Is this whole big production too much pressure? Did I push you too hard?” She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t be angry.” I remained silent. The longer I stood there, the more she unraveled. My sister, Lucy, was completely bewildered. She dropped the confetti popper she was holding and rushed up the altar steps, her forehead creased in deep concern. “Jason, what are you doing? You and Elena have been head over heels for each other since high school! She worships the ground you walk on. What is wrong with you?” A sharp, unbearable ache pierced my chest. Lucy was right. We had loved each other for so many years. But the deceit had lasted even longer than the love. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I ignored my sister’s demands. Under the stunned, whispering glares of a hundred guests, I turned around and walked out of the church. I had barely stepped through the front door of our townhouse when Elena burst in behind me, breathless and disheveled. She threw her arms around me from behind, burying her face in my back. Her entire body was trembling. “Jason, please. Just tell me what I did wrong. I’ll change it. I’ll fix whatever it is. Just don’t throw us away.” I pried her arms off me and stepped back. The embrace that used to feel like a warm sanctuary now felt like ice against my skin. I turned to face her. “Fine. Let me ask you one thing. Are you keeping any secrets from me?” For a fraction of a second, her face stiffened. If I hadn’t spent two lifetimes learning every line of her expression, I never would have caught it. “No,” she said, her voice steadying. “I swear, Jason. Absolutely nothing.” Watching her lie so effortlessly, my heart plummeted into a cold, dark abyss. There was nothing left to say. I turned on my heel and went upstairs to the guest room, locking the door behind me. Around midnight, a muffled vibration woke me. Through the thin wall, I heard Elena whispering. She called my name twice to check if I was asleep. When I didn’t answer, the quiet jingle of her car keys echoed down the hallway, followed by the soft click of the front door. In the dark, I opened my eyes. I quietly got out of bed, grabbed my jacket, and followed her. I needed to know. I needed to see the shape of the ghost that had haunted our entire marriage. An hour later, her black Porsche Cayenne pulled up outside a historic, secluded brownstone in Boston’s South End. Elena got out, her face set in a grim, dark expression, and went inside. I pulled up a block away and opened the tracking and audio-monitoring app I had stealthily installed on her phone while she was in the shower earlier that evening. I slipped my headphones on. Immediately, a muffled, furious argument filled my ears. “Did I not make myself clear?” Elena’s voice carried a cold, venomous authority I had never heard from her before. “Unless I reach out to you first, you do not call me!” A man’s voice answered, frantic and hysterical. “Why? Why do I have to hide? I knew you were marrying him today! If he gets to be your husband, what the hell am I to you?” Elena’s response was ice-cold. “I love him. You? What are you, Mason? I warned you. Stay away from Jason. Do you understand me?” A long silence followed. Then, the sound of the man sobbing softly. Elena’s tone softened, turning into a coaxing, manipulative purr. “Just be good. I’ve already set up your position in the project management department at Kingsley Enterprises. I can give you everything except my last name. If you want a child, we can do that too. Just don’t cross my line.” Outside, in the cold cabin of my car, I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Tears fell silently, hot and fast, blurring the dashboard lights. The argument in my headphones dissolved into whispers, followed by the unmistakable, quiet sounds of intimacy. I took a long, trembling breath, pulled up my email, and opened the acceptance letter from Oxford University. In my past life, I had rejected the doctoral fellowship to stay by her side. This time, she wasn’t worth the sacrifice. “Mason…” The name clicked. In my previous life, a man named Mason had indeed worked in our corporate project division for a short time. No wonder he looked familiar at the funeral. A bitter, mocking smile touched my lips. She had kept her secret hidden right under my nose the entire time. By the time I returned home and crawled back into bed, it wasn’t long before Elena slipped back into the house. She crawled under the covers and snuggled into my chest, her breathing slowing into a peaceful rhythm within minutes. The next morning, she was up early, preparing breakfast as if nothing had happened. “I made your favorite crab-meat crepes,” she said, offering a bright, warm smile. Watching her act so perfectly innocent, a wave of intense physical revulsion washed over me. I wondered how many mornings in our past life—mornings I had cherished as peak happiness—had been preceded by nights she spent in another man’s bed. I ignored her outstretched hand and left the plate untouched. “I said we’re done. Do you have a hearing problem?” Her smile faltered, her hands freezing over the counter. A flash of raw panic crossed her features. “Jason, I’m not letting you go.” I let out a harsh laugh. “What, you don’t want to lose this townhouse? Fine. I’ll pack my bags and leave today.” “No!” she cried out, her shoulders slumping as she saw the absolute indifference in my eyes. “I’ll go. You stay here. Just… please, don’t make any permanent decisions yet. Give yourself some time to cool down.” She untied her apron, her face pale and defeated, and quietly left the house. By the afternoon, as I was gathering my documents for the UK visa, my phone buzzed. The GPS tracker showed Elena’s phone was back at the South End brownstone. I decided to go there. I wanted to confront them, tear down her web of lies once and for all, and put a clean end to this nightmare. But when I arrived, her black Porsche was already tearing out of the driveway. I trailed her at a distance, my heart sinking further with every turn until she pulled into the parking lot of a private women’s health clinic. The air felt thin. I followed her inside and watched from a distance as Mason held her hand, guiding her toward an examination room. I stood near the door, which was left slightly ajar. “Congratulations,” the doctor’s voice drifted out. “You’re pregnant. About five weeks along. The fetus is developing perfectly.” Mason’s face lit up with pure ecstasy. Elena’s lips pressed into a tight line, her expression unreadable. “Elena, we’re having a baby! You’re going to be a mother!” Mason threw his arms around her, practically weeping with joy. She offered a small, flat smile. “Yeah.” They left the clinic and got back into her car. I followed them back toward the brownstone, the audio monitor in my ear springing to life again as another fight erupted. “What the hell do you mean?!” Mason’s voice was cracking with disbelief. “You want me to let Jason raise my child?!” “Are you insane? That’s my kid!” Elena’s voice remained practical, devoid of any maternal warmth. “Jason was in an accident when he was young; he’s sterile. I’ll take a year-long remote consulting assignment out of the country to give birth in secret. When I bring the baby back, we’ll present it to Jason as an adoption. He’ll never know the difference.” I slammed my foot on the brakes. The screech of my tires was drowned out by the thunderous, erratic beating of my own heart. The child. Everything clicked. Every single puzzle piece of my miserable past life fell perfectly into place. In my past life, exactly one year after our wedding, Elena had sat me down. She comforted me about my inability to have biological children and gently suggested we adopt. Around the same time, she took a year-long sabbatical to oversee an overseas project. Back then, I had felt so much guilt over my physical limitations. I thought a child would complete our family, so I eagerly agreed. I burst into a fit of breathless, hysterical laughter, tears streaming down my face. The child I had raised for thirty years—the boy I had poured my entire soul, energy, and love into—was Mason’s. I gripped the steering wheel, my body shaking so violently I could barely breathe. A dry, painful sob tore through my throat, leaving my eyes stinging and red. Through the headphones, Elena’s voice was absolute and unyielding. “This isn’t up for debate, Mason. I promise you, we can raise our second child together. But this one goes to Jason.” And Mason, weeping, surrendered to her terms. I sat in my idling car, laughing until my chest ached. Every memory of my “happy” past life was nothing but a carefully orchestrated play, a sickening monument built on betrayal. Thirty minutes later, I walked up the steps of the South End brownstone and rang the bell. “Who is it?” Mason’s voice called out. He opened the door, and the moment his eyes landed on me, his entire body froze. His breath hitched. “J-Jason…” I pushed past him without a word, walking straight into the living room. Elena was just coming out of the bathroom, drying her hair. The towel slipped from her fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud. Her eyes stretched wide with terror. I looked around. Her personal belongings were scattered everywhere. On the mantelpiece sat a framed photo of the two of them, smiling and holding each other. We stood on opposite sides of the room, the silence stretching between us like a physical wire. My hands were numb, cold as ice. “You said you had nothing to hide,” I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of my fury. “What is all of this?” Elena finally snapped out of her stupor. Her face turned deathly pale, and she rushed forward, grabbing my shoulders. “Jason, please, listen to me! It’s not what it looks like!” Being this close to her, the faint scent of Mason’s cologne on her skin turned my stomach. It was the final spark on a fuse that had been burning for two lifetimes. “Get your hands off me!” I wrenched myself away and struck her. The sharp, stinging slap echoed through the quiet house. Elena’s head snapped to the side, her cheek instantly flushing a deep red. Mason let out a roar of anger and lunged forward, shoving me back. “Are you insane?! You don’t lay a hand on her!” I stumbled backward against the wall. Before I could steady myself, Elena turned on Mason like a wild animal, her face contorted in rage. “Get upstairs! You don’t get to touch him! Get out of my sight!” Mason stared at her, utterly stunned, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “He knows, Elena. Do you seriously think you can go back to him now?” He looked at me, his eyes gleaming with a sick sense of victory. “Elena is pregnant, Jason. With my baby.” Elena’s face drained of what little color it had left. “Mason! Shut up!” I looked at them both, my expression hardening into a cold, mocking sneer. “Why stop him? Let him speak. I’d love to hear how many other things I’ve been blind to.” “Jason, please…” Elena pleaded. Mason ignored her, a desperate, weeping pride in his voice. “The night you graduated? She told you she was in New York working on a project with her academic advisor. She wasn’t. She was here, with me.” “Mason, I swear to God!” Elena screamed. “The wedding decorations you liked? I chose them,” Mason sneered, stepping closer. “The vows she said to you? I wrote them. She just memorized the script.” “And the baby? This isn’t even the first one. There were two others before this. She just didn’t keep them.” Every word felt like a physical blow to my chest. My face grew paler with every sentence, the room beginning to spin. My chest tightened, a familiar, terrifying pressure squeezing my heart. I had a congenital heart condition as a child; though I had surgery, the sudden shock was too much. My breathing grew rapid and shallow, and before I could reach for a chair, my knees gave out, and the world went black. When I woke up, the hospital room was dark. Elena was sitting by my bedside, her head resting in her hands, looking entirely defeated. The moment she heard me move, she bolted upright, her eyes wide with frantic concern. “You’re awake! Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” I stared at the ceiling, refusing to look at her. After a long, heavy silence, she leaned closer, her voice soft and coaxing. “Jason… I only did this because of us. You can’t have biological children. Instead of raising a stranger’s child with absolutely no connection to either of us, wouldn’t you rather raise a baby that shares my blood? I did this for you. Can’t you see that?” I turned my head to look at her, my eyes wide with disbelief. She was entirely serious. My pain, my humiliation, the fact that she had treated me like a fool for half my life—none of it mattered to her. She honestly believed she was doing me a favor. A violent tremble shook my entire body. I pointed toward the door. “Get out. Get the hell away from me.” Elena bit her lip, slowly pulling the hospital blanket up to my chest. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Just… try to rest. Don’t excite yourself.” The moment she closed the door, it clicked open again. Mason walked in, his eyes gleaming with a toxic, petty satisfaction. “There’s one more thing you should know,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting down with a smirk. I stared at him coldly. “Five years ago, when you submitted your college applications,” Mason said, leaning in. “Elena was the one who changed your choice.” My heart stopped. “What did you say?” He let out a quiet giggle. “It wasn’t her clumsy little sister who messed up your computer. That was just a story they made up to keep you happy. Elena did it herself. She logged into your portal and rejected your Yale acceptance so you’d have to go to Boston University with her. I watched her do it.” A rush of old memories flooded my mind. After high school graduation, I had trusted Elena with all my passwords. When my admission letter came from Boston University instead of Yale—where I had been a shoe-in—I was devastated. I had suspected her for a fleeting moment. But when I went to her house to confront her, her younger sister, Chelsea, had dropped to her knees, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. ““I’m so sorry, Jason! I thought it was just a game! I didn’t know I was changing your real applications!”” Elena had immediately sent Chelsea abroad to study, cutting off her allowance as “punishment,” and spent weeks holding me, crying and apologizing for her sister’s stupidity. I had let it go because Chelsea was punished, and because I was happy enough to at least be going to college with Elena. It was all a lie. A beautifully choreographed play written, directed, and starred in by Elena. Mason smiled, satisfied with the damage he had done, and quietly slipped out of the room. I sat in the hospital bed as the night bled into dawn, staring blankly at the wall. My heart felt hollow, like an empty chamber where a life used to be. At mid-morning, the door opened. Elena walked in carrying a bag of warm breakfast. She began setting the containers on the bedside table, her movements so careful, so dedicated, as if my nourishment was the only thing that mattered in her world. It was sickening. “Why?” I asked, my voice dry and hollow. Elena paused, looking up in confusion. “What do you mean?” “Why did you change my college application?” Her hands froze. After a long pause, she let out a soft sigh. “Didn’t you want to be with me? You didn’t need Yale anyway. The Kingsley Group will eventually be yours. I just wanted you by my side. I didn’t want you to have to work so hard.” The sheer, arrogant entitlement of her words broke something inside me. I grabbed the bowl of hot porridge and threw it directly at her chest. “That was my life, Elena!” I screamed, my voice cracking with pure, unadulterated hatred. “Do you have any idea how hard I worked for that acceptance?!” The hot liquid splattered across her expensive coat, but she didn’t even flinch. She just looked at me, her expression entirely rational. “I did it because I love you.” I let out a low, bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Love? You call this love? Sleeping with another man is love? Forcing me to raise his bastard child is love? Destroying my dreams is love?!” I stared at her, my eyes burning. “Your love is a disease, Elena. It’s disgusting.” Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Calm down,” she said, her voice dropping into a chilly, commanding tone. “I’ve already rescheduled the wedding. I expect you to move past this so we can start over.” She stepped closer, her voice laced with a subtle, sharp threat. “I’ve already sent out the new invitations to your parents and friends. If you don’t want them to be humiliated in front of everyone, you will show up on Thursday. Don’t make this ugly, Jason. You know you can’t leave me.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out. The room fell silent. I closed my eyes, a cold, dark resolve settling over me. She thought she could use my parents to force my hand? Not a chance. I picked up my phone, called my parents, and told them everything. I told them to pack their bags immediately and block Elena’s number. The next evening, as my flight to London climbed into the sky, I looked out the window. I knew Elena and I were finally over. But I wasn’t going to let her walk away unscathed. I had left a very special wedding gift waiting for her.

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