In December 1975, I had a miscarriage at the military base hospital.
When the nurse came out to find my husband, Arthur, to sign the paperwork, he was crouching at the end of the hallway, gripping the payphone.
“Clara, please don’t cry. I’ll figure out the money for the baby formula…”
After he finally signed my papers, he barely glanced at me.
“Hazel, just hold on for a bit. Clara’s kid is sick.”
And then, he left.
I lay on the hard wooden bench in the corridor all night long. What I eventually got was a freezing, congealed bowl of cafeteria macaroni.
I didn’t cry.
Because I had already died once.
In my past life, I waited for Arthur for thirty years. I waited until he climbed the ranks and got rich. I waited until Clara got severely ill and he stayed by her hospital bed, refusing to leave her side for even a second—while I was left to die alone in our freezing house with a 104-degree fever, completely ignored.
Reborn into this life, I took that bowl of cold macaroni and dumped it straight into the trash can.
“Arthur, we’re getting a divorce.”
He froze.
His metal thermos dropped to the floor with a loud clatter, splashing cold soup all over his boots.
Arthur couldn’t believe it.
“Hazel, what kind of nonsense are you talking about?”
He stood in my hospital room, legs planted apart, arms crossed over his chest. He wore that classic Hazel, you’re being unreasonable again expression.
I knew that look too well. I had stared at it for thirty years in my past life.
“I’m not talking nonsense. We don’t have a kid now, so the paperwork will be simple.”
“Is this because of last night?” He furrowed his brows. “Clara’s kid was genuinely sick. I just ran to the clinic to help out—”
“And gave her the cash for the baby formula?”
His jaw dropped, but no words came out.
“That was the money I saved up for six months. A few dollars every week, hidden under my pillow. I counted it over and over.” I looked at him, my voice dead quiet. “I figured when our baby was born, I couldn’t let him go hungry.”
“But my baby died last night. He never even got the chance to use it.”
Arthur’s arms slowly dropped to his sides.
“About that formula money—”
“I’m not just talking about the formula money.”
I threw off the thin blanket and got out of bed. My knees were weak, and I had to grip the bedframe to stand steady.
“Arthur, when I married you, my mother gave me five hundred dollars in savings, a bolt of imported blue velvet, our emergency grocery fund, and an antique silver bracelet. Where are those things now?”
His face changed color.
“You took the velvet, saying you were going to have winter coats made for your unit. But on Christmas, Clara wore a brand-new dress. The exact same shade of blue as my fabric.”
“You took our grocery fund last month, saying the squad was pitching in for a banquet. The mess hall never had a banquet.”
“You stole my silver bracelet and pawned it for a hundred and twenty-five bucks. On Clara’s son’s hundredth day, he was wearing a brand-new pair of leather shoes that cost exactly a hundred and twenty-five bucks.”
“As for that five hundred dollars, you claimed you mailed it to your parents our second month of marriage. Your brother wrote to us last year saying they hadn’t received a single dime.”
He went from red to white, and from white to a sickly green.
After a few seconds of dead silence, he managed to choke out one sentence.
“How do you know all that?”
Even though I had mentally prepared myself, my nose still stung.
“You don’t need to explain.” I bent down and slipped on my shoes. “I’ll write the divorce application. You just need to sign it.”
“Hazel!” he roared. “Over a few material things, you’re really going to divorce me?!”
I straightened my back and glared at him with dead eyes.
“That silver bracelet was slipped onto my wrist by my mother right before she died. She told me to wear it, to pretend she was still with me.”
“You pawned it for a hundred and twenty-five bucks. To buy Clara’s kid shoes. He outgrew them in a month, and she threw them in the trash.”
“My mother’s last memory of me. A hundred and twenty-five bucks. One month. The garbage dump.”
“You tell me—is it worth a divorce?”
His mouth hung open. He couldn’t force out a single syllable.
I grabbed my duffel bag from the bedside and walked out.
At the military base housing.
I pushed open the front door to pack my things.
Someone was sitting in the living room—Clara.
She was wearing a vibrant, aqua-blue blouse. I recognized the color instantly.
It was the exact shade of the last few yards of my blue velvet.
Seeing me walk in, she stood up, her face plastered with the perfect blend of fragility and apologetic concern.
“Hazel, I heard you weren’t feeling well. I came to check on you.”
“Clara, your intel is pretty fast.” I walked right past her, crouching down to pull my trunk from under the bed.
The trunk was completely empty. The grocery cash was gone, the fabric was gone, the wages I had saved up were entirely wiped out.
All that was left was a few worn-out clothes and an enamel washbasin.
Clara stood behind me, her eyes sweeping over the empty trunk, the corners of her lips twitching into a micro-smirk.
“Hazel, I heard you and Arthur got into a fight?”
“Not a fight. A divorce.”
Her eyes lit up for a fraction of a second. Then, she quickly lowered her eyelashes, swapping her expression for one of deep worry.
“Hazel, you need to think this through. Arthur is a military officer; a military divorce isn’t easy. With your health like this, if you leave, you’ll be all alone—”
“Clara.” I stood up, dusting off my knees.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Go ahead.”
“You’re wearing clothes made from my fabric, spending the cash he pawned my wedding gifts for, and eating the groceries I skimped and saved for—and you have the nerve to stand here and tell me to think it through?”
Her face stiffened.
“I—those weren’t—Arthur said they were issued by the military—”
“Issued by the military?” I pointed at her blouse. “My mother bought that fabric in town right before she passed. Blue velvet, imported. The local tailor only got one shipment. Clara, do you want me to dig out the receipt and show it to you?”
Clara’s lips drained of color.
She took a half-step back, subconsciously tugging at the hem of her shirt, as if trying to hide it.
“Hazel, don’t just spit venom at people—”
“What venom am I spitting? You’re literally wearing my stolen property, flaunting it in my face. Pointing that out is spitting venom?”
I took a step forward. She took another step back, her spine hitting the wall.
“Clara, your brother saved Arthur’s life. I acknowledge that debt. But Arthur should be the one paying that debt, not carving the flesh off my bones to do it. If you want to eat well, dress well, and live the good life, go ask Arthur for his own paycheck. What right do you have to take mine?!”
“I never asked for it! Arthur gave it to me himself—”
“Himself? When he was stealing my dowry behind my back, you didn’t know? When he pawned my dead mother’s bracelet, you didn’t know? When your son was running around the yard in those expensive leather shoes, you didn’t know where the money came from?”
Tears spilled from Clara’s eyes.
I had seen those tears too many times. In my past life, every time she cried, Arthur would rush over to shield her, then turn around and berate me for being petty.
But in this life, Arthur wasn’t here.
It was just the two of us women in this room.
“What are you crying for?” My voice turned to ice. “Do you have any right to cry? The one who should be crying is me. I lost my baby yesterday, and my husband ran off to call you about baby formula. I lay bleeding in a hospital hallway all night, and all I got was a bowl of cold macaroni. What right do you have to cry in front of me?”
My words choked Clara’s sobs right back down her throat.
She glared at me. The layers of her fragile facade peeled away, revealing what lay beneath—pure hatred.
“Hazel, you’ve changed.”
“I’ve changed? Good. The old, unchanging Hazel was almost bled dry by you two parasites.”
I stuffed a few old clothes into my duffel bag and pulled the drawstring tight.
As I walked to the door, her voice chased after me from behind.
“Do you think you’ll have a good life after you divorce him? You have nothing! The second you walk out that door, you’re just a—”
I didn’t look back.
“It’s true that I have nothing. But at least from now on, every bite of food I eat and every inch of fabric I own will belong to me. And nobody will ever take a single thread from me again.”
I slammed the door behind me.
There was an old elm tree by the gates of the base housing, its bare branches dusted with snow.
A man was standing under it.
It was my cousin, Wyatt. He was wearing a heavy winter coat, a layer of snow settling on his broad shoulders.
“Hazel!” He ran over to take my heavy bag, his thick brows knotting together. “I heard what happened. Arthur, that son of a bitch—”
“Wyatt, let’s just go. We can talk on the way.”
Wyatt drove his rusted Chevy pickup, and I sat in the passenger seat.
Aunt Martha was already bustling around the house when we arrived. Seeing my face as pale as a ghost, she didn’t say a word. She just pushed me onto the warm sofa and went straight to the stove to bring out a massive bowl of hot chicken stew.
It was a rich, golden broth, steaming hot and comforting.
I took one sip, and a tear dropped right into the bowl.
How long had it been since I had a hot meal?
Married to Arthur for six years, every penny and grocery I saved went straight into Clara’s stomach. I ate stale bread and pickles every day, leaving me weak and anemic, barely able to stand while doing chores.
Aunt Martha watched me devour the soup, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and turned to Wyatt. “Go! Butcher that fat hen in the yard! I’m making Hazel a proper chicken roast tomorrow!”
“You got it!” Wyatt rolled up his sleeves and marched out the back door.
That night, Aunt Martha brought out a freshly made quilt for my bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, gripping my hand tightly.
“Hazel, this is your home. You stay here as long as you want.”
I nodded.
My throat was too tight to speak.
I rested at my aunt’s house for two days before Arthur finally came looking for me.
He wasn’t alone. Clara came with him.
Aunt Martha was in the yard feeding the chickens. When she heard the noise at the gate and saw who it was, her face instantly darkened.
Arthur stood in the front. Clara stood a half-step behind him, holding Toby, her head bowed like a fragile flower about to be blown over by the wind.
“Martha, I’m here to take Hazel home,” Arthur said.
Aunt Martha didn’t even put down the chicken feed bucket. She looked him up and down. “Take her home? What kind of nerve do you have to show your face here and say that?”
“Martha, what happened between me and Hazel—”
“What happened between you and Hazel is the talk of the entire base!” Aunt Martha slammed the feed bucket onto the ground, her voice booming. “You took her dowry to feed a woman on the side! You left her to miscarry alone! What right do you have to stand at my door and demand to take her back?!”
Clara gently tugged at Arthur’s sleeve from behind, whispering something in a low voice.
Arthur’s face shifted. He glanced back at her, then turned back to my aunt.
“Martha, there’s a huge misunderstanding here—”
“What misunderstanding?”
I stepped out of the house.
I hadn’t planned on coming out. But hearing Clara’s voice made me change my mind.
Some things are better handled face-to-face than gossiped about behind closed doors.
Seeing me, Clara’s eyes immediately reddened.
“Hazel, I know you’re angry, but you can’t just—”
I completely ignored her.
I looked straight at Arthur. “Why did you bring her here?”
“She said she wanted to explain things to you—”
“Explain what? Explain where the clothes on her back came from? Or explain whose money bought the shoes on her son’s feet?”
Clara’s face went white, and the tears immediately began to fall.
Aunt Martha let out a cold scoff, marching over to stand beside me, hands on her hips.
“I recognize that blue blouse you’re wearing. That fabric was bought by Hazel’s mother right before she passed. She only bought a few yards. Do you think our family is blind?”
Clara’s tears fell like a broken string of pearls, but she kept defending herself. “I really didn’t know…”
Aunt Martha snorted, turning her crosshairs to Arthur. “Arthur, you’re a military man. You’re supposed to have honor and logic. You steal your wife’s wedding gifts to subsidize an outsider, refuse to admit it when you’re caught, and then bring that outsider to our doorstep to put on a soap opera? Do you think our family has nobody left to defend her?!”
Arthur’s face turned the color of bruised liver.
“Martha, I didn’t steal—”
“Then what do you call it? Borrowing? Did you ever pay it back?!”
Arthur was struck dumb.
Clara suddenly stepped forward, her voice pitching higher. “Hazel! What makes you so special?! So what if a few of your things were used? Arthur helped me because my brother saved his life! Since you married him, you should be willing to stick by him through thick and thin!”
“Through thick and thin?”
My voice overpowered her crying.
“Clara, touch your conscience when you say ‘thick and thin’. Where was the ‘thick’? I was married to him for six years. I wore patched clothes and ate stale bread. And you? You wore brand-new winter coats, and your son wore imported leather shoes. Where was the ‘thin’? I swallowed all the suffering, and you swallowed all the sweetness. And you have the audacity to lecture me about sticking through thick and thin?”
I backed Clara into a corner with my words. The toddler in her arms, Toby, got scared and started wailing.
“You—you’re crazy!”
“I’m not crazy. I’m completely sober.” I looked at her, enunciating every word. “Clara, what exactly did you come here for today? Did you come to persuade me to go back, or did you come to confirm that I’m really leaving so you can comfortably take your place as Mrs. Arthur?”
That sentence acted like a scalpel, slicing off the very last layer of her disguise.
Her lips trembled. The tears were still falling, but her eyes had changed.
There was no more grievance in that gaze—only the furious resentment of being completely exposed.
“Hazel, don’t think you’re going to live a good life just because you divorce him. You have nothing—”
“It’s true that I have nothing. But at least I have myself. What about you? Even the tears on your face are fake.”
Aunt Martha grabbed my arm and pulled me behind her, waving her hand at Clara. “Alright, alright! You’ve done your crying and you’ve done your acting. Now get lost! Our family doesn’t welcome you!”
She pointed at Arthur next. “You leave too! If you want to take your wife home, start acting like a real husband! If you can’t do that, sign the papers and let her go! Stop wasting Hazel’s time!”
Arthur, his face ashen, opened his mouth several times, but not a single word came out.
Clara, clutching the screaming Toby, turned and stormed off. After a few steps, she looked back and shot me a vicious, venomous glare.
Arthur stood there for a moment longer, before finally turning and leaving as well.
Aunt Martha slammed the yard gate shut, dusted her hands off, and looked back at me.
“That woman is bad news.”
“I know.”
“You were right to leave him.”
“I know.”
After resting for three days, I got down to business.
I found a notebook and listed every single dollar, every single item, and every single grocery run Arthur had taken from me over the last six years. The date, the quantity, the destination—I wrote it all down, line by line.
Wyatt helped me corroborate the list—he had helped me transport some of those items originally, so he remembered them clearly.
On the fifth day, Arthur showed up again.
Wyatt blocked the doorway, refusing to let him in.
Arthur’s lips were purple from the freezing cold. Standing in the snow, he yelled into the house, “Hazel! Come back with me! It’s completely inappropriate for you to be living in someone else’s house!”
🌟 Continue the story here
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I have been married twice in my life.
The first time was a shotgun wedding to my childhood sweetheart, Arthur Vance, the heir to a massive New York real estate empire.
Back then, I was young, proud, and completely uncompromising.
When I discovered he had started looking twice at his new, young assistant,
I had an abortion and filed for divorce.
The second time was a marriage that grew into love with Ethan Sterling, a self-made tech billionaire in Silicon Valley who claimed it was love at first sight.
After I remarried, my ex-husband Arthur sent me a birthday gift every single year.
I never signed for them, and I never replied.
I was determined to prove that I could live a wonderful life without him.
Until the third year of my marriage, when I accompanied Ethan to his college reunion.
A drunk former classmate gave him a thumbs-up.
“When it comes to devotion, out of all of us, you take the crown.”
“Back then, Chloe dumped you because you were broke. She took all your savings and ran off to Europe.”
“You said you were going to tear her limb from limb. And then what happened?”
“The woman you ended up marrying… isn’t that still her?”
I turned to look at Ethan beside me.
He feigned composure and explained, “He’s drunk and talking nonsense. You actually believe him?”
The classmate grumbled in protest.
“How am I talking nonsense?”
“I still remember the night you guys broke up. You cried the entire night…”
Ethan abruptly stood up, his voice cracking like a whip. “Shut your mouth!”
The classmate sobered up halfway, his gaze lingering on my face for a long time.
From his bizarre expression, I pieced everything together.
No wonder this rising Silicon Valley star fell in love at first sight with a divorced woman like me.
No wonder he never let me curl my hair and always preferred me in long white dresses.
No wonder he was infinitely tolerant of my occasional mood swings.
It turned out that before me, he had an unforgettable college sweetheart.
I grabbed my phone and stood up to leave.
My wrist was suddenly grabbed.
It didn’t hurt, but it felt sickening.
I yanked my hand free and slapped Ethan hard across the face.
The entire room gasped.
Ethan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, but a faint smile touched his lips.
Knowing him for three years, I was intimately familiar with this—it was the precursor to his fury.
When I first moved to California to marry him, my ex-husband had followed.
Arthur would show up at our mansion’s gates every day with a new stunt, begging for a reconciliation.
When Ethan saw it, he smiled and asked if I wanted to go back to my ex.
Before I could answer, he rolled up his sleeves and got into a physical brawl with Arthur.
That very night, he launched a ruthless, scorched-earth corporate war against Vance Enterprises.
That was what finally forced Arthur to retreat back to New York.
But now, what right did he have to be furious?
I was the one being used as a stand-in.
Just as I was about to leave, a woman in a white dress walked into the private room with a radiant smile.
One look was all it took for me to guess she was Ethan’s first love.
The exact same white dress. The exact same long, straight black hair.
Chloe noticed me as well.
A glimmer of understanding slowly surfaced in her eyes.
I bit my lip in humiliation, my nails digging hard into my palms.
Chloe brushed past me and greeted Ethan with familiar ease.
“New girlfriend?”
“She looks so much like me. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on me?”
Ethan’s face turned even colder.
“This is my wife. Show some respect!”
She lowered her head, her voice beginning to tremble.
“I didn’t know you were married. Why are you being so mean to me?”
Ethan instinctively crouched down slightly, his tone becoming panicked.
“Don’t cry. I’m sorry…”
Before he could finish, Chloe covered her mouth and giggled.
“Three or four years have passed, and you’re still so easy to fool.”
Ethan ground his teeth. “Chloe!”
He was annoyed, she was laughing.
The others in the room went back to their drinks, accustomed to the display.
I couldn’t take it anymore and stormed out the door.
From behind, I heard Chloe’s malicious teasing.
“Aren’t you going to chase her?”
My footsteps paused.
But I heard the man’s breezy reply.
“Her temper isn’t as bad as yours. She’s easier to coax.”
I don’t remember how I got home.
As soon as I walked in, the wedding photo hanging in the living room looked blindingly painful.
When Ethan told me it was love at first sight, I hadn’t believed him at all.
After all, my childhood sweetheart of over twenty years had betrayed me.
Let alone a stranger I had only met once.
But after the messy divorce with Arthur, my parents blamed me and cut off my credit cards.
And because I lacked hard evidence of Arthur’s infidelity, the tabloids tore me apart, labeling me a high-maintenance drama queen.
The socialites in my circle were just waiting to watch me become a joke.
Everyone said I would never find a better husband than Arthur.
I refused to believe it. I was determined to prove them wrong.
And luckily, I bet right on Ethan, a man with limitless potential.
His devotion to me allowed me to make a stunning comeback.
Those who mocked me for throwing away a diamond for a pebble were forced to shut their mouths.
But it wasn’t until tonight that I realized his so-called “love at first sight” was built entirely on the lingering feelings for his first love.
My stomach began to churn.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up violently.
When I came out, I walked into his home office—a room I had never set foot in.
Among the rows of economics textbooks, a battered old journal stood out.
With trembling hands, I opened it.
A photograph fell out.
Ethan, wearing his graduation gown, was looking with deep devotion at the girl beside him.
The man I remembered as being incredibly calm—even in a fistfight—was, in this journal, just an ordinary guy who got jealous and heartbroken.
[She said staying with me was a dead end. She wants to break up and move to Europe.]
[I said no, but she left anyway. She took all my money with her.]
[That heartless woman. When she comes back, I’m going to make her wish she was dead.]
The ink on this page was smeared by water stains, the paper slightly crinkled.
I turned the page.
[I met a woman who looks exactly like her.]
[The day we got our marriage license, I texted her.]
[If she comes back, I’ll marry her.]
[She didn’t show up. I’m not waiting for her anymore.]
My vision blurred.
So, while I was excitedly planning our wedding, Ethan was waiting for another woman to crash it.
The sound of keys turning in the lock echoed from the front door.
I didn’t move.
Until Ethan rushed into the room.
Seeing the journal in my hands, his voice dropped to freezing temperatures.
“Who told you to touch my things? Give it back.”
The day he proposed, Ethan did it to give me peace of mind.
He voluntarily transferred half of his company shares to me as a gift.
After we married, he was completely transparent with me.
No passcodes on his phone, real-time updates on his whereabouts.
But now, just because I touched something related to Chloe, he was furious.
I offered a slight smile. “If your heart is already occupied, why are you afraid of me looking?”
He didn’t answer, just reached out to snatch it.
I gripped it tightly, refusing to let go.
He started prying my fingers open, one by one.
The sound of joints popping was clearly audible.
I went pale from the pain and violently threw the journal at his chest.
“If you love your first love so much, why did you marry me?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“That’s all in the past. Stop being unreasonable.”
“Then look me in the eye and tell me you married me because you love me.”
I didn’t look away, staring straight at him.
Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes flickered away for a second.
The next second, he let out a cold laugh born of humiliation and anger.
“You want the truth?”
“Fine. I’ll tell you.”
“I married you because you look like her.”
“But haven’t I treated you well enough these past three years?”
It was precisely because he treated me too well.
So well that I thought he indulged me because he loved me.
But what was the reality?
Arthur loved the new and threw away the old.
Ethan was nostalgic.
But the person he was nostalgic for, the person he loved, was always his first love.
Watching him carefully put the journal away, I only felt a sickening sense of irony.
“Ethan. Let’s get a divorce.”
Ethan’s movements paused, his tone impatient.
“Evelyn, can you stop throwing a tantrum?”
“As the lady of the Sterling household, who in Silicon Valley doesn’t treat you with respect?”
“Throwing a fit about divorce now will only make us a laughingstock.”
Those words sounded incredibly familiar.
When I was divorcing Arthur, he said the exact same things.
He said he just had “a little crush” on that assistant.
He said there was no physical cheating, told me to stop making a scene.
But I refused to be with a man who had someone else in his heart.
If I could leave Arthur back then, I could definitely leave Ethan now.
“Tomorrow morning, 9 AM. At the courthouse.”
After saying that, I turned to walk past him.
Ethan grabbed my shoulder.
“Evelyn, don’t be so childish.”
“Nobody wants to marry a woman on her third marriage who’s had an abortion.”
I suddenly couldn’t see the man in front of me clearly.
When I cried and told him about my past with Arthur, he had held me tightly, saying he wished he had met me sooner.
Perhaps the heartbreak in my eyes was too obvious.
Ethan’s tone softened slightly.
“I’m sorry, I was just…”
Before he could finish, his phone rang.
I glanced down. No caller ID saved.
Ethan hesitated, but ultimately chose to answer.
“Arrested for a DUI? I’m not coming to bail you out.”
“When you took all my money and ran off to Europe, you didn’t care about my situation either!”
Every word was laced with disdain, yet every syllable betrayed how much he cared.
Even though I had just demanded a divorce a second ago, it wasn’t as important as a phone call from Chloe.
Seeing how desperate he was to go bail her out, the corner of my mouth twitched.
“In such a rush to see your old flame? At least let’s finalize the divorce details.”
Ethan frowned deeply. “Stop overthinking things.”
“She just got back to the States. She doesn’t know anyone here.”
“I’m her ex-boyfriend, after all. I’m just doing her a small favor.”
He grabbed his car keys and hurried out the door.
After the door slammed shut, I was left alone in the study.
I went back to the bedroom and started packing my things.
Not long after, a friend request popped up on my phone.
The profile picture was a simple doodle of a kitten.
Ethan’s profile picture was a puppy.
After all this time, he still couldn’t bear to change his matching couple profile picture.
After accepting the request, Chloe didn’t send a single message.
I clicked on her social media feed and saw a completely different Ethan.
He would let a woman draw all over his face with lipstick;
He would go to the amusement park with her and take those cheesy photo booth pictures;
He would even cook for her, making hot cocoa when she had cramps.
These posts were from three years ago.
Before Ethan even met me.
Just then, Chloe posted a new update.
[The bad girl gets everything.]
The location tag was the most famous boutique hotel in the city.
The photo attached was of two hands with interlocked fingers, clearly taken post-coitus.
The man wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
But there was a pale indent on his ring finger.
Ethan couldn’t even wait out the mandatory cooling-off period for the divorce.
I bit my lip until it bled.
In a moment of pure impulse, I called an Uber and headed straight to the hotel.
The front desk refused to give me the room number.
So I searched room by room.
Apologizing over and over again.
When I reached the very last door, I couldn’t bring myself to knock.
What was the point of catching them in the act?
Have a screaming match like a hysterical banshee?
And become the laughingstock of the tabloids all over again?
After a moment of hesitation, I didn’t knock on that door.
I went home, dead inside.
I consulted a divorce lawyer about the process, then fell into a heavy sleep.
But early the next morning, I woke up to find myself trending: Evelyn Sterling Caught Sneaking into Hotel for Midnight Rendezvous with Ex-Husband.
Before I was fully awake, an enraged Ethan yanked me out of bed.
He shoved his phone in my face.
The picture showed me standing outside the hotel, looking anxious.
“Evelyn, running back to let your ex screw you—do you have no shame?!”
My head was spinning, but I instinctively fired back.
“I haven’t even seen Arthur.”
“But what about you? Weren’t you also at the hotel last night?”
A flash of panic crossed Ethan’s eyes, quickly covered up by furious indignation.
“Nothing happened between me and her!”
“But what the hell is this midnight rendezvous with Arthur?”
I let out a bitter laugh, deciding to just lean into his accusation.
“Then just assume I went to see him.”
Seeing his pupils shrink in shock brought a twisted sense of vindictive pleasure.
“I didn’t just see him. I told him I regretted divorcing him.”
“Because no matter how garbage he was, he never treated me as a stand-in.”
Ethan’s breathing instantly grew heavy, his fingers digging into my shoulders turning white.
“You think I don’t regret it?”
“No matter what Chloe did to me, she was never touched by another man.”
“I married used goods for my first marriage. Do you have any idea how many people mock me?”
A sharp smack echoed in the room.
My palm stung.
Ethan’s head jerked to the side, violent red veins instantly flooding his eyes.
He raised his hand to hit me back, but froze mid-air.
I tilted my chin up. “Hit me!”
“If you have the guts, hit me back!”
Ethan stared at me for a long time.
Suddenly, he reached out and dragged me all the way into the bathroom.
He turned the tub on full blast with freezing cold water. Ignoring my struggles, he forced my head under the icy water.
“Cough… Ethan! You’re crazy!”
He scrubbed violently at my skin.
“Evelyn, I don’t hit women, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a temper.”
“This is your one and only warning. I never want to see you contact your ex-husband again.”
The icy water cut to the bone, but it was a fraction of the chill in my heart.
“Ethan, what gives you the right to be such a hypocrite?”
“You and Chloe were alone in a hotel room last night. You expect me to believe nothing happened?”
He held me down in the tub, his voice dark. “You don’t have the right to question my business!”
Water rushed into my nose. Panic and suffocation set in instantly.
Just as I thought I was actually going to die by his hands, the pressure on my head suddenly vanished.
I shot up, gasping desperately for air.
Ethan looked down at me from above.
“You stay in here and think about what you’ve done.”
I scrambled up, instinctively trying to run out.
But I was locked inside the bathroom.
“Ethan, you can’t do this to me! Let me out!”
Through the door came his cold voice.
“I’ll let you out when you realize you were wrong.”
A sudden, violent cramp ripped through my lower abdomen.
A warm stream of liquid slid down my inner thigh.
With trembling hands, I reached down.
My fingertips came back covered in a horrifying crimson.
“Ethan… my stomach hurts. Let me out…”
I weakly pounded on the door, my voice trembling uncontrollably.
Footsteps approached.
Just as I thought he was going to open the door, I heard a scoff.
“Evelyn, the lengths you’ll go to just to get me to open this door.”
“Faking sick this time. Are you going to fake your death next?”
The red pooling beneath me grew darker.
Scalding tears mixed with the bathwater on my face.
I had never been so terrified in my life.
Even when I had the abortion with Arthur, it happened under anesthesia.
Now, I was watching my own child dissolve into a pool of blood with my own eyes.
“Ethan, I’m not lying.”
“I’m having a miscarriage. Please… take me to the hospital.”
The silence outside the door lasted only a second.
“Evelyn, do you think I’m an idiot?”
“You’ve had an abortion before. The doctors said it would be nearly impossible for you to ever get pregnant again!”
“And even if you are pregnant, I have no intention of keeping that bastard child.”
It felt like a knife plunged straight into my heart.
Even drawing breath brought a dull, agonizing pain.
I couldn’t hold on any longer, and I slipped completely into darkness.
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In my fifth year of trying to win over the Male Lead, Carter Sterling forgot my birthday. Again.
Instead, it was the “Villainess” who texted me right on time.
“So what if it’s your birthday? I wiggle my finger and he still comes running to me, doesn’t he?”
This time, I didn’t throw a crying fit like the System recommended.
Instead, I typed back:
“Thank you. You’re the only person who remembered my birthday today.”
A second later, she replied with a single: ?
Then, my phone started buzzing non-stop.
“Wait, did you text the wrong person?”
“Are you serious? You’re actually that pathetic?”
“What do you even want for your birthday?”
“Forget it, whatever, I’m coming over. You’re allergic to mangoes, right? I’ll order a strawberry cake.”
“Ugh, you are so annoying!”
……
The moment the doorbell rang, I smiled faintly at the empty air.
“You only told me to conquer the main character of this world,” I whispered to the System. “You never explicitly said it had to be the Male Lead, did you?”
……
The usually obnoxious System fell silent for a fleeting second.
Then, it started stammering incoherently.
“What… what do you mean?! The target is obviously the Male Lead! You and Carter Sterling are destined to have a beautiful happily-ever-after!”
I couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating laugh.
Ever since I was brought into the Sterling estate five years ago, the System had been feeding me empty promises.
It told me the cold shoulders and the humiliations were just “tests of true love.”
It promised that Carter and I would eventually reach our grand finale.
It’s a shame that now, I didn’t really want that ending anymore.
I ignored the System’s frantic buzzing and got up to open the door.
Instead of the Villainess, I was met with Carter’s deeply impatient face.
He glared at me coldly.
“Even if I forgot our plans, you didn’t have to resort to cheap tricks. Using Stella to force me to come see you? Riley, I never knew you were this manipulative.”
I froze.
Just so he would spend this one birthday with me, I had worked myself to the bone for three months. I spent countless sleepless nights in the lab to achieve a breakthrough for Sterling Corp’s new neural microchip.
Carter had been thrilled. He asked me what I wanted as a reward.
I carefully, practically begging, asked him to save just one evening for me.
He agreed without hesitation. I was ecstatic.
I thought our relationship was finally taking a step forward.
I never expected to be left waiting in an empty room, only to be met with a dismissive, “I forgot.”
The sharp clack of high heels echoed from the hallway behind him.
Stella Vance, carrying a massive bakery box, walked up, slightly out of breath.
She stood awkwardly between Carter and me, looking back and forth.
“Wait. So you didn’t bail on her to keep me company. You literally just forgot it was Riley’s birthday?”
Carter frowned, looking entirely unapologetic.
“Why would I remember her birthday?”
Stella turned to look at me, her expression a complicated mix of pity and disbelief.
After a moment of suffocating silence, Carter looked down at me like a king offering scraps to a beggar.
“Considering you’ve been somewhat useful to Sterling Corp lately… tell me what you want. I’ll grant you one wish.”
I looked up and met his eyes.
“Anything?”
Carter paused, instinctively rubbing the bridge of his nose as he looked away.
“Of course.”
The System shrieked in my head.
“Ahhhhh! He’s blushing! Did you see that?! Hurry, tell him you don’t want anything but him! Tell him to take you to the amusement park! Fireworks! His affection meter is going to skyrocket! Ahhhh!”
I just stared at him quietly for two seconds. I took a deep breath.
“Then give me some cash.”
Carter’s arrogant smile completely froze. “What?”
I looked at him, my eyes dead. “Give me some cash. My rent is due.”
His face instantly turned as black as thunder. He gritted his teeth.
“So your true colors finally show. And here you were playing the saint who didn’t care about money.”
He cracked his knuckles, letting out a dark, mocking laugh.
“It’s too late, Riley. Didn’t you want to be Mrs. Sterling? Well, you’re going to spend the rest of your life slaving away for Sterling Corp.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off.
He left Stella standing there, looking incredibly conflicted as she handed me the cake box.
“Um… Happy birthday.”
I forced the best smile I could muster. “I know you originally just came here to watch me make a fool of myself, but… thank you.”
I closed the door, and the System started wailing again.
“Oh my god, what are you doing?! He forgot your birthday, he was actually feeling guilty! Why didn’t you leverage that instead of asking for money?!”
I looked down at the aggressive eviction warning texts from my landlord.
“What else was I supposed to do? I still have to survive, don’t I?”
Because Carter despised me, my official title at Sterling Corp was Chief Engineer, but the salary he paid me was less than what the janitors made.
The System paused.
“But that’s just the Male Lead testing you! He loves you, he just doesn’t realize it yet! Once you get married, won’t everything he owns belong to you anyway?”
The doorbell rang again. A delivery driver peeked his head in, holding a small cake box. “Ordered by Mr. Sterling.”
The System sounded smug. “See! I told you he cares! He even ordered you a cake. You pushed him away! Hurry up and call him, apologize and coax him back!”
I stared at the cake. It was completely covered in fresh mangoes.
I stood in total silence.
Suddenly, I looked up at the ceiling.
“Do you remember my first day here, five years ago?”
I invited Stella to the cafe downstairs from the Sterling building.
The System was running in frantic circles inside my head.
“Host, have you really thought this through?! You’re really going to defect to Vance Enterprises?! Stella is only taking you in to keep you away from the Male Lead! Once your relationship with him improves, she’ll destroy you!”
I slipped on my coat, replying carelessly in my mind.
“But at least she’ll pay me a fair wage. I won’t starve to death on the streets. Plus, Stella beat out all her siblings to secure the Vance family inheritance. She’s not some brainless, spoiled heiress. Besides…”
I didn’t finish the sentence.
Five years ago, I arrived in Silicon Valley all alone, looking for my estranged father’s family. The security guards at the Sterling estate had sneered at me and ruthlessly shoved me into the rain.
Carter had descended like a god, reprimanded the guards, and brought a terrified, shivering me inside.
Because of that, for five years, no matter how coldly he treated me, I clung to that initial ray of light.
But I never forgot that on that rainy day five years ago, the person standing next to Carter, the one who actually held the umbrella over my head and draped a warm coat over my shoulders… was Stella.
If it weren’t for the absurd roles the System forced us into, the three of us wouldn’t be in this miserable dynamic.
Sitting across from me, Stella slowly stirred her latte.
“You’re really coming to Vance Enterprises? Why? I thought Sterling Corp was your entire life. You basically nailed yourself to the floor of their R&D lab for years. You came whenever Carter called, more obedient than a stray dog.”
I looked down and took a sip of my coffee.
“Because I don’t want to be a dog anymore.”
Stella froze.
After a long moment, her expression complex, she slid a sleek employment contract across the table.
“Riley, I genuinely hate you sometimes, but… I also kind of admire you.”
“I like to keep business and personal matters separate. As a fellow woman, I won’t make things difficult for you at work. But emotionally, we are still rivals.”
She stood up and extended her hand. “Welcome to Vance Enterprises.”
I looked up, gave her a soft smile, and shook her hand.
Before I appeared, Stella and Carter were undeniably the main characters of this world.
They were childhood sweethearts, coming from equally powerful tech dynasties.
Until five years ago. The old Mr. Sterling was attacked by corporate rivals. His driver took the fatal bullet for him.
On his deathbed, the driver begged the Sterling family to look after his only daughter. Me.
And so, the old CEO announced in front of high society that Carter would marry me and take care of me for the rest of my life.
Carter’s face had turned ashen. The man who had gently comforted me the night before now looked at me with nothing but pure, unadulterated disgust.
When I returned to the Sterling offices, my assistant Emma started winking at me frantically.
I was confused. I pushed open my office door, only to find Carter sitting in my chair, his face like ice.
“Abandoning your post during work hours. Is this your professional attitude, Riley? Your salary for this month is forfeit.”
I pressed my lips together and didn’t say a word. He continued his mocking sneer.
“Oh, I forgot. Without a salary, you can’t pay your rent. What, are you planning to shamelessly crawl back to the Sterling estate and beg for a room?”
The System suddenly shrieked.
“When has he EVER visited the R&D department?! He’s giving you an opening! He brought up your rent because he wants you to move back in with him! It’s just a stubborn CEO’s excuse to see you!”
But all I felt was a crushing wave of exhaustion. It had been five years. I didn’t want to live like this anymore.
“Forget it.”
Both the System and Carter froze.
“Forget it. Since I violated company policy, I resign.”
Carter violently shot up from the chair, his jaw clenched tight.
“Do you think playing hard to get is going to make my heart soften? Who do you think you are? You want to quit? If you walk out that door, don’t you ever dream of coming back.”
He swept everything off my desk with a violent crash, slammed the door, and stormed out.
I silently crouched down to pick up the scattered blueprints. My phone vibrated with a text from Stella.
[Monday onboarding, no issues right? I bought you a few outfits and had them sent to your apartment. Dress decently for work. Don’t embarrass me!]
Looking at that message, I suddenly lowered my head and laughed.
On Monday morning, I stood in front of the towering Vance Enterprises headquarters. The System was still blabbering.
“Host, are you sure about this?! This is Stella’s territory! According to the original plot, she’s going to…”
As I walked through the revolving doors, I asked casually, “Going to what?”
“She’s going to… prepare a full set of luxury office supplies for you on your first day, set up a corner office, and have her assistant buy you breakfast… Wait. Looking at it this way, she doesn’t seem very evil, does she…?”
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
I knew five years ago that Stella was never some tyrannical, cartoonish villain.
If the System hadn’t arbitrarily forced us into these opposing roles, maybe none of this would have happened.
The elevator doors chimed open. Before I could even step out, Stella was already waiting in the lobby.
She looked me up and down, her brows furrowing. “Didn’t I buy you clothes? Why are you still wearing that cheap white button-down?”
I looked down at myself. “The clothes you sent were too expensive, I…”
She cut me off. “If I tell you to wear it, you wear it. Cut the nonsense. Follow me, your office is on the 18th floor.”
I was stunned. “An office? I’m just an engineer, I don’t need…”
Stella didn’t even look back.
“If I say you need it, you need it. Vance Enterprises isn’t Sterling Corp. We don’t stick our Chief Engineer in a cubicle. Also, your payroll card…”
She turned and handed me a sleek black debit card. “I advanced you three months’ salary. Pay off your rent first. Don’t get evicted and embarrass me.”
I stared down at the card, my fingers trembling slightly.
The System whispered nervously. “Host… why do I feel like something is wrong? Isn’t this supposed to be the Male Lead’s dialogue?”
As I sat dazed at my new desk, Stella’s assistant popped her head in.
“Ms. Thorne, Ms. Vance wanted me to ask if you’d like to join her for lunch. The chef in our executive cafeteria makes incredibly authentic Mexican food.”
My head snapped up.
The Sterling family preferred bland, organic diets, and Carter had severe stomach issues.
I grew up eating spicy food, but for the last five years, I hadn’t touched a single drop of hot sauce.
At lunch, I sat across from Stella. Her assistant happily set down a massive, steaming bowl of spicy carnitas.
Stella frowned. “I forgot to mention, no cilantro.”
I looked at her, surprised. “How did you know I don’t eat cilantro?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “What kind of dumb question is that? I have eyes. I pay attention.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
My phone suddenly vibrated. It was a call from Carter. I let it ring until it automatically disconnected.
Immediately after, Stella’s phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, let out a short laugh, and hit decline. “He probably saw our press release announcing our new Chief Engineer. I never thought I’d see the great, arrogant Carter Sterling throw a tantrum like this.”
I kept my chopsticks in my mouth, silent for a moment. “I thought you were deeply in love with him.”
She raised an eyebrow. “In our social circle, he was the only one who matched my status. At first, I was just furious that someone like you ‘stole’ him from me. But honestly? Getting to ruthlessly crush Sterling Corp in the tech sector? You have no idea how much joy that brings me.”
Carter called again. I still didn’t answer.
The System asked timidly, “Host, are you really not going to answer? Seeing you actually leave… he’s starting to panic.”
I stared at the glowing screen, remembering the countless nights I had spent waiting over the last five years.
Waiting for his calls, waiting for his texts, waiting for him to just look me in the eye.
I waited for five years. He never knew which apartment I rented.
He didn’t know what time I went to sleep. He didn’t know I went to the hospital alone to get my appendix removed.
He didn’t know I worried about making rent every single month.
He didn’t know I hated cilantro. He didn’t know I was allergic to mangoes.
He didn’t know I was terrified of the dark and had to sleep with a bedside lamp on.
There were so many things he didn’t know.
But Stella knew all of them.
I let out a long, heavy breath, popped the tab on my Diet Coke, and raised my can toward her.
“Here’s to a great partnership, Boss.”
Then, I blocked Carter’s number.
During my first three months at Vance Enterprises, Carter didn’t try to find me again.
Stella gave me the best R&D team in the industry and absolute executive clearance.
I threw myself entirely into the work, pulling all-nighters, completely consumed by the project.
Whenever I heard news about Carter, it was usually through a colleague’s social media.
If someone purposely brought him up in front of me, I just smiled and brushed it off.
Gradually, even the System seemed to give up, falling silent.
I ran into Carter once by chance at a major Silicon Valley tech summit.
I was on stage, confidently pitching our new core neural processor technology.
Carter sat in the audience, staring at me, looking somewhat dazed.
As we crossed paths in the lobby afterward, he suddenly called my name.
“If you choose to come back now, I can pretend none of this ever happened.”
I looked at his familiar face, but suddenly felt like I was looking at a complete stranger.
I took a half-step back, my posture cold and distant.
Carter’s expression froze, then hardened into ice.
“Fine. I hope you don’t regret this.”
From that day forward, Sterling Corp launched a ruthless, aggressive assault on Vance Enterprises.
The corporate warfare was brutal, dominating the financial news headlines for three days straight.
Stella tried to contact him several times, but her calls were blocked.
Her face was grim. “These AI microchips are the absolute priority for Vance Enterprises for the next five years. I am not backing down. I’m flying to New York to secure venture capital funding.”
She glared at me, grinding her teeth.
“Riley, if you dare run back to Carter Sterling right now, I will literally kill you.”
I looked at her bloodshot, exhausted eyes, and smiled softly.
“There’s a massive investor roadshow at the end of the month. I’ll handle the pitch. Don’t worry, I have absolute faith in our R&D.”
Stella let out a long exhale, all the tension leaving her body as she leaned heavily against my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
I stayed silent for a moment. “I’m the one who should be saying thank you.”
Both for the umbrella five years ago, and for the lifeline today.
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Inside the exclusive Parisian couture bridal boutique on Fifth Avenue, the custom wedding gown I had waited six months for was currently being worn by the A-list actress, Savannah Sterling.
The boutique manager stood trembling, breaking out in a cold sweat as she looked at Tristan Thorne sitting on the velvet sofa.
Tristan stood up and personally adjusted the train of Savannah’s dress. His tone was casual. “She’s missing a finale gown for her red carpet event next week. What’s the big deal if she borrows it? Just pick out an off-the-rack dress to make do for our wedding. Don’t make a scene.”
Under the boutique’s spotlights, Savannah smiled brilliantly into the mirror.
I looked at my own reflection. I was wearing simple street clothes, looking completely out of place in this opulent room. Suddenly, the wedding I had spent an entire year planning felt like a ridiculous joke.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t throw a fit. I simply slid the diamond engagement ring off my finger and set it gently on the glass coffee table.
“You’re right, Tristan. Off-the-rack dresses are perfectly fine. So, I’ll just find a groom who’s willing to marry me in an off-the-rack dress.”
……
The air in the bridal boutique instantly grew heavy.
Tristan’s hands froze on Savannah’s train.
He slowly turned around, his eyes narrowing behind his gold-rimmed glasses, subjecting me to a cold, calculating gaze.
“Victoria, what did you just say?”
His voice was heavy with dark warning.
I looked at his handsome face, and my stomach churned with nausea.
“I said, the wedding is off.”
My voice was dead calm.
“Pfft—”
Standing in front of the mirror, Savannah suddenly covered her mouth and giggled.
She lifted the diamond-encrusted train of the gown that was supposed to be mine and walked over to me.
“Victoria, don’t be so petty,” Savannah blinked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
“Tristan is just worried because I don’t have a show-stopping dress for the film festival next week. This gown will reach its maximum commercial value when I wear it on the red carpet.”
“You’re usually so supportive and understanding. Why are you being so unreasonable at a critical time like this?”
She called him by his first name with an intimate familiarity that made my skin crawl.
I glared at her icily. “Take it off.”
Savannah acted terrified, shrinking behind Tristan with tears welling in her eyes. “Tristan, Victoria is so mean. She’s scaring me.”
Tristan immediately shielded Savannah behind him, his brows knitting together in a deep frown. He took a long stride toward me, his eyes filled with impatience.
“Victoria, are you done throwing your little tantrum?”
He used that uniquely condescending tone of his, spitting words meant to cut deep.
“Savannah is my company’s cash cow. Giving her the best resources is for the sake of our future home. You’re a housewife who doesn’t even work. Who exactly are you trying to show off to in a $3 million dress?”
His entitled tone felt like a slap to the face.
Five years of silent sacrifice, and in his eyes, it all boiled down to: Who are you trying to show off to?
I took a deep breath, my hands clenching into fists.
“Tristan, this is a custom-made gown I waited six months for. You decided to lend it out without even asking for my opinion?”
Tristan sneered, thoroughly unbothered.
“Ask your opinion?”
He closed the distance between us, his towering figure casting a shadow over me.
“I paid $3 million for this dress! The clothes on your back, the things you use every day—what haven’t I, Tristan Thorne, provided for you?”
“And now you want to talk to me about your opinions?”
He poked my shoulder hard with his index finger.
“Victoria, learn to be grateful. Don’t think that just because I indulge you, you can act like a brat in front of me.”
Looking at the arrogant, narcissistic man standing before me, he suddenly felt like a complete stranger.
He genuinely didn’t think there was anything wrong with giving away his fiancée’s wedding dress. To him, I was just an accessory that depended on him to survive.
I was too exhausted to argue with him anymore. I turned on my heel and headed for the boutique’s exit.
“Stop right there!” Tristan barked.
He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip.
“Tristan, let go!” I gasped, a sharp pain shooting up my arm.
Instead of letting go, he yanked me violently against his chest. He lowered his head, his voice dropping into a menacing whisper by my ear.
“Victoria, don’t push your luck.”
“Be a good girl. Go pick out an off-the-rack dress, and the wedding happens next week as planned. As long as you behave, after Savannah walks the red carpet, I’ll rent out a private island and throw you an even bigger wedding to make up for it.”
“But if you dare walk out that door today…”
He paused, his eyes turning vicious.
“I promise you, not a single bridal boutique in New York City will sell you a single thread.”
Enduring the throbbing pain in my wrist, I looked up and stared dead into his eyes.
“Tristan, you absolutely disgust me.”
Using every ounce of strength I had, I ripped my hand out of his grasp. A harsh red bruise had already formed around my wrist.
Without giving him another glance, I turned and walked away.
Behind me, I heard Tristan’s arrogant scoff, followed by the heavy mechanical click of the boutique’s double doors locking.
Click. I turned around.
Tristan stood inside, casually tossing the electronic key fob he had just taken from the terrified manager.
He looked at me through the thick glass, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
“Victoria, I told you. Without my permission, you aren’t going anywhere.”
I banged my fist against the glass. “Tristan! This is illegal confinement! Open the door!”
“Confinement?”
Tristan strolled back to the velvet sofa and sat down, elegantly crossing his legs.
“I’m just teaching my fiancée some manners.”
Savannah leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and shot me a triumphant, mocking smile.
“Victoria, just stop fighting it. Tristan is doing this for your own good. A massive storm is rolling in, and you won’t even be able to get an Uber out there.”
Right on cue, Tristan pulled out his phone and dialed a number right in front of me.
“Freeze all of Victoria Vance’s authorized credit cards.”
“Revoke all her VIP hotel privileges.”
“Notify every black car service and rideshare platform in the city. If anyone dares to pick up Victoria Vance, they are making an enemy out of Thorne Industries.”
Hanging up the phone, he tapped his knuckles against the glass door.
“Victoria, your pride is completely worthless.”
“Without me, you couldn’t even find a place to sleep in this city. I’m giving you two hours to reflect on your behavior.”
“When you figure it out, you can kneel outside the door and beg me.”
The sky quickly darkened. Gale-force winds whipped down the avenue, and a torrential downpour soon followed.
The freezing rain soaked right through my thin clothes, chilling me to the bone.
I stood shivering under the narrow awning outside the boutique. I pulled out my phone. My lock screen was flooded with notifications.
[Dear Customer, your credit card has been frozen by the primary account holder…] [Sorry Ms. Vance, your rideshare request has been forcefully cancelled by the system…] Tristan wasn’t bluffing. He was leveraging his corporate power to completely isolate me. He wanted to force me into a corner so I would remember my place as his property.
I ground my teeth together, scrolling through my contacts. I refused to surrender.
I dialed my best friend, Chloe Carmichael.
“Chloe, come pick me up. I’m outside the bridal boutique on Fifth Avenue.”
On the other end of the line, Chloe’s voice was choked with sobs.
“Victoria… I’m so sorry…”
“Tristan just called my dad. He threatened to cut off Carmichael Enterprises’ supply chain if I came to get you. My dad locked me in my room… Victoria, please, just apologize to him! Tristan has lost his mind!”
My heart sank into my stomach. Tristan had ruthlessly severed my very last lifeline.
Through the rain-streaked glass, I watched Tristan sipping a glass of expensive red wine. He swirled the crimson liquid, looking thoroughly entertained as he watched me shivering in the storm. Savannah was kneeling at his feet, playfully massaging his legs.
The scene burned my eyes, but it also incinerated whatever lingering affection I had left for him. I finally realized my mistake: you don’t go looking for treasure in a dumpster. Tainted trash is only meant to be thrown away.
I took a deep, freezing breath and shoved my numb hands into my pockets.
If no one was coming for me, I would walk back.
I turned around and stepped directly into the freezing downpour.
SCREECH! Before I could take three steps, a black Maybach slammed on its brakes right in front of me, splashing a wave of muddy water onto my legs.
The window rolled down, and Tristan’s executive assistant stepped out holding a black umbrella. He looked at my drenched, pathetic state with utter disdain, and threw a plastic garment bag right at my feet.
Through the half-open zipper, I saw a cheap, poorly-stitched white bridesmaid dress.
The assistant stared at me coldly, his tone dripping with fake charity.
“Ms. Vance, Mr. Thorne is feeling merciful tonight.”
“Savannah needs an assistant to hold her train on the red carpet at the film festival tonight. Mr. Thorne said that as long as you put on this dress and assist Savannah, your credit cards will be unfrozen tomorrow, and he’ll still save a spot for you at the wedding.”
He wanted me to carry the train for the woman who stole my wedding dress? And he expected me to wear this cheap rag to do it?
It was a blatant, calculated humiliation.
I stared at the garment bag in the mud. My body was convulsing from the cold, but my spine remained ramrod straight.
“Go back and tell Tristan Thorne…”
“Tell him to go straight to hell.”
The assistant’s face flushed with anger, and he pointed a finger right at my nose.
“Victoria Vance, don’t be a fool!”
“Do you think you’re still the future Mrs. Thorne? You are nothing! Without Mr. Thorne, you’d be starving in the streets!”
He waved his hand, and the rear doors of the Maybach swung open. Two massive bodyguards jumped out, pinning my arms behind my back.
“Let me go! What are you doing?!” I struggled wildly, but my freezing muscles were no match for them.
The assistant snatched the muddy bridesmaid dress from the puddle and shoved it forcefully into my chest. “Mr. Thorne gave the order. If you want to do this the hard way, we drag you there!”
I was violently shoved into the back of the car, and the doors slammed shut.
The Maybach sped through the stormy streets, heading straight for the film festival’s red carpet event.
The AC in the car was blasting. Wearing soaked clothes, my lips turned a bruised purple, and my teeth chattered uncontrollably.
The assistant sat in the passenger seat, sneering at me through the rearview mirror. “Ms. Vance, if you had just behaved, we wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re a woman. Just lower your head, act soft, and you get whatever you want. Why insist on fighting Mr. Thorne? You’re the only one suffering.”
I closed my eyes, tuning out his pathetic monologue.
Half an hour later, the car pulled up to the backstage VIP area of the red carpet. I was roughly yanked out of the vehicle by the bodyguards.
In a brightly lit VIP lounge nearby, Savannah was wearing the custom bridal gown that was meant for me, surrounded by a swarm of reporters. Tristan stood impeccably dressed by her side, looking at her with fawning adoration.
Catching sight of me being manhandled toward them, Tristan excused himself from the press and strode over. He glanced at the mud-stained bridesmaid dress in my trembling hands, his brow furrowing.
“Why do you look like such a mess?”
He took off his tailored suit jacket and tried to drape it over my shoulders, sliding effortlessly back into his fake, affectionate persona.
“Victoria, you’re just too stubborn. If you had just been a good girl, do you really think I’d have the heart to make you suffer like this?”
My stomach heaved with revulsion. I twisted my body, dodging his touch. The expensive jacket fell into a muddy puddle on the floor.
Tristan’s expression darkened instantly, his eyes turning lethal.
“Victoria, my patience has a limit.”
He pinched my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
“Go to the bathroom and put that dress on right now. When Savannah steps onto the red carpet, you will walk behind her and hold her train. If you dare ruin this for her…”
He let out a dark chuckle, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an emerald bangle.
It was the only heirloom my late grandmother had left me!
“Tristan! Give that back!” I panicked, lunging forward to grab it.
He held it high above his head, his eyes devoid of mercy.
“Hold the train, and I’ll give it back.”
“Otherwise, I’ll smash it into pieces right now.”
My grandmother had placed that emerald on my wrist on her deathbed. It was the last piece of my family I had left in this world.
Tristan’s fingers tightened slightly around the jade ring. One slip, and it would shatter against the concrete floor.
“I’ll count to three.” Tristan looked down at me like a god judging a mortal.
“Three.”
“Two.”
My whole body shook. My nails dug so deeply into my palms that they drew blood.
“One.”
“I’ll do it!” The words ripped through my throat, my eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Tristan smiled in satisfaction. He slipped the bracelet back into his pocket and patted my cheek mockingly.
“Good girl. Go on. Savannah is up next.”
Clutching the mud-stained bridesmaid dress, I walked into the venue’s restroom.
Staring at my miserable, drenched reflection in the mirror, my eyes grew colder than ice.
For the past five years, to protect his fragile male ego, I had hidden my true identity as the ruthless founder of a top-tier venture capital firm. I willingly stayed at home, playing the quiet, supportive woman behind his success. I thought I had fallen in love with an ambitious, driven man.
I didn’t realize I was just feeding a selfish, rabid dog.
Tristan Thorne, for every ounce of humiliation you forced on me today… Tomorrow, I will make you pay for it with the entirety of Thorne Industries.
I didn’t put on the bridesmaid dress. I shoved it directly into the trash can.
Pushing open the restroom doors, I walked straight toward the red carpet staging area.
Savannah had her arm linked through Tristan’s, preparing to step out to the cameras. Seeing me walk out in my soaked, muddy street clothes, Tristan’s face turned livid.
“Victoria Vance! Are you deaf?!” he hissed furiously.
Savannah immediately put on a distressed pout. “Victoria, how could you do this? Without you holding the train, the visual impact of this gown is going to be ruined.”
I stared at them with dead, empty eyes.
The camera flashes from the red carpet were already blindingly bright. The announcer’s voice echoed, calling Savannah’s name.
Ignoring Tristan completely, I turned and walked toward the exit.
“Grab her!” Tristan ordered, abandoning all pretense of public decency.
The two bodyguards lunged at me, one of them kicking me hard behind my knees.
Thud! Caught off guard, I crashed down onto the unforgiving concrete. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my kneecaps.
Staff members and journalists nearby turned their heads. Several cameras flashed in my direction.
Tristan marched over to me, his eyes merciless. Right in front of the press, he pointed his finger at my face.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I deeply apologize,” he announced, his voice carrying clearly over the chatter.
“This woman is a low-level assistant at my company who has been harboring delusional, inappropriate fantasies about me. She broke into the backstage area today to cause a scene and try to sabotage Savannah’s red carpet walk.”
“Security, drag this lunatic out of here. Don’t let her pollute the venue any longer!”
The crowd gasped. Countless cameras documented me kneeling in the dirt. He was trying to completely annihilate my dignity.
The bodyguards violently hoisted me up by my arms and dragged me toward the exit, hauling me out into the torrential storm.
Tristan wrapped his arm around Savannah’s waist, looking at me one last time.
“Victoria, this is what happens when you disobey me.”
“Sleep on the streets tonight and think about what you’ve done.”
🌟 Continue the story here
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While eating dinner, I was scrolling through Reddit and stumbled upon a trending post in a relationship advice forum:
[Help! It’s our second year of marriage, and my wife is demanding we spend Christmas at her parents’ house this year. I don’t want to go, but I can’t flat-out refuse. How do I make her drop the idea?]
The top comment read:
[That’s easy, man. Pick a fight with her over something stupid, then give her the silent treatment. Ignore her completely. Once the holidays are over, break the ice, apologize, and it’s all water under the bridge. Trust me, once you initiate the cold war, not only do you get out of the dreaded in-law visit, but you also get a few weeks of sweet, bachelor-like freedom. It’s glorious!]
The original poster expressed some doubt:
[Does that actually work? What if she gets so mad she asks for a divorce?]
The top commenter replied, practically dripping with smugness:
[You’re overthinking it! I’ve been married for ten years, and I do this every single year. My wife still takes it like a champ. Hang on, let me show you how it’s done. My wife just brought up the whole ‘going home for Christmas’ thing a couple of days ago. I’m going to go pick a fight right now!]
I was thoroughly disgusted by these two toxic, arrogant jerks and was just about to type out a scathing reply.
When suddenly, my husband, sitting right across the table from me, violently slammed his bowl down.
1.
Ryan’s sudden outburst startled me and terrified our three-year-old daughter, Lily, who was quietly eating her dinner.
I frowned at him.
“What is your problem? Why are you slamming dishes?”
“What is my problem?!” Ryan suddenly raised his voice, glaring at me. “You’re asking me what my problem is?!”
He pointed a harsh finger at the plate of shrimp scampi on the table, then poked me hard in the forehead.
“How many times have I told you I don’t eat garlic?! Are you completely brain-dead? What the hell did you put in the scampi?!”
I looked at him like he had lost his mind. Was he sick?
I used shallots. What did that have to do with garlic?
Without thinking, I slapped his hand away and shoved the plate of scampi right in front of his face.
“Can you open your damn eyes and look? Where in this dish do you see garlic???”
“No garlic?!” Ryan reached in and pulled out a small, translucent slice of shallot. “Then tell me, what the hell is this?!”
“That’s a shallot! You’ve eaten it a million times before! Why are you picking a fight over nothing…”
Suddenly, the Reddit post I had just read flashed into my mind.
My voice abruptly cut off.
Married for ten years…
If I remembered correctly, today was exactly my ten-year anniversary with Ryan.
It couldn’t be… that much of a coincidence, right?
Seeing me go quiet, Ryan acted even more self-righteous.
“Have I or have I not told you that shallots and garlic are in the same family?! They both reek! I am a person who hates garlic, and just looking at a shallot makes me lose my appetite! Do you ever actually care about my preferences?!
“And did you forget what day it is? It’s our ten-year anniversary, and you just threw together two pathetic dishes to humor me? God, you’re so lazy it’s a miracle you’re still breathing!”
The more he spoke, the more fired up he got. With a loud crash, he dumped the entire plate of shrimp scampi straight into the trash can.
I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I swear I saw a flicker of provocation in his eyes.
No matter how good my temper was, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I slammed my hands on the table and stood up.
“Ryan, are you out of your mind?! I’ve made this exact scampi recipe dozens of times! You never made a peep before, and now you’re bitching about it?!
“You’re just looking for a reason to start a fight!”
2.
Perhaps because I hit the nail on the head, a flash of guilt crossed Ryan’s face. Then, he stiffened his neck and yelled back.
“I’m not picking a fight! Before, I just held it in because I didn’t want to ruin our relationship! But everyone has a breaking point! You putting shallots in the food over and over again is just you trying to disgust me! You don’t want me to enjoy a single meal in peace!”
I stared at Ryan’s twisted, defensive face, my chest aching with fury.
Three-year-old Lily looked at me, then at Ryan.
Sensing the hostile atmosphere, her little lips trembled, and she burst into loud wails.
Hearing her cry, I lost all desire to argue with Ryan. I swallowed my rage, turned around, and picked up my daughter, gently patting her back.
“Shh, baby, don’t cry. Mommy’s right here.”
But Ryan didn’t care. He kept rambling and complaining, even directing his anger at Lily.
“Cry, cry, cry! All she knows how to do is cry! She’s like a bad omen, crying away all the good luck in this house!”
Lily, who had just started to calm down, wailed even louder at his harsh words.
I could no longer suppress the inferno of my anger. I grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and violently yanked it, sending the rest of the dinner crashing to the floor.
“Ryan, if you want to act like a lunatic, go do it outside! Don’t you dare take it out on my child!
“If you hate my cooking so much, then don’t eat! Get the hell out of my house right now!”
Perhaps he didn’t expect me—usually so mild-mannered—to react so fiercely. Ryan froze for a few seconds before his face turned red with humiliation and rage.
“Fine! You’ve got guts! I’m done eating! And don’t even think about me going to your parents’ house for Christmas this year!”
The moment that last sentence left his mouth, I was almost certain.
The top commenter on that Reddit post was Ryan.
I looked at him with a cold sneer.
“Ryan, that was your real goal all along, wasn’t it?”
Caught off guard, a trace of panic flashed across his face. He muttered “Psycho,” before fleeing down the hall and slamming the bedroom door shut.
That deafening slam made my heart tremble.
My daughter cried even harder in my arms. I held her tightly, whispering soothing words, but my own tears uncontrollably spilled down my cheeks.
Half an hour later, Lily finally cried herself to sleep.
I gently laid her on her bed and leaned exhaustedly against the headboard.
From the room next door, I heard the distinct, upbeat chime of his PlayStation booting up.
Driven by a morbid curiosity, I pulled out my phone and reopened that Reddit thread.
3.
The top commenter, whose username was R_Mitch88, had posted several updates just ten minutes ago.
[Alright man, mission accomplished. How are you doing?]
The OP replied instantly:
[Whoa, that was fast! Bro, what excuse did you use? Teach me! I’ve been thinking for an hour and I still don’t know how to start a fake fight…]
R_Mitch88:
[Bro, you’re clearly too much of a nice guy. Starting a fight is easy! Just grab onto any random excuse and go off!]
[After reading your post, I remembered today is actually our 10-year anniversary. I usually don’t care about these pointless holidays, but to pick a fight, I purposely nitpicked the dinner she cooked. I threw a fit, smashed some dishes, dumped the food in the trash, and ripped into her.]
[Now she’s successfully enraged. I used the excuse to lock myself in the guest room, and I’m about to hop into a Warzone lobby with the boys. Happy holidays to me!]
[Knowing how women work, she’s definitely in her room crying her eyes out right now, just waiting for me to apologize. But that’s exactly what we want! I’ll just give her the cold shoulder until Christmas is over. Hehehe. Use this trick, bro. I swear by it. Successfully dodged another miserable Christmas with her family. I’m thrilled!]
The OP replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
But as I read it, my heart turned entirely to ice.
R_Mitch88. Ryan Mitchell.
My husband. The man I had shared a bed with for ten years!
My brain buzzed, and memories of the past ten years suddenly flooded my mind.
4.
The first year we were married, still in our honeymoon phase, I brought up wanting to take him to my parents’ house for Christmas.
Without a second thought, he smiled and agreed. He even said all the right things:
“It’s your first Christmas away from home since we got married. Your parents will miss you, so it’s only right we go back to celebrate with them. Let’s get some sleep, and we’ll pack our bags and head out tomorrow.”
But the next morning, right before we were supposed to leave, he discovered I had accidentally washed his white dress shirt with my red sweater, turning his shirt pink.
He suddenly flew into a terrifying rage, calling me as stupid as a pig, screaming that I didn’t even know basic laundry logic, and ruined his favorite shirt.
It was the first time he had ever yelled at me like that. I was so hurt I locked myself in the bedroom and cried.
I thought he would come comfort me quickly, but to my shock, he gave me the silent treatment. He didn’t speak a single word to me.
Let alone going to my parents’ house for Christmas.
I was too angry to apologize, and I was afraid of going home alone and having to explain things to my parents, so I didn’t go back either.
I spent that holiday consumed by anxiety and misery. I even contemplated divorce.
But right after New Year’s, when my thoughts of divorce were at their peak and I was ready to confront him, Ryan acted like nothing had happened. He came over, hugged me, and took my hand to slap his own face.
“Baby, I was so wrong. I woke up that morning and saw my principal chewing me out in the faculty group chat. I was in a terrible mood, and I couldn’t help but snap at you over something so small.
“You don’t know this, but the second I yelled at you, I regretted it. I’ve been consumed by guilt. I haven’t slept in days, terrified you were still mad at me.”
I asked him why, if he was so guilty, he didn’t just apologize.
His eyes grew red and teary.
“I… I was too scared. I was afraid you wouldn’t forgive me, that you’d say something that would break my heart. Baby, you know I’d die without you! But after holding it in for so long, I was in so much pain. Today I finally found the courage to apologize. I was wrong, I was so wrong!
“Hit me! I promise I will never bring my work stress home again. Please forgive me, okay?”
Moved by his speech, not only did I forgive him easily, but I also felt guilty for not noticing his work stress sooner.
The second year, having learned my lesson, I brought up the holiday plans two months in advance. He laughed and brushed it off.
As Christmas approached, I brought it up again. This time, he claimed the school had assigned him to write a massive research paper over the break. He said he was spinning like a top, completely overwhelmed, and instead of helping him, I was nagging him with this trivial bullshit.
He accused me of being inconsiderate and lazy. We entered another cold war.
The third year, I got “smart.” I brought it up even earlier, and much more gently.
Again, he promised we could go.
But the night before we were supposed to leave, we got into a massive fight because I bought him a leather jacket. He accused me of wasting money, saying leather jackets were for thugs and that as a respected high school teacher, he couldn’t be seen wearing something like that.
It ended with him slamming the door and leaving.
Fourth year, fifth year… Every single year played out like a script.
The triggers were endlessly creative: My cooking was too salty, my phone wasn’t on silent while scrolling TikTok, I talked on the phone with my mom for too long, I switched our daughter’s formula brand…
But the destination was always the same: A long, agonizing cold war.
Sometimes two weeks, sometimes a month or two.
And the pathetic, brainwashed idiot that I was would always forgive him without hesitation the moment he finally lowered his head and apologized.
Ten years.
A full ten years.
Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t taken him to my parents’ house for Christmas in ten entire years!
My parents had gone from eager anticipation to quiet resignation.
I always thought it was just the exhaustion of marriage making us lose our patience for communication. I thought the trivial annoyances of life were eroding our warmth.
I even ridiculously reflected on myself, wondering if I was truly doing something wrong to make him so angry.
But it turned out, it was all a meticulously crafted performance.
I had been played for a fool by the exact same cheap trick for ten consecutive years!
But I couldn’t figure it out. Why was he so fiercely resistant to visiting my family? It was as if… there was something there that terrified him.
With that thought, I created a burner account and replied to his comment:
[Bro, I don’t get it. It’s just going to the in-laws for Christmas. Is it really worth fighting tooth and nail over? You’ve been married ten years and you purposely do this every single year? That’s insane! What, does your father-in-law’s house have some dark secret that you absolutely can’t be around?]
5.
Shortly after I sent the message, I heard the sound of the PlayStation in the next room pause.
Immediately after, I received his reply.
[Who the hell are you? Asking so many questions, is it any of your business? Do I need to explain myself to you? Heh, there’s no deep, dark reason. I just don’t want to go, so I don’t go!]
Ryan replied quickly, and his tone was aggressive.
I stared at the text, the knot of suspicion in my chest growing larger.
No, this was too weird.
Knowing Ryan, he loved to put on a show for an audience.
Especially when browsing the internet, he loved to brag and show off.
But right now, his slightly rushed reply and defensive tone screamed of a guilty conscience.
I refused to give up and pushed further:
[Ah, don’t get mad, man! I’m just genuinely super curious! Seeing how experienced you are, you must be a master at the game. Care to give a rookie some pointers? The fact that your wife has put up with you for ten years means you have her completely under your thumb. It’s enviable!]
Swallowing my disgust, I hit send.
Flattered by the praise, Ryan got swept up in his own ego again:
[Damn right! Let me tell you, when dealing with women, you have to be firm. If you show weakness, they’ll walk all over you!]
I gritted my teeth and kept feeding his ego:
[You’re so right, bro! But I still don’t get it. Going to the in-laws is just a holiday visit, why treat it like you’re going to war? Let me guess… is your father-in-law’s house in some rundown trailer park? Is the house falling apart, dirt roads, smells like farm animals, and you just find it gross?]
[Stop talking out of your ass!] Ryan replied instantly. [What kind of person do you think I am? To tell you the truth, my in-laws are loaded! They’re way richer than my family! They live in a massive estate by the lake, have three or four cars, and the cheapest one is a Mercedes E-Class!]
My heart skipped a beat.
What he said was a fact. My parents had built a business from scratch years ago, which my older brother, Liam, had now taken over.
While we weren’t billionaires, my family was definitely wealthy.
My parents always had the idea of returning to their roots, so once they made their money, they built a massive custom estate in the affluent suburb they grew up in.
Now that they were semi-retired, they spent their days enjoying life at the estate.
Ryan, on the other hand, lost his father young. His mother was a struggling, uneducated woman who worked grueling manual labor jobs just to put him through the State College.
After graduating, he took up the respectable, stable job of a high school chemistry teacher.
Logically, given my family’s background, it wouldn’t have been hard for me to find a partner of equal status.
But back then, Ryan pursued me relentlessly. He was articulate, well-mannered, and incredibly handsome. Being a bit shallow, I couldn’t resist the temptation and agreed to date him.
My parents always respected my choices, and they had a deep respect for the teaching profession, so they didn’t object. We got married smoothly.
I don’t know if I was overthinking it, but the way Ryan replied made me feel like he harbored a deep, greedy covetousness toward my family’s wealth.
I shook my head and replied:
[That’s even weirder then. If they’re loaded, going there is basically a luxury vacation, right? Great food, drinks, getting waited on—why wouldn’t you want to go?]
[You don’t know shit! Do you think I like hiding every year? I don’t want to go because there is something I absolutely cannot let my wife find out. Otherwise, why would I go to all this trouble? Whatever, talking to you is a waste of time. I’m dropping into Warzone. Stop replying, you’re messing up my focus.]
🌟 Continue the story here
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I was seven months pregnant. After my prenatal checkup, I dozed off in the passenger seat on the ride home.
But when I woke up, the baby in my belly was gone.
I instantly freaked out, but my husband just smiled at me with absolute adoration. “Still half-asleep? You were never pregnant, honey. What baby?”
I thought it was a sick joke and forced him to turn the car around and speed back to the hospital.
But the nurses said I was there for a routine physical, not a prenatal exam.
The OB-GYN shook her head and swore she had never seen me in her life.
Even my own mother called me, her voice red and teary. “Sweetheart, is the stress of trying to conceive getting to you? Why don’t we go see a psychiatrist?”
But just two hours ago, I had literally watched the tiny, beating heart of my child on the ultrasound monitor.
How could a seven-month pregnancy just vanish into thin air like a magic trick?
I refused to believe I was crazy. I called the cops, demanded security footage, and tore through the clinic’s records.
There was absolutely zero trace of my pregnancy or my checkups.
Everyone was convinced I had lost my mind. In a haze of heavy sedatives and utter despair, I slipped and fell from the hospital roof.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the morning of my prenatal checkup.
1
“Harper, time to get up. We can’t be late for your checkup today.”
Liam’s voice floated through the bedroom door, as gentle and loving as always.
I groggily opened my eyes, my hand instinctively dropping to my stomach.
I froze for two seconds, then shot up in bed and yanked up my pajama shirt.
It was round and heavy. The little one inside seemed to be startled by my sudden movement and gave me a sharp kick.
My eyes instantly welled up with tears.
In my previous life, today was the exact day Liam accompanied me to the Women’s Clinic for my seven-month checkup.
After it was over, I felt incredibly drowsy and dozed off in the passenger seat.
When I opened my eyes again, my stomach was completely flat. The baby was gone.
My husband claimed I had never been pregnant. The nurses said I was there for a basic physical.
Even my own mother told me my anxiety over getting pregnant had caused me to hallucinate.
I refused to accept it. I caused a massive scene at the hospital, and eventually, security dragged me away and admitted me to a psych ward.
But even as I fell from that rooftop to my death, I couldn’t understand it.
How could a seven-month-old fetus, a baby I had felt moving inside me, just vanish without a trace?
They all said she was a figment of my imagination.
But right now, she was unequivocally resting inside my belly.
I stroked my stomach, the tears silently falling down my cheeks.
“What’s wrong, honey? Did you have a nightmare?”
Liam leaned halfway into the room, pausing when he saw my red, teary eyes.
I looked at him, my emotions an absolute tangled mess.
In my previous life, he was exactly like this—gentle, considerate, the absolute best husband in the world.
But after the baby disappeared, he was the one who swore I had never been pregnant, and he was the one who followed the doctor’s advice to lock me in a psychiatric facility.
In this life, I didn’t know if I could trust him at all.
But no matter what, until I uncovered the truth, I couldn’t tip my hand.
“I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well,” I forced a tight smile. “I don’t feel like going out today. Let’s reschedule the checkup.”
Liam paused, walking over to feel my forehead. “Are you feeling sick?”
“Just really exhausted.”
“Alright then. I’ll call the clinic and push it back three days,” he said, looking down at his phone. “That specialist is in the office on Wednesday anyway.”
Watching his profile, my mind raced.
In this life, if I just hid at home and refused to go to the clinic, would my baby be safe?
But how long could I hide?
I had to figure out exactly what happened in my previous life.
Why did every single person swear I was never pregnant?
I closed my eyes, pressing my palm against my skin, feeling the subtle movements of the little life inside me.
It’s not a hallucination.
I had three days to uncover the truth.
The first day, I found nothing out of the ordinary.
All I could do was take photos of every single prenatal medical record I had accumulated over the past seven months and back them up to a secure cloud drive.
I remembered that in my past life, when I frantically searched the house for my old ultrasound printouts, they were all gone.
Even the hospital’s security cameras magically had no record of me.
But I still felt paranoid, so I booked a last-minute maternity photoshoot at a local portrait studio.
During the shoot, I paid the assistants extra to take a ton of behind-the-scenes videos on my phone, clearly documenting me walking around with a massive baby bump.
Only then did my anxiety ease slightly.
Next, I called my mom.
“Mom, I’m really craving your homemade lasagna.”
“Of course, sweetie! I’ll make a huge batch and bring it over. You’re eating for two now, you need the calories.”
“Mom, do you remember how many months pregnant I am right now?”
“Seven months, Harper. How could your own mother forget that?”
I recorded that entire conversation.
In my past life, my mother had looked a police officer dead in the eye and told him I was never pregnant.
In this life, no matter what crazy tricks they pulled, these audio files weren’t going to just vanish.
The day of the rescheduled checkup arrived.
Liam went to the billing counter to handle the copay, leaving me sitting on a bench in the waiting area.
A nurse in standard pink scrubs walked over. Seeing my belly, she offered a warm smile.
“Carrying high and pointy like that, I’d bet money it’s a boy.”
Liam returned just in time to hear her and chimed in smoothly.
“Boy or girl, I don’t care. If it’s a boy, we’ll protect his mom together. If it’s a girl, I’ll protect both my girls.”
The nurse covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh my, your husband is so sweet.”
I couldn’t bring myself to smile. I remembered this nurse.
In my past life, she had said those exact same words: Carrying high and pointy, I’d bet money it’s a boy.
But later, when I tore through the hospital looking for her, she had stared at me with wide, innocent eyes.
“Ma’am, are you confused? You were here for a routine physical, not a prenatal exam.”
This time, I had quietly opened the voice memo app on my phone and recorded her every word.
The examination room was on the third floor. The OB-GYN doing my ultrasound was a middle-aged woman in her early forties with a gentle demeanor. Dr. Evans.
In my past life, she was the one who examined me too.
When the baby disappeared and I charged into her office demanding answers, she had looked completely bewildered.
“Ma’am, I have never seen you before in my life. Are you sure you have the right doctor?”
But my memory was crystal clear. It was her.
I stared at her face. She was looking down, adjusting the monitor, completely oblivious to my intense glare.
“Alright, go ahead and lay back. Lift your shirt for me.”
I lay down. The cold gel hit my skin, and the probe slid across my stomach. The familiar, tiny silhouette appeared on the screen.
“Developing beautifully,” Dr. Evans said. “The head circumference is slightly above average. Just keep an eye on your sugar intake so the baby doesn’t get too big for delivery.”
I stared at the monitor, my eyes tearing up again.
“Dr. Evans, could I take a quick picture with you?”
She paused, surprised. I quickly added, “First-time mom. I just really want to document the journey.”
She smiled warmly. “Of course. Go ahead.”
I pulled out my phone, switched to the front camera, and leaned in close.
Click. I looked down at the photo. Dr. Evans’s face, my face, and the ultrasound monitor clearly showing the baby in the background. It was all there. Crystal clear.
Let’s see you try to deny this in this life, I thought fiercely.
Walking out of the exam room, I purposely tracked down that nurse.
“Nurse Rachel, could we grab a quick picture?” I held up my phone. “I’m making a pregnancy vlog for the baby.”
Rachel was incredibly accommodating. “Where’s your husband? Let’s have him take a full-body shot of us.”
Liam was pulled over, and he snapped several photos of Rachel and me.
In every single photo, my massive baby bump was front and center.
“Why are you so hyper today?” Liam asked with a chuckle.
I put my phone in my purse. “First pregnancy, remember? I just want to make a lot of memories.”
In reality, I wanted to make a lot of evidence.
This time, I had photos, videos, audio recordings, and multiple witnesses.
I refused to believe they could pull off whatever they did last time.
Walking out of the hospital, Liam helped me into the passenger seat.
“Tired? Take a quick nap. I’ll wake you when we get home.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to go home. I want to go to that famous brunch spot downtown.”
He paused, then smiled. “Alright. Whatever the queen wants.”
In my past life, I had fallen asleep in the car on the way home.
When I woke up, my child was gone.
This time, I absolutely refused to sleep. And I needed to be somewhere packed with people!
The diner wasn’t far from the hospital. We got there in twenty minutes.
But there was a massive crowd waiting outside.
“Want to go somewhere else?” Liam asked.
“No. I want this place.” I waddled over to the crowded waiting area and sat down.
Liam offered a helpless smile and went to the host stand to put our name in.
The waiting area was packed.
A waitress carrying a tray walked over. “Ma’am, please have some crackers while you wait. We can’t have our expecting mothers going hungry.”
She handed me a small bag of artisan crackers.
I thanked her, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.
With so many people watching, nothing could possibly happen to me here, right?
I leaned back against the bench, watching the bustling crowd, but my eyelids started to feel incredibly heavy.
I had barely slept the night before. Now, sitting in the warm, cozy waiting area, waves of unnatural exhaustion began crashing over me.
I fought desperately to keep my eyes open, but my vision rapidly blurred into darkness.
…
“Harper?” Someone was shaking my shoulder.
I jolted awake. My very first instinct was to grab my stomach.
It was flat.
I froze, and frantically felt it again.
Flat.
I violently yanked up my sweater. My stomach was completely smooth and flat.
“What’s wrong?” Liam crouched in front of me, looking deeply confused.
I opened my mouth, my voice trembling violently. “The baby is gone…”
“What?”
“The baby is gone!” I pointed at my stomach, screaming. “My seven-month-old baby is gone!”
Liam froze for a second, then let out a soft chuckle.
“Harper, are you still half-asleep? Since when were you ever pregnant?”
I stared at him, my eyes wide with terror, and shrieked:
“What do you mean?! We literally just left the prenatal clinic!”
Liam frowned slightly, looking genuinely concerned.
“Honey, we did go to the hospital today, but it wasn’t for a prenatal exam. You had a routine physical.”
Those exact words again.
My entire body began to shake. I stumbled out of my chair and lunged at the waitress who had given me the crackers, grabbing her arm.
“Earlier! You said I was an expecting mother and gave me crackers so I wouldn’t go hungry! Do you remember?!”
The waitress looked terrified. “Ma’am, what are you talking about? We don’t even serve crackers here.”
I stood there, paralyzed. Then I frantically dug into my purse, pulled out my phone, and opened my photo gallery.
The selfies with Dr. Evans and Nurse Rachel… they were all gone.
Refusing to give up, I opened Facebook.
Yesterday, after the maternity shoot, I had posted the behind-the-scenes videos. Dozens of friends and coworkers had liked and commented on it.
But that post had vanished completely from my timeline.
“Impossible…” My trembling fingers kept scrolling.
Liam walked over and gently squeezed my shoulders. “Harper, you’ve been under so much stress trying to conceive. You’re having hallucinations.”
I violently slapped his hands away and sprinted out of the diner.
I had to go back to the hospital. I had to find that doctor, and that nurse.
They had to remember me.
When I burst through the clinic doors, Nurse Rachel was taking a pregnant woman’s blood pressure.
I grabbed her arm. “Nurse Rachel! Do you remember me?!”
Rachel jumped, looking at me in utter bewilderment. “Ma’am, do you have the wrong person?”
“How could I have the wrong person?! You literally took photos with me this morning!”
Rachel thought for a second, then shook her head, cutting me off. “I’ve been working the inpatient ward all morning. I wasn’t even in the outpatient clinic. Were you here for a prenatal exam?”
I froze.
“Then what about the female doctor who did my ultrasound?!”
Rachel flipped through the clipboard on the desk. “All the attending ultrasound technicians on duty today are male. There are no female doctors on shift.”
My brain exploded with a deafening ringing sound.
A pregnant woman sitting nearby muttered to her husband, “Is she mentally ill?”
“Probably drove herself crazy trying to get pregnant. My cousin did the same thing. Tried for three years, ended up having phantom pregnancies and hallucinating babies…”
“Seriously, look at her stomach. It’s completely flat. Who is she trying to fool…”
I ran into the hospital bathroom like a madwoman, lifted my shirt in front of the mirror, and stared at my stomach.
Smooth. Flat. As if I had never been pregnant a day in my life.
I slid down the wall of the bathroom stall, collapsing onto the tile floor.
My mind was completely blank.
No. This is wrong. I must have missed something.
My phone rang. It was my mom.
I scrambled to answer it.
“Harper, did you get the lasagna I dropped off?”
I opened my mouth, a desperate spark of hope igniting in my chest. “Mom… do you remember that I’m pregnant?”
The line was silent for two seconds. Her voice came back laced with pure confusion.
“Pregnant? Haven’t you and Liam been trying for over a year with no luck?”
My hand gripping the phone began to shake violently.
“Mom, I literally sent you my maternity photoshoot videos yesterday. Did you forget?!”
My mom sounded even more confused. “No you didn’t, sweetie. You just called me saying you were craving lasagna. That’s all.”
I opened my text messages. The videos in our chat history were gone.
My mom’s voice filled with deep concern. “Harper, are you overworking yourself? Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, honey. A baby will come when the time is right…”
Sitting on the cold bathroom floor, an icy chill seeped into my bones.
Was I doomed to repeat this nightmare? Was I trapped in this impossible loop forever?
No. I refuse to be a sitting duck!
I splashed cold water on my face and marched out of the bathroom. I immediately heard a commotion down the hall.
“That’s her. She’s the one harassing the staff…”
“Call security. She’s clearly having a psychotic break…”
I looked down the corridor.
A crowd had formed outside the OB-GYN clinic.
In the center, Liam was explaining something to a nurse. When he saw me, he rushed over.
“Harper, where did you go? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I stared at him.
This man. We had been married for five years, and he had always been loving and perfect.
Right now, his eyes were filled with nothing but profound worry and heartbreak.
I stared dead into his pupils. “Liam, do you really not remember taking me for my prenatal checkup today?”
Liam sighed heavily, reaching out to hold my hand.
“Honey, let’s go home first. You need to rest, okay?”
“Answer the question!”
He paused, his eyes darting away for a fraction of a second.
“Harper. You were never pregnant.”
I closed my eyes. There it is.
“Ma’am, please stop disrupting hospital operations.”
Two security guards approached me.
“We received a complaint that you are harassing medical staff. Please cooperate and leave the premises.”
I took a step back.
The hallway was full of people staring at me, whispering loudly.
“What a shame. She’s so pretty, but completely out of her mind…”
“I’ve seen cases like this. They all end up in a straightjacket…”
“Her poor husband…”
Liam stepped in front of me, speaking to the guards. “I am so sorry. My wife has been under extreme psychological stress lately. I’ll take her home right now.”
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the exit.
I followed mechanically, my brain totally numb.
But right at that moment, I caught a glimpse of the digital calendar hanging on the lobby wall.
I stopped dead in my tracks, grabbed the arm of a passing nurse, and asked, my voice trembling violently:
“Is… is the date on that clock correct?”
The nurse was startled by my intensity but answered anyway.
“Yeah, it’s correct. Why?”
So that was it!
I finally understood why my baby was gone, and why there was absolutely zero trace of my pregnancy!
🌟 Continue the story here
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From the moment my daughter learned to speak, she treated me like a romantic rival.
Every time my husband and I tried to be intimate, she would burst into the room, physically wedging herself between us.
“You’re such a slut, Mom! Stop trying to seduce my daddy!”
Once, at dinner, my husband reached over to put a piece of steak on my plate. My daughter screamed, ran to the balcony, and climbed onto the railing of our sixteenth-floor apartment.
“Unless Daddy stays away from Mom, I’m jumping right now!”
Even when I sat at my vanity to put on makeup, her voice would drip with venomous mockery: “You’re just an old woman. No matter how much paint you put on that face, you’ll never be as pretty as me.”
Later, when my husband cheated, I was terrified she would be mistreated by a stepmother. I fought tooth and nail for her custody, burning through my savings and my sanity. In response, my daughter looked at me with a face twisted by hysteria and threw a bottle of industrial-grade sulfuric acid at me.
“You’ll never separate me from Daddy! Daddy belongs to me and me alone!”
Maybe the universe took pity on the sheer agony of my death, because it gave me a second chance. I woke up back at the beginning.
This time, I didn’t hesitate. I gave up custody.
“From now on, I want to be as far away from that girl as possible.”
…
My husband, David, looked at me in genuine shock.
“Naomi? Where is this coming from? You were ready to burn the world down to take her with you. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Before I could answer, our ten-year-old daughter, Sophie, stormed into the living room. She didn’t just walk; she attacked, kicking and scratching at my legs.
“I’m not going with you anyway!” she shrieked. “We’re both women, Mom. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re just jealous because Daddy loves me more!”
She threw herself into David’s arms, clinging to his neck and throwing me a triumphant, nasty look.
“Nobody can split us up. I’m going to be Daddy’s little girl forever.”
Even though Sophie had treated me like an enemy since she was a toddler, she was still my own flesh and blood. In my first life, when I found out David was planning to remarry immediately, I fought him for months. I gave up half my assets just to secure her custody, thinking I was saving her.
But then I remembered the sensation of my skin melting—the white-hot, bubbling scream of my own nerves being eaten away by acid.
I picked up the divorce papers and signed my name with a steady hand. “I’m respecting my daughter’s wishes. She stays with you.”
Sophie froze, her eyes widening in momentary confusion.
I moved to finalize the documents, but she lunged forward, snatching the papers off the coffee table.
“You’re a discarded wife! How dare you try to take Daddy’s money? Have you no shame?” she barked. “Daddy, you said you’d buy me all those designer dresses! Don’t give this old woman a cent.”
She hugged David’s leg, her voice turning into a sugary, manipulative coo, telling him that a “failure of a woman” like me didn’t deserve a settlement. She had no idea about David’s affair, nor did she care that I was legally entitled to a seven-figure payout.
David didn’t correct her. Instead, he leaned into the “noble father” persona he loved so much.
“I’m just too kind-hearted, Sophie. I can’t bring myself to be too cruel to your mother, even if she doesn’t deserve it.” He stroked her hair. “I know you’re worried about how hard I work for our money. You really are my little angel.”
Watching them perform this twisted duet, I felt a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. David was the true architect of this monster. He never corrected her behavior; he fed her delusions with endless indulgence until her mind became a warped, competitive maze.
David eventually managed to coax Sophie out of the room. The moment she was gone, he leaned in and whispered, “Naomi, don’t mention the remarriage to Sophie yet. I’m worried she’s too fragile to handle it right now. When the timing is right, I’ll introduce her to her new mom.”
Sophie, blissfully unaware, was currently in the hallway celebrating her “victory.” She had pulled our wedding photo off the wall and was jumping on my face in the picture, her heels puncturing the glass.
“Yes! I finally won! The rival is gone!”
Watching her, I felt a profound sense of detachment. It wasn’t just heartbreak anymore; it was pity. I wondered if she’d still be smiling when she realized she was about to face a brand-new “rival”—one who didn’t share my maternal instinct.
Sophie caught me looking. She laughed, a shrill, mocking sound. “Are you jealous, Naomi? From today on, Daddy is all mine!”
I didn’t say a word. I walked into the bedroom and began packing.
Since I had opted for a cash settlement instead of the house, and because David was terrified I’d change my mind during the mandatory thirty-day “cooling-off” period required by our state’s laws, we had an agreement. I would stay in the guest room for the month while I finalized my new apartment.
When Sophie saw me moving my things into the small room instead of leaving the house entirely, she flipped.
“Why aren’t you taking your suitcases out? Are you trying to stay here and rot?” she screamed. “You shameless bitch! I knew you wouldn’t give up that easily!”
She began grabbing my clothes and throwing them into the kitchen trash can. Then she ran to David, sobbing.
“Daddy, why is she still here? I hate her! Make her leave!”
David tried to explain the legal cooling-off period, but she wouldn’t hear it.
“I came out of her stomach, Daddy. I know her better than anyone,” Sophie hissed. “She’s trying to stay here to seduce you. She’s playing hard to get so you’ll take her back. She doesn’t want the divorce; she’s just tricking you!”
Even with the papers signed, her hostility had only intensified. The “quiet moment” I needed to process my grief was shattered by her screeching.
I had reached my limit. I stepped forward and slapped her—hard.
“Shut up,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to call me Mom anymore. And you sure as hell don’t get to talk to me like that. We are almost strangers, Sophie. Don’t expect me to tolerate your bullshit for one second longer.”
In my previous life, I had worshipped her. Even when she was at her worst, I couldn’t bring myself to be firm. Sophie had never seen this version of me.
She went pale, then burst into a theatrical wail, burying her face in David’s chest.
“See, Daddy? The mask finally slipped! This is how she treats me when you’re not looking! She’s always been jealous of us. She abuses me because she can’t stand how much you love me!”
This wasn’t new. Since she was four, she had been a master of the “smear campaign,” weaving elaborate lies to turn David against me. In her narrative, I was a violent, unstable shrew.
And David always believed her. “She’s just a child, Naomi. Why would she lie about something like that?”
Back then, I couldn’t believe my own daughter was “competing” with me for her father’s heart. By the time I accepted the truth, it was too late.
Looking at her now, I just smirked. “You’re ten years old, Sophie, and you’re already a better actress than anyone in Hollywood. Save your breath. Fighting me is a waste of time. You should worry about your dad’s—”
Before I could finish, David grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the hallway.
“Naomi! What are you doing? I told you to keep the remarriage a secret! If you drop that on her now, she’ll have a nervous breakdown.”
Watching him pretend to be the “concerned father” made me want to retch.
“You didn’t care about her breakdown when you were screwing that girl in our bed, David. You don’t care about Sophie; you just care about your image. But whatever. I’m done being the villain in your little soap opera.”
Sophie would find out the truth eventually. I decided I’d have a front-row seat for the fallout.
I underestimated Sophie’s dedication.
To ensure there was no chance of a reconciliation, she spent the next few days going door-to-door in our gated community.
“My mom was having an affair,” she told the neighbors, her eyes brimming with fake tears. “My dad is divorcing her, but she refuses to leave. She’s obsessed with him. Please, can you help us get her out?”
By the weekend, the neighbors were whispering as I walked to my car.
“I never would have guessed,” I heard Mrs. Higgins say from across the street. “She looked so respectable, but she was out there sleeping around. Even her own daughter can’t stand to look at her.”
In their eyes, I was the ultimate failure. A cheating wife, a hated mother—a woman whose life had collapsed under the weight of her own sins.
David, worried I might snap and blow his cover, finally tried to play peacemaker. “It’s just a misunderstanding, everyone. Don’t listen to a child’s rambling. We’re handling our private business.”
Sophie was livid. “Daddy! Why are you defending her? I’m doing this for you!”
She turned to me, her face contorting. Since I told her she didn’t get to call me “Mom,” she started using my first name like a slur.
“Listen up, Naomi. This divorce is happening. I’m going to make sure you never have the chance to crawl back!”
David, finally pushed by the social embarrassment, snapped at her. “Enough! This is adult business. Go to your room and stay there!”
Sophie’s eyes filled with real tears this time. But she didn’t blame David for yelling. She pivoted her rage right back to me.
“It’s all your fault! If I didn’t have such a pathetic mother, Daddy would never be this stressed! You’re trying to come between us, but it won’t work!”
I just shook my head. “David, this is the monster you raised. When your little mistress moves in, I hope you’re ready for the life you’ve built.”
I didn’t give David a chance to respond. I pulled out my phone and sent a blast message to the neighborhood Facebook group. I laid it all out: the affair, the proof, the reason for the divorce. I told them that anyone spreading Sophie’s lies would be hearing from my lawyer for defamation.
David panicked, trying to grab my phone to delete the post, but I was already out the door.
“Naomi, wait! You can’t leave! If you disappear, how do I know you’ll show up to sign the final papers in three weeks?”
I shook him off with a look of pure disgust. “Trust me, David. Nobody wants that piece of paper more than I do.”
I checked into a hotel. Within an hour, a text from Sophie popped up:
Don’t even think about sneaking back to seduce him. I’m watching you.
She followed it with a video. She had gathered every photo of me in the house—my graduation pictures, my portraits—and was burning them in a metal trash can, cheering as my face turned to ash.
I didn’t reply. I just blocked her number.
In my last life, I spent months agonizing over the divorce, trying to “win” a child who hated me. This time, I felt light. I spent the next three weeks at a luxury spa, hit the gym, and hosted a “Freedom Party” for my closest friends.
By the time the cooling-off period ended and we met at the lawyer’s office, I looked radiant.
Sophie glared at me, scanning my face. “You really went all out to try and win him back, didn’t you? Botox? New hair? Give it up, Naomi. He’s never coming back. From now on, I’m the only girl in his life.”
She clung to David’s arm like a trophy wife.
I didn’t say a word. I picked up my copy of the divorce decree, kissed the seal, and walked out.
I bought a new condo across town and started my life. But a week after moving in, there was a pounding on my door at 2:00 AM.
It was the police.
“Ms. Jackson? We found your daughter wandering the streets. Why is she out alone at this hour?”
Before I could process the question, Sophie pushed past the officer and stormed into my living room, her eyes darting around wildly.
“Is he here? Is Daddy here? He didn’t come home tonight, so you must have hidden him!”
She started ripping open my closet doors, tossing my newly organized clothes onto the floor. A familiar, hot rage flared in my chest.
I grabbed her by her ponytail and shoved her toward the police officer.
“Nobody wants your father, Sophie. He isn’t here. Get out of my house!”
Sophie flinched, then immediately squeezed out a sob. “Officer, look! See? This is how she always treats me…”
The cop frowned at me. “Ma’am, she’s your daughter. There’s no need for that.”
I forced myself to breathe. “Officer, I am divorced. Her father has sole custody. She didn’t ‘get lost’—she’s here to harass me. Call her father. I’ll give you his number.”
Sophie didn’t believe me. “Who else would he be with? You’re the only one who would keep him out all night!”
I almost told her the truth—that David was likely in a hotel bed with his “new mom”—but I knew she wouldn’t believe it. She’d just find a way to blame me.
I gave the police David’s address and told them to take her home.
The next day, an officer called to follow up. He told me Sophie claimed she couldn’t reach her dad and was scared to be alone. She said she only came to me because she was “lonely,” but I had blocked her.
The cop, clearly moved by her “sad little girl” act, lectured me. “She just misses her mother. There’s no grudge that should come between a parent and a child. You need to do better.”
I stayed silent. There was no point in explaining the Electra complex or the psychological warfare to a stranger. Instead, I sent David a one-sentence email: Bring your new wife home already. I’m done being the scapegoat.
Peace lasted for three days. Then, Sophie’s school counselor called.
“Sophie is locked in the bathroom. she won’t come out unless you’re the one to pick her up. Naomi, regardless of the custody agreement, you have a moral responsibility here. This child is traumatized by the divorce. You can’t just abandon her.”
The counselor hinted that if I didn’t show up, they might involve social services or “community advocates” (meaning: local gossip blogs).
I went. I had to protect my professional reputation.
To my surprise, Sophie was perfectly sweet at the school. She hugged me, calling me “Mommy” in front of the counselor, playing the part of the grieving child to perfection. I played along, my skin crawling, and drove her back to David’s house.
I dropped her bag in the foyer and turned to leave.
Sophie’s face dropped. The “sweet child” mask dissolved, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated malice.
🌟 Continue the story here
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What is it really like to date a domineering billionaire? — r/relationships
My boyfriend is old money, a third-generation heir to an empire. For the three years we’ve been together, I’ve been holding my breath, walking on eggshells.
Today, in front of a crowd of people, he suddenly dropped to one knee and proposed.
I was so terrified, I turned and ran.
Because the truth is, I never loved him.
Every single day I spent with him, I was forced.
1
Three years ago, I bombed my SATs. In a moment of sheer, desperate panic, I auditioned for a brutal, televised pop-star boot camp run by a major record label.
Before I could even make my official debut, I caught the eye of the network’s biggest backer.
His fixer—a man in a sharp suit with dead eyes—pulled me aside. He told me his boss wanted to “date” me.
I was completely out of my depth. Trembling, I went to my manager that night, begging for a way out.
My manager just sighed. She told me Cole Kensington had bottomless wealth and a ruthless reputation. He went through women like cheap champagne; the longest anyone had ever lasted was three months.
If I said no, I’d be blacklisted. I’d be hit with a breach-of-contract lawsuit that would drown my family in debt. My parents, my older brother—they could lose their jobs, their homes. We’d be run out of Los Angeles.
Paralyzed by fear, I agreed to be his girlfriend.
Just grit your teeth for three months, I told myself. It’ll be over before you know it.
But three years passed.
Cole not only didn’t dump me, he apparently decided he wanted me for the rest of his life.
I fled the proposal site and didn’t stop running until I reached Mia’s apartment in Silver Lake.
Over the past three years, Mia had quit the music management hustle to become a full-time novelist.
She blinked in shock when she opened her door and saw me gasping for air in her hallway.
“Wait, wasn’t Cole supposed to propose to you today?”
“I said no.” My face crumpled as the reality of what I had just done hit me. The potential fallout from rejecting Cole Kensington made my stomach turn to ice.
“Damn. You’ve got guts.” Mia gave me a solemn thumbs-up.
She pulled me inside. My body had barely hit the cushions of her thrifted sofa when a sharp, authoritative knock echoed on the door.
Mia peeked through the peephole. “It’s him,” she whispered, her eyes wide.
I lay flat on the sofa, playing dead. My phone began to vibrate violently against the coffee table. It buzzed and buzzed until the sheer anxiety broke me. I slowly swiped to answer.
“Come out,” a voice like liquid nitrogen commanded through the speaker.
“No.” I tried to inject some spine into my voice, desperately wanting to prove I had boundaries.
“Come out. Don’t make me ask a third time.”
The quiet, lethal edge in his tone made my heart hammer against my ribs.
Mia looked at me with deep pity. “Maybe you should just go out there and talk to him. Clear the air.”
I glared at her.
If I had the courage to clear the air with him, I wouldn’t have been trapped in this gilded cage for three years.
“Hiding won’t fix it,” Mia coaxed gently.
Seeing the conflict on her face, I reluctantly dragged myself off the sofa and walked to the door.
In the dimly lit hallway, Cole stood radiating pure, unadulterated fury.
Before I could even open my mouth, his hand shot out, wrapping securely around my wrist. He practically dragged me into the elevator.
The ride down was suffocatingly silent. His jaw was locked tight. All the brave, articulate speeches I had rehearsed in my head evaporated into thin air.
Yes, I was terrified of him.
I had dated him for three years, and I had been terrified of him for three years.
He shoved me into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin, his face a mask of thunder, and drove like a demon straight back to our Bel Air estate.
In the manicured gardens, the extravagant floral arches and thousands of imported balloons he had arranged for the proposal were still waiting, swaying gently in the California breeze.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. I kept my head down, staring intensely at the toe of my sneakers.
Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders and backed me up against the cool stone wall of the entryway, trapping me with his arms on either side of my head.
“You don’t want to marry me?” he demanded, his voice dropping an octave, his expression terrifyingly dark.
“No.” I scraped together every ounce of courage I had and finally met his gaze.
For three years, I had barely dared to look him in the eye. But I had already ruined the proposal. I had nothing left to lose.
“If you won’t marry me, who do you want?” He grabbed my chin, forcing my face up. “Jace?”
My stomach dropped again, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
“N-no. That’s not it.” Whatever teenage crush I had on Jace had died the moment I signed my life over to become Cole’s girlfriend.
He brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Then why?”
“Because I don’t love you.” I took a shaky breath, finally saying the words I had kept locked in my chest for a thousand days.
He froze. Then, a low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “You didn’t like the grand gesture? Is that it?”
I shook my head and bit my lip hard. “I don’t love you.”
2
Cole stared at me.
His pitch-black eyes were unnervingly still.
He was a breathtakingly handsome man. If you isolated his features, they were practically flawless. But put them all together, and there was an intensity to him that was fundamentally intimidating.
When his face went completely blank like this, it could make a grown man tremble.
Yet, under the crushing weight of his silent stare, a strange, reckless bravery bloomed inside me. I repeated it, practically signing my own death warrant. “I… I don’t love you.”
“Are you kidding me?” Cole let out a stiff, unnatural scoff. “If you didn’t love me, how the hell did we date for three years?”
“I was forced,” I said, my voice cracking, dropping so low I could barely hear myself.
But Cole heard it.
He looked at me with utter disbelief, his right hand slipping from my hair to mockingly trace my jawline. “If you didn’t want to, who could possibly force you?”
“You did.”
“When have I ever forced you?” Cole demanded, genuinely bewildered.
“You had your fixer corner me! You threatened me into dating you!” I accused, tears burning the back of my eyes.
The memories of three years ago flooded back—moving into this massive, empty mansion, lying awake every night in absolute terror, waiting for him to summon me. Knowing all that, how could I ever say yes to his proposal?
I wasn’t a masochist. Why would I fall in love with an arrogant, controlling capitalist shark who didn’t even respect me as a human being?
“That was me pursuing you! Do you not understand how that works?” Cole argued, his tone hardening with indignation.
“No. I don’t.”
Who pursues a girl by sending their corporate attack dog?
I might have been young back then, but I wasn’t an idiot. His approach wasn’t romantic; it was a mafia-style ultimatum. Date me, or I’ll ruin your life and everyone you care about.
Besides, I had been in love before. I knew what it looked like when someone actually cared about you.
Whatever Cole felt for me in the beginning, it definitely wasn’t love. At best, I was a shiny new toy.
And even now, as he moved heaven and earth to marry me, I didn’t believe he was actually in love with me. He just liked having me around. I was naive, obedient, and easy to control.
I had just been playing dumb to survive. I wasn’t actually stupid. I saw right through his rich-boy entitlement.
Seeing my absolute refusal to back down, Cole grew increasingly furious. But he clearly didn’t want to resort to the same ruthless tactics he used three years ago—it would shatter his pride.
He took several deep, ragged breaths before speaking slowly. “What if… what if I said I love you?”
“Huh?” I blinked in shock, genuinely confused. “Just because you love me, does that mean I’m legally obligated to love you back?”
“…”
Smash.
Cole’s fist slammed into the stone wall, inches from my ear.
I shrank back in horror, staring at the blood seeping from his bruised knuckles. “Should… should I call the doctor?”
Cole just glared at me, his eyes dark and stormy, completely silent.
I let out a shaky breath, dug my phone out of my bag, and called Dr. Bennett.
Carter Bennett lived in the neighboring estate. He strolled over a few minutes later, medical bag in hand.
The second he saw Cole’s bloody hand, he let out an exasperated groan, glaring at me. “Good lord, Harper. What did you do to him this time?”
Carter had been there earlier today when I bolted from the proposal. Now that I was back, and Cole was bleeding, he naturally assumed I was the villain.
I didn’t bother defending myself. I just looked at Cole, who was still staring holes into my skull. “Since the doctor is here, I’m going to leave.”
“Get out,” Cole snarled.
“Okay.” Granted a reprieve, I turned and sprinted for the gates.
3
Halfway down the driveway, I stopped and turned back.
The massive front doors were still wide open. When Cole saw me walking back, the faintest ghost of a smirk touched his lips, though his voice remained icy. “What are you doing back here?”
“I came to pack my things.” I pointed toward the grand staircase leading to the second floor.
I had lived here for three years. Even though I always felt like a hostage rather than a girlfriend, I still had a ton of daily necessities upstairs. Replacing all my skincare, clothes, and tech on my non-existent budget would bankrupt me.
Over the last three years, he had showered me with gifts—sports cars, deeds to mansions. Things that were practically impossible for me to liquidate without a team of lawyers.
Classic toxic billionaire behavior.
Cole’s face instantly turned to thunder.
I pretended not to notice, keeping my spine straight as I marched upstairs and began violently shoving my clothes and bags into a suitcase.
By the time I dragged my luggage back downstairs, Carter had finished wrapping Cole’s hand in pristine white bandages.
Seeing me struggling with my massive suitcase, Carter offered a polite smile. “Need a ride? I can drop you off.”
The estate was deep in the hills; getting an Uber up here was a nightmare.
I nodded instantly. “Yes, please.”
Cole’s expression darkened even further. He snatched his car keys off the glass coffee table, his voice dripping with venom. “She’s my woman. She doesn’t need you to drive her.”
“I’m sorry, but we broke up,” I retorted, flatly rejecting him. I turned back to the doctor. “I’d really prefer if you drove me.”
Carter cast a thoughtful, calculating look at Cole before taking the handle of my suitcase. “Let’s go.”
“Thank you.”
And just like that, Carter and I walked out the front door under the blistering heat of Cole’s death glare.
I stood by the iron gates, waiting for Carter to pull his car around.
Cole materialized behind me, his voice a low, mocking drawl. “Carter has a girlfriend, you know. And he doesn’t go for girls who are slow and naive.”
“Okay.”
I was too exhausted to argue. The thought that I would never have to wake up terrified of his gorgeous, brooding face again gave me the patience of a saint. I could take whatever insults he threw at me.
“It’s not too late to take it back,” Cole said, his tone shifting, softening just a fraction. “I’ll transfer this house to your name. If you don’t want to get married yet, we won’t.”
“Okay.”
“A-list director Davis is casting a new movie. I already put a word in. I can get you the lead role. It’s the perfect way to officially launch your career.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have anything else to say to me besides okay?!” Cole finally snapped, his frustration boiling over.
“Yes,” I said just as Carter’s SUV pulled up. I turned and gave Cole a little wave. “Goodbye.”
I yanked the car door open and threw myself inside.
“Harper!” Cole roared, his voice laced with absolute fury.
My heart did a panicked little flutter. I patted Carter’s shoulder frantically. “Drive! Go, go, go!”
Carter smoothly hit the gas, and the SUV sped down the winding canyon road.
In the rearview mirror, Cole’s furious silhouette grew smaller and smaller, until he finally vanished completely.
I slumped back against the leather seat, letting out a massive, trembling breath.
4
I asked Carter to drop me off at Mia’s apartment building.
He parked, pulled my suitcase from the trunk, and handed it to me.
I thanked him politely and turned to leave.
“Harper, wait,” he called out suddenly. “Are you and Cole blowing up over Blair?”
“Who?”
Blair? Who the hell is Blair?
I blinked at him, genuinely lost.
Carter looked stunned. He stared at me like I had two heads. “You seriously don’t know who Blair Harrington is?”
“Is she famous?” I asked. I mean, I had almost debuted as an idol. If she was a big deal in Hollywood, I would know her.
Was she one of Cole’s exes? Some poor girl whose life he ruined before he got to me?
Capitalist trash.
I clenched my fists, mentally cursing Cole and his entire bloodline.
“Never mind.” Seeing my blank expression, Carter clearly decided he wasn’t going to be the one to open that Pandora’s box.
I didn’t care enough to press him. I could just Google her later. If she had stepped foot in the entertainment industry, the internet would know.
“Bye, then,” I waved, turning to haul my luggage up the stairs.
When Mia saw me standing in her doorway with a massive suitcase, her jaw practically hit the floor. “Babe… did you and the billionaire actually call it quits?”
“Yep.” I wheeled my bag straight toward her tiny guest room. “I’m crashing here for a bit.”
“Are you serious? You gave him three of the best years of your life and you didn’t even get a fat breakup settlement?” Mia shrieked, outraged on my behalf.
I rolled my eyes. To be fair, Cole had given me plenty of things.
But they were all utterly impractical. He had rented out fleets of hot air balloons just to write my name in the sky. He had bought out the entirety of Nobu so he could sing me “Happy Birthday” off-key. He bought me a customized Porsche, knowing damn well I didn’t have a driver’s license. He bought me three different estates—one in Malibu, one in Manhattan, one in Aspen.
But trying to transfer the deeds into my name required exorbitant legal fees and property taxes. Because I was completely broke in actual liquid cash, I still hadn’t managed to finalize the paperwork.
As for the diamonds and luxury watches, he said he was worried I’d lose them, so he kept them locked in his personal vault. I wore them once for a gala and never touched them again.
There were plenty of rich playboys in LA. The fact that I had tolerated his specific brand of chaotic, smothering wealth for three whole years proved I deserved a Nobel Peace Prize.
Thinking about it made me want to cry. I pulled up my banking app and shoved my phone in Mia’s face. “Look. I have $420 to my name.”
Just as I finished throwing my pity party, a notification popped up.
It was a Venmo transfer. From Cole.
“Oh, damn! Look at that. $30,420,” Mia smirked, raising an eyebrow.
With absolute, unwavering dignity, I hit the ‘Block’ button on his profile.
“If he actually wanted to give me money, he would have wired it to my bank account! Venmo can be reversed!”
“Iconic,” Mia muttered, thoroughly impressed. She turned to go fetch me some blankets.
5
That night, lying in the unfamiliar bed, I couldn’t sleep. Out of sheer boredom, I opened my bank app again.
Balance: $420.
See? The $30,000 transfer was pending. He was just testing me.
Whatever. Billionaires are all sociopaths.
Tossing and turning, I pulled up Google and typed in Blair Harrington.
There were a lot of Blair Harringtons in the world.
So I added Cole Kensington to the search bar.
There wasn’t much concrete gossip, but buried in a three-year-old PR article was a grainy paparazzi shot taken at LAX.
I would recognize that broad-shouldered silhouette anywhere. It was Cole.
He was seeing someone off at the airport. A woman.
The photo only caught the back of her head, so I couldn’t see her face. The image quality was garbage.
Mia had mentioned once that before Cole met me, the tabloids tracked his dating life like a sport. He changed women like he changed designer watches. Maybe this Blair was just one of his many seasonal accessories?
But wait… why did he stop changing “accessories” after he forced me to date him?
Was I just the most low-maintenance option?
Suddenly, a text popped up on my screen.
“Unblock me.” It was an SMS from Cole.
“We’re broken up.” I am a woman of principle. When a relationship ends, you cut the cord cleanly. Anything else is just stringing him along.
“I’ll give you three minutes. If you don’t unblock me, I’m calling your parents,” Cole threatened.
Seriously? Calling my parents to tattle? He was a grown man nearing thirty, acting like a toddler.
“I’ll tell my parents myself that we broke up.” Last Christmas, he had shamelessly forced his way into my family’s holiday dinner. By the end of the night, my parents were basically ready to walk me down the aisle. My older brother, Connor, trailed after him like a lost puppy, calling him “brother-in-law.”
It made me want to scream.
“Then please make sure you tell them clearly: you are the one who dumped me.”
A second later, another text came through: “By the way, I also have the video of you publicly humiliating me by running away from my proposal. I’ll make sure to send that to them too.”
He is so vile! How does a titan of industry even come up with such petty, underhanded blackmail?
“Don’t cross the line!” I typed furiously.
“Unblock me on everything.”
I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle him. The standard emojis on my phone simply weren’t enough to convey my sheer, blinding rage.
I opened my messaging app, went into the settings, and yanked him out of the blocked contacts list.
After spamming him with twenty different animated stickers of a cartoon cat violently beating up a dog, my anger finally subsided a fraction.
Once I calmed down, a cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck.
He was not a man you wanted to cross.
What if he lost his temper, sent his security detail to drag me back to Bel Air, and locked me in the mansion like some twisted dark romance novel?
I was scared, yes. But I couldn’t afford to be weak.
If I caved now, I’d be under his thumb for the rest of my life, just like the last three years. I’d never be free.
I tossed the phone onto the mattress and walked out to the bathroom, trying to look perfectly unbothered.
When I came out, I bumped into Mia.
“Your phone is going off,” she said, pointing at my door.
“It’s just spam callers,” I lied smoothly.
Mia’s mouth twitched. “The spam caller is aggressively trying to FaceTime you.”
“They’re very dedicated to their craft,” I muttered, my face burning as I scurried back into the bedroom.
Mia mercifully didn’t follow me.
I looked at my screen and nearly had a heart attack.
Cole had tried to FaceTime me five times.
Terrified that ignoring him would push him to do something psychotic, I quickly sent him a sticker of a sleepy bear saying “Goodnight.”
I waited for ten minutes. He didn’t reply.
Sighing, I switched my phone to silent.
Going from a custom California King mattress to a lumpy futon in a walk-up apartment was an adjustment. I didn’t sleep well that night.
6
The moment I woke up, I checked my phone.
The chat with Cole was dead silent.
I brushed it off. After washing my face, I walked down the street to grab breakfast.
Mia was a night owl. She wrote until dawn, her sleep schedule a complete disaster.
When I got back with coffee and bagels, I banged on her door.
She emerged looking like a zombie, dark circles under her eyes. I physically turned her toward the bathroom. “Brush your teeth. Food’s ready.”
“Ugh. Fine.”
A few minutes later, she sat at the tiny kitchen table. I eagerly pushed a bagel and a latte toward her.
She took a bite, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re being weirdly domestic. It’s creeping me out.”
“So… do you need an assistant? A housekeeper?” I smiled sheepishly. Since she saw right through me, there was no point in beating around the bush.
“Do I look like I have the disposable income for a maid?” Mia scoffed.
“Didn’t you tell me writing novels pays way better than managing pop stars?” Back when she quit the agency, she had confidently told me that once she sold her movie rights, she’d cast me as her lead actress.
“It does,” Mia said, defensive. “As a junior manager, I made $3,000 a month. As an indie author, I make $3,100 a month. Mathematically, it is better.”
I stared at her in silence.
She focused on peeling her hard-boiled egg. “If you’re serious about cutting ties with Kensington, you need to get a real job.”
“I only have a high school diploma. Who’s gonna hire me?” I slumped in my chair. I never should have dropped out to join that stupid idol boot camp. I should have listened to my mom and gone to a local college.
If I had, Cole never would have noticed me.
I wouldn’t have spent three years trapped in a fake relationship, failing to launch my career, ending up a 22-year-old with absolutely nothing to show for it.
“You can wash dishes at a diner. Collect recycling. Ring up groceries. Plenty of options!”
“…Seriously?”
I was almost a celebrity once. After failing to debut, is this really all I was qualified for?
I have some pride!
Besides, what if I was washing dishes and Cole walked into the restaurant with his new model girlfriend?
What if I was collecting cans on the side of the road and his imported Italian leather shoes stepped on my hand?
What if I was working the register at a bodega and Cole’s new girlfriend came in to buy condoms, and I had to hand her the exact change?
The more I visualized it, the more horrifying the prospect of a normal job became. I took a vicious bite of my bagel. “Hey, what if you teach me how to write romance novels?”
Mia rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “If I had the skill to teach someone else how to write a bestseller, I wouldn’t be churning out ten thousand words a day just to make rent.”
“Come on, it can’t be that hard,” I argued, snatching the peeled egg right out of her hand. “The only reason your books aren’t blowing up is because you have zero romantic experience. I have the perfect material. My ex is a literal billionaire. I can write what I know.”
Mia froze, staring at me in disbelief. “You’re counting your three years hostage situation with Cole Kensington as romantic experience?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s a real-life domineering CEO. That’s way better than whatever you’re making up in your head.”
“And what exactly is your plot? Are you gonna write about how he spoiled you rotten for three years, only for you to kick him to the curb when he proposed? Or are you gonna write 300 pages about two people sleeping in the same bed in total agonizing silence?”
“Why are you making me sound like the villain?” I protested.
“Aren’t you?” Mia stood up, stealing the other half of my bagel, and walked away.
Am I?
Am I the villain?
7
After cleaning up the kitchen, I retreated to the guest room, opened my laptop, and prepared to become a literary genius.
My mind was completely blank.
Honestly, there wasn’t much to write about my day-to-day life with Cole.
And the parts I could write about couldn’t be published without violating several community guidelines. I’d probably get banned from whatever platform I posted it on.
Was working a cash register really my ultimate destiny?
I had just pulled up Indeed.com when my phone rang. It was my brother, Connor.
“Harper, it’s a disaster. Get home right now.”
“What happened?” I asked, my pulse spiking.
After Cole’s threat last night, I was terrified this was a trap. What if he called a family meeting to put me on trial? I wouldn’t be able to talk my way out of it.
“It’s Mom. I can’t explain over the phone. Just get here!” Connor hung up in a panic.
Hearing it was about my mom, I completely forgot about my job hunt. I grabbed my purse and ran out the door.
When I arrived at my parents’ suburban house, the whole family was sitting grimly in the living room. Cole wasn’t there. I let out a massive sigh of relief.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked Connor, scanning the room.
Connor looked at me, hesitating. “You better ask Dad.”
“Dad, what’s wrong with Mom?” Did she have some terminal illness?
That’s how it always happens in soap operas. That’s what Mia writes in her books.
“Your mother… she got scammed!” my dad groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“Scammed out of what?”
“She’s in her fifties, Harper. What else do people steal from women her age? Her money,” Connor muttered dryly.
“How much?”
Connor held up two fingers.
“Two grand?”
Connor shook his head.
“Twenty grand?”
He nodded gravely. “$30,000.”
Holy shit.
Is it too late for me to unblock Cole and accept that Venmo transfer?
8
After getting the full story (a classic wire-fraud investment scam), I carried a bowl of chicken noodle soup into my parents’ bedroom to comfort her.
“Mom, it’s just money. We can earn it back. Don’t starve yourself over it.”
Dad said she hadn’t eaten since she realized the money was gone last night.
She was huddled under the duvet, refusing to acknowledge me. I set the bowl on the nightstand and gently tugged the blanket down.
She glared at me, her face stained with tears.
I sighed. “It’s thirty grand. I’ll make it back for you.”
“That was your wedding fund,” she choked out, her voice breaking.
I froze.
She wiped her face, sniffing. “Cole comes from such a powerful family. I know he doesn’t care that we aren’t rich, but I didn’t want his family to look down on you. I was just trying to grow your nest egg so you’d have some standing…”
“Mom, stop. I’m twenty-two. I’m not getting married anytime soon,” I said quickly, trying to shut down this terrifying line of thought. “Besides, I can save up my own money. You and Dad need to keep your savings for retirement.”
“You? Save up thirty grand?” My mom suddenly found her energy, pivoting instantly to roasting me. “You barely finished high school. How are you gonna make that kind of money?”
“So what if I just have a high school diploma?” I argued defensively. “If Cole hadn’t interfered, I might be a massive pop star right now.”
“The fact that Cole even wants you is a miracle I thank God for every day. A pop star? Keep dreaming,” she sniped, hitting right where it hurt.
Seeing that she had enough breath in her lungs to insult me, I shoved the bowl of soup into her hands. “Eat something before you keep yelling at me.”
I gave her a pleading, exaggerated smile. She looked at me, sighed, and reached out to pinch my cheek, a watery smile breaking through her tears.
“I suppose my daughter is prettier than most celebrities. Cole really did find a treasure.”
“Exactly. Remember that next time you’re praising everyone else’s kids and treating me like chopped liver,” I muttered.
I definitely couldn’t tell her about the breakup now. The double shock might actually put her in the hospital.
“You’re the best, sweetie,” she smiled, finally picking up her spoon.
When I walked back into the living room with the empty bowl, Connor gave me a thumbs-up. “The favorite child strikes again.”
“Shut up,” I rolled my eyes. He was pushing thirty and still got jealous over this stuff.
Having calmed my mom down, I sat with my dad to assess the financial damage.
My parents were middle-class office workers. They had just helped Connor with a down payment on his condo two years ago, so saving that $30,000 couldn’t have been easy. I worried how this would affect their daily lives.
If things were really dire, I’d have to swallow my pride and take Cole’s money.
“Harper, don’t worry about the wedding fund,” my dad whispered, leaning in close and patting my hand. “I’ve been stashing away a secret emergency fund for years. When the time comes, I’ll make sure you have a beautiful wedding.”
“How much?” I asked, genuinely curious.
My dad held up two fingers.
“Two grand?”
He shook his head.
“Twenty grand?”
He shook his head again.
My heart started racing. I swallowed hard. “Two hundred grand?”
My dad smacked the back of my head. “Are you dreaming? Three hundred bucks!”
“…”
Goodbye, Dad.
9
After eating, my mom’s mood stabilized significantly.
She came out to the living room and asked how things were going with Cole.
Terrified of sending her over the edge, I vaguely brushed the question off.
“Don’t tell Cole about the scam,” she whispered fiercely as I was leaving.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” It wasn’t exactly a proud family moment; there was no reason to broadcast it to an outsider.
I shot a lethal glare at Connor, who was lingering behind her. “Keep your mouth shut, too.”
Over the last year, Connor and Cole had gotten ridiculously close. Cole loved calling him “brother-in-law,” and Connor ate it up. Cole was a master at massaging egos, constantly inflating my brother’s self-esteem.
“I know, I know,” Connor mumbled, looking away guiltily.
“If you tell him, you’re dead to me,” I threatened.
Connor practically jogged back to the couch.
My mom tried to walk me down to the street, but I forced her to stay inside. It was getting chilly, and she was only wearing slippers.
10
The second I stepped out of the apartment building, I saw Cole’s sleek black car idling by the curb.
I pretended not to see it and started walking fast. He honked the horn.
I ignored him.
The door swung open, and he stepped out, grabbing my arm. “Did you tell your parents the truth today?”
“Let go of me,” I snapped, my face hardening.
“Harper, do you have a heart?” Cole roared, his face twisting with genuine anger. “Our mom is completely devastated, and you’re just going to pile our breakup on top of that?!”
Excuse me? When did she become our mom?
“Connor told me she got scammed,” he admitted.
I knew my idiot brother couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I was seething.
“She’s my mom. Stop acting like you’re part of the family,” I snapped. I took a breath to steady myself. “Even if she got scammed, it’s none of your business.”
“She lost your wedding fund! How is that not my business?” Cole’s voice boomed across the quiet suburban street. “When we get married, half of that money comes to my household!”
“WE BROKE UP!” I screamed back at him.
Are all billionaires this stingy? He’s seriously factoring my middle-class dowry into his net worth? No wonder his empire was expanding; the man was a shark down to his bones.
Cole gripped my arm tighter, his voice suddenly dropping, softening into a coaxing murmur. “I already talked to the director. I got you a supporting role in the new film. Female lead #5.”
“Didn’t you say I was going to be the main lead?” I didn’t actually want the part, but I was so angry I just wanted to fight him on everything.
“The lead role has a kissing scene. I didn’t like it.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your favors!” I pushed him away, turning on my heel.
“Then what do you want?!” Cole grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His dark eyes were swimming with frustration and panic. “Do you want to be an A-list star? Is that it?”
I stared at him, utterly stunned.
So that was what he thought this was about.
He thought I was using the breakup as leverage to negotiate a better acting career.
When he first forced me into the relationship, I had harbored tiny hopes of still debuting. I tried to bring it up gently a few times.
He shut it down immediately. He told me the entertainment industry was a toxic wasteland, and with my “limited intellect,” I’d get eaten alive and sold to the highest bidder.
He said he wanted to protect me. Keep me pure and safe, so I could live a carefree life.
Then Mia quit the agency, leaving me without a manager, and my dreams of performing quietly died.
Now, out of nowhere, he was offering me a supporting role. Wasn’t he worried the “toxic wasteland” would pollute me anymore?
Men are such liars.
“Cole.” For the very first time, I called him by his actual name instead of a detached ‘you’. “I broke up with you because I just don’t like you.”
“…”
Cole’s expression instantly darkened like a thundercloud. His voice dropped to a terrifyingly quiet register. “What exactly don’t you like?”
“Am I too handsome?”
I shook my head.
“Do I have too much money?”
I shook my head again. I wasn’t clinically insane; why would I hate money?
“Am I not satisfying you in bed?” His face was pitch black now.
My face turned completely red.
“N-no. That’s not it.” In that department, he was actually incredibly intense. After the initial shock of the first few times, the last three years had been… perfectly fine.
“Then what the hell don’t you like?!” he bellowed.
“You… you don’t respect me.” I shrank back, intimidated. He was gorgeous, yes, but when he was
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It was my second day at the County Clerk’s office after transferring back to the city. I was still settling in, shadowing one of the senior clerks, Sarah, when a young woman walked up to the counter.
She looked like she’d stepped off a runway—expensive silk blouse, designer bag, and an aura of effortless privilege.
Sarah leaned in and whispered, “Here we go again. This is her ninety-ninth time requesting a certified copy of her marriage license. We keep her files on standby; it’s faster that way.”
I blinked, stunned. “Ninety-ninth?”
Sarah chuckled, pulling up a digital folder. “Yeah. Local girl, married a tech mogul old enough to be her father. They have these explosive fights, and her favorite move is to shred the marriage certificate. It’s their little toxic ritual.”
She tapped her screen, looking a bit envious. “Only a man with that much money can afford to indulge that kind of bratty behavior. Word is her husband is the head of the Blackwood empire—Sebastian Blackwood himself.”
A cold shiver raced down my spine. My brow furrowed instinctively. “The Blackwoods? They’re practically royalty in this city. You’d think someone in that position would value discretion. Are you sure she’s not faking it?”
Sarah’s eyes went wide, and she practically lunged across the desk to cover my mouth. “Honey, hush! That is very much the real Sebastian Blackwood. You do not want to be on his bad side.”
I froze. My hand trembled, and my phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the laminate desktop.
The screen lit up. The lock screen was a candid photo of me, leaning my head against Sebastian’s shoulder, both of us laughing under a canopy of autumn leaves.
The girl on the other side of the glass saw it. Her face transformed from bored annoyance to sharp, jagged rage. She reached through the transaction slot and snatched the phone before I could react.
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice rising to a screech. “Why do you have a picture with my husband?”
…
1
I tried to speak, but my throat felt like it was filled with broken glass.
My husband.
The man in that photo was Sebastian. My husband of five years.
The Blackwood family was a dynasty, a web of old money and corporate power that stretched across the country. We had kept our marriage a secret. Sebastian told me it was for my own protection—that the media would devour me, that his family’s enemies would use me as leverage. He wanted to keep our “little world” private.
I believed him.
I had believed him for five years.
Standing there, watching this girl clutch my phone, I realized I wasn’t his “protected secret.” I was his ghost.
“I’ve seen women like you,” the girl—Lexi, according to her file—spat, her face flushing a deep, ugly red. “Social climbers. Professional mistresses. You see a man with a billion dollars and you think you can just claw your way in? And you work here? For the government? I’m going to have your job for this. I’m filing a formal complaint!”
Sarah stepped in, trying to play peacemaker. “Ms. Miller—excuse me, Mrs. Blackwood—please, stay calm. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation…”
“Explanation? Look at the photo! They’re practically on top of each other!”
I forced a breath into my lungs. I reached out and took my phone back from her hand. My voice was eerily steady, the kind of calm that only comes when you’ve completely dissociated from reality.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” I said. “I used to work in the mayor’s office in the next county over. I interviewed Mr. Blackwood for a profile piece. We took a photo together after the session. That’s all.”
Lexi narrowed her eyes, searching my face for a lie. “An interview?”
“Yes. Professional courtesy.”
She stared at me for a few more seconds, and then the tension in her shoulders began to leak away. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
“Oh… God, sorry. I’m just sensitive. My husband is… well, you’ve seen him. Every woman in this city wants a piece of him. I have to stay on high alert.”
I forced a thin, professional smile. “I understand.”
“Anyway, about the certificate…”
“I’m looking at your digital file,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You’re missing the updated residency verification. I need to see a physical copy of your utility bill or your property deed.”
Lexi groaned, checking her diamond-encrusted watch. “My place is only ten minutes away. I’ll just go grab it.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said, standing up. Sarah looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “I’m about to go on my lunch break. I can verify it on-site and take a photo of the document for the file. It saves you a trip back here.”
Lexi considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. Whatever makes this faster. Let’s go.”
I followed her out of the building. She led me to a pristine white Porsche, the interior a sickeningly sweet shade of blush pink.
Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up to the gates of a familiar luxury condo complex.
My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stopped.
I knew this building. I knew this unit.
Two years ago, I had used my entire inheritance from my grandmother—money I’d saved since I was a teenager—to put down the deposit on this place. I knew the Blackwoods had estates and penthouses, but I wanted something that was ours. Something I had contributed to, so I could feel like his equal, not his charity case.
Back then, Sebastian told me he was having some “liquidity issues” with the family trust. He asked me to keep the deed in my name but said we couldn’t live there yet because it would draw too much attention from the press. He suggested we rent it out.
I agreed. I wanted to be a supportive wife.
Every month, the “rent” hit my bank account like clockwork. I never checked on the place. I trusted him.
I walked into the foyer, my feet feeling like lead. Hanging directly across from the front door was a massive, gold-framed portrait.
It was a wedding photo.
Sebastian was in a white tuxedo, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him. Lexi was draped across him in a Vera Wang gown, smiling with the radiant heat of a woman who owned the world.
“Make yourself at home,” Lexi said, tossing her keys onto the marble console table.
I stepped into the living room. Every nerve in my body was screaming.
In five years of marriage, Sebastian had never given me a wedding. No ceremony. No gown. The only photo we had was that blurry shot on my phone from a weekend trip to the mountains—a photo I’d had to beg him to take.
But here, he was a different man.
The portrait was huge—maybe six feet tall—dominating the room.
“Your home is… beautiful,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
She laughed. “I think the photo is a bit much, honestly. A little tacky. But Sebastian insisted. He said he wanted everyone who stepped foot in this house to know exactly who I am. His wife.”
“He… seems to adore you.”
“He’s okay,” she said, though her eyes were sparkling with triumph. “Take a seat. I’ll go find that paperwork.”
I sat on the sofa, staring up at that portrait. Sebastian was smiling with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in years.
He didn’t hate being photographed.
He just hated being photographed with me.
2
Lexi rummaged through a desk in the corner for a few minutes before coming back empty-handed.
“That’s weird. I can’t find the folder. Hold on, I’ll call my husband.”
She hit speakerphone before I could protest.
“Hey, baby,” Sebastian’s voice filled the room. It was warm, indulgent—the voice he used to use with me when we first met. “Did you shred the paper again? You know, for a mother, you’ve still got the temper of a toddler.”
Lexi pouted, even though he couldn’t see her. “Where did you put the deed and the residency papers? The girl from the Clerk’s office is here with me right now.”
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “The Clerk’s office is at the house?”
“Yeah, she’s being super helpful. Where are the papers?”
“I have them with me. I was looking over the property taxes this morning. I’m actually out picking up the new house for you right now—I’ll bring them by in twenty minutes.”
“Hurry up, okay? We’re waiting.”
“I will. Did you get the formula for the baby yet?”
“Yeah, yeah, that organic brand you insisted on.”
“Good girl. See you soon.”
The line went dead. Lexi beamed at me.
“He’ll be here in a few. Oh! You have to see my son!”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back of the condo. “He’s six months old. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”
I followed her into the nursery, my mind a static-filled void.
In the center of the room, a plump, healthy baby boy was sleeping in a high-end crib.
Lexi leaned over the rail, her face softening with genuine motherly love. “Isn’t he perfect? Sebastian says he has my nose.”
I stood by the crib, my blood turning to ice.
They had a child.
Sebastian and I had been married for five years. Six months ago, I was supposed to have a baby, too.
I had been seven months pregnant when everything went wrong. There was a complication—an “emergency” procedure. I was told the baby didn’t make it.
After that, Sebastian told me we should focus on my recovery. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of putting my body through that again. He said we didn’t need children to be happy.
I thought he was protecting my heart.
I didn’t realize he just didn’t want a child with me.
“What’s his name?” I asked, my voice cracking.
Lexi’s smile widened.
“Callum. Sebastian picked it. He said it was a variation of his favorite flower—a Calla Lily.”
A bomb went off in my brain.
Calla.
That was my name.
When I was pregnant, we had spent hours dreaming of names. I had suggested Callum if it was a boy, a way to honor my name, Calla. Sebastian had held me and told me it was perfect. He said it would be a constant reminder of how much he loved me.
“Does the name… mean something special?” I whispered.
Lexi sighed, her expression flickering with a momentary shadow.
“My husband’s ‘late wife’… her name was Calla. Apparently, she died in childbirth. The baby didn’t make it either. He said he wanted to name our son Callum to ‘honor the tragedy’ or something.”
I stared at her, the bitterness in my mouth so strong I thought I might choke.
Lexi’s voice dropped, sounding uncharacteristically vulnerable.
“I tear up those marriage licenses because I’m insecure, honestly. He’s so hung up on the memory of this dead woman. I sometimes wonder if I’m just a replacement. He’s so romantic about her, and I’m just… here.”
I looked at the sleeping baby. My stomach twisted into a knot. If my baby had lived, he would be exactly this age.
“He told you she died in labor?”
Lexi nodded. “Yeah. It nearly destroyed him. He said it took years to move on until he met me. I think it’s fate, really. He says I even look a little like her.”
I looked at her face.
We looked nothing alike.
But if there was one thing we had in common, it was that we were both being played by a master.
“Is he good to you?” I asked.
Her eyes lit up again. “The best. He’s busy, obviously. But he promised me that in a few years, he’ll step back from the company and we’ll travel the world together.”
I nodded slowly.
He’d told me the same thing.
Five years ago.
3
I stood in that nursery, the silence pressing against my eardrums until my head throbbed.
“Where’s her memorial?” I asked, my voice flat. “If he loved his late wife so much, surely there’s a photo? A grave he visits?”
Lexi pulled a face. “I asked about that. He said he doesn’t believe in shrines. He said once someone is gone, they live in your heart, not in a frame on a wall.”
I looked down at my hands. My knuckles were white.
In his heart.
What a beautiful lie.
But where did my seven-month-old son live?
I unclenched my fists, my palms marred by the imprints of my nails. “I have one more question.”
“Yeah?”
“If your husband is as wealthy as everyone says… why are you living here? This is a nice building, but it’s a far cry from a Blackwood estate.”
Lexi laughed. “This was my idea. Sebastian’s world is so… cold. So much marble and glass. I wanted a ‘normal’ life. I made him buy this place so we could feel like a real family.”
She pointed to the DIY decorations on the walls.
“He wasn’t used to it at first, but now he loves it. He says this is the only place that actually feels like home.”
“He bought this for you?”
“Mm-hm. A wedding gift.” She leaned in, whispering like we were best friends. “Honestly, it was my insurance policy. If he ever leaves me, I have this. He put it in writing—this place is mine forever.”
The ice in my veins reached my heart.
Two years ago, Sebastian had asked for the deed to this condo. He told me it was better for “tax purposes” to let his management company handle the rental. He said he wanted me to be an “independent woman” with my own rental income so I wouldn’t have to ask him for money.
The “rent” I’d been receiving was just my own life being sold back to me in installments.
“You’re very lucky,” I said. My voice was trembling so hard I wasn’t sure she could understand me.
Lexi smiled and went back to cooing at the baby.
I watched her profile. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-two.
She knew nothing.
But even if she did, would it matter?
4
The baby in the crib started to fuss.
Lexi immediately scooped him up, rocking him gently against her chest.
I stepped closer to get a better look.
And then, the world stopped spinning.
Behind the baby’s right ear, there was a tiny, distinct skin tag. A “preauricular tag,” the doctors call it.
I gasped, my eyes wide with horror.
Six months ago, during my last ultrasound at seven months, the tech had pointed out that exact same thing. It’s a harmless genetic quirk. The doctor had told me it was purely cosmetic and could be snipped off after birth.
How could there be such a coincidence?
“How old did you say he was?” I asked, my voice rising.
“Six months. To the day.”
Lexi frowned as the baby continued to cry. “He’s always been a bit fussy. The doctors said it’s because he was premature. His system is sensitive.”
My hands began to shake uncontrollably. “Premature?”
“Yeah. I was terrified of the pain of labor, so I told Sebastian I didn’t want to go through a traditional birth. He was so sweet about it. He arranged for a surrogate—well, a ‘carrier’—to handle the pregnancy for us.”
Lexi sighed, adjusting the baby. “But the woman he hired was incompetent. She went into labor at seven months. The poor thing was in the NICU for eight weeks. We almost lost him.”
“And the woman? The surrogate?”
Lexi shrugged dismissively. “She took the money and disappeared. Sebastian said those types are dangerous. He made sure she was paid off and gone so she’d never come back for more.”
I stared at the child in her arms, tears stinging my eyes.
A terrifying, sickening realization took root in my soul.
This wasn’t Lexi’s baby. This wasn’t a surrogate’s baby.
This was my baby. The boy they told me had died on the table while I was under anesthesia.
Sebastian, you monster. You deserve to rot in hell.
I forced myself to stay upright. I forced my voice to stay calm.
“Did you ever meet her? The surrogate?”
Lexi shook her head. “No. Sebastian handled everything. He said it was better that way.”
She noticed my expression and her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just low blood sugar. I skipped lunch.”
She looked at me suspiciously, about to say something else, when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text from Sebastian.
[Working late tonight, don’t wait up. Get some sleep, Calla. Love you.]
I stared at the words.
Just then, the front door opened.
“That’s him!” Lexi cheered, holding the baby up.
I heard the heavy thud of a designer briefcase hitting the floor and then that voice—the voice of the man I had loved for a third of my life.
“Hey, beautiful. Did you miss me?”
“We did! Also, the girl from the County Clerk is here to help with the papers!”
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
I stood at the entrance of the nursery, watching as Sebastian Blackwood walked through the door.
He was wearing a sharp charcoal suit, looking every bit the titan of industry.
The moment his eyes met mine, the color drained from his face. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost—because he had.
In that second, the sorrow and the shock evaporated, replaced by a cold, searing rage.
I smiled at him. I took one slow step forward.
“What’s the matter, Sebastian?” I asked, my voice like a razor. “You look surprised to see your ‘dead’ wife standing in your nursery.”
🌟 Continue the story here
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I was born soft. Delicate, high-maintenance, and—aside from a face that could stop traffic—utterly useless.
When the Great Freeze descended and the world turned into a geometric nightmare of ice and death, I didn’t wake up with any “Gifts.” No superpowers, no survival instincts. Nothing.
Instead, I demanded that my boyfriend, Cade, use his fire-manipulation abilities to keep our reinforced bunker at a constant, balmy 78 degrees.
Today, the thermometer flickered down a single degree. I was already drawing breath to snap at him, to complain about the chill, when the air in front of my eyes suddenly fractured.
Glowing lines of text—a digital barrage—exploded across my vision:
[Ugh, when is this brain-dead side character finally going to get written out? She’s literally draining the life out of the Protagonist.]
[Can’t she see the color of his face? Is she actually blind? He’s dying for her.]
[When does the Wood-Gifted heroine finally show up? Fire and Wood are the ultimate power couple—fuel for the flame, if you know what I mean. I’m so over this spoiled brat.]
[Hurry up and get to the part where she gets kicked out of the bunker and freezes to death. I’ve got my popcorn ready.]
I froze. My gaze shifted to Cade. He was slumped in the corner, his skin a sickly, bruised grey, still straining to radiate heat for a room that didn’t need it.
My hand trembled as I reached out and tugged at his sleeve.
…
“Cade… babe. I’m not cold anymore. Keep your energy. Stop.”
I was lying on the small cot in our secure storage unit, and for a second, I felt a genuine shiver. I glanced at the thermometer. 77 degrees.
One degree lower than my “mandatory” 78.
Usually, that tiny dip would have sent a spike of irritation through me. I would have thrown a fit.
“Cade!” I called out.
He was curled in a sleeping bag in the corner. He opened his eyes slowly, the movement heavy and pained. The single emergency light cast a dim, jaundiced glow over us, and in that light, he looked like a ghost.
“Why is it only 77 in here?” I pointed at the gauge. “You promised. 78, every day. No exceptions.”
He pushed himself up on his elbows, his movements sluggish, a sharp contrast to the effortless strength he used to have. He looked at me, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out.
“Well? Say something.”
I kicked off the duvet and marched over to him, giving his shoulder a sharp shove.
“It was 77.5 yesterday. Now it’s 77. Is it going to be 70 tomorrow? Are we just going to freeze?”
The shove made him lurch to the side. He reached out, his hand instinctively trying to steady himself by grabbing my wrist.
The moment his skin touched mine, I went cold for real.
He was freezing.
His fingertips were like ice.
That shouldn’t have been possible. He was a Fire-Gifted. His body temperature had always been a furnace. Usually, when he held my hand, I’d complain that he was too hot and pull away, telling him he was suffocating me.
Now, his fingers were colder than mine.
“…Romy.” His voice was a jagged rasp, sounding like it was being dragged from miles away. “Just… give me a minute. Let me catch my breath.”
“Catch your breath for what?” I asked instinctively.
And then, the Feed exploded in front of me again.
[Hahaha, here we go! The classic bitch-move. Watch her start her drama while he’s literally crashing.]
[He looks like death warmed up and she’s worried about one degree. She’s literally a parasite.]
[78 degrees, 78 degrees… if he keeps this up, he’s going to be sucked dry. He’s running on empty.]
[Serena needs to get here ASAP. Fire and Wood belong together. She’ll actually help him grow instead of just consuming him.]
[I can’t wait for her to be tossed into the snow. It’s going to be peak cinema.]
[Agreed. +1]
[Watching for the downfall. +1000]
I stood rooted to the spot. The words continued to scroll, every punctuation mark sharp and mocking.
What?
I’m a “side character”? A villainous one? And I’m supposed to be kicked out to freeze to death?
[Lol, did she see the Feed? Look at her face. She’s glitching.]
[Doesn’t matter if she sees it. She’s slated for a permanent exit soon. She can’t change the script.]
[Hang in there, Cade. The real heroine is coming for you.]
[Serena is at the Eastside Warehouse. Two chapters max until she finds the bunker. Just hold on, King.]
I scrambled backward, hitting the wall. The words followed me, hovering perfectly in my line of sight no matter where I turned. I swiped at the air, but my hand passed through nothing but cold oxygen.
Cade, startled by my sudden movement, forced his head up to look at me. “What’s wrong?”
His voice cut through the scrolling text for a split second.
I looked down at him. Truly looked at him. The pallor of his skin, the blue tint to his lips, the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes. It wasn’t just tiredness. It was the look of a man who had given everything away.
The words from the Feed echoed in my skull: “If he keeps this up, he’s going to be sucked dry.”
Sucked dry.
I looked at the thermometer. 77 degrees.
It had been a steady 78 since the day the sun went dark and the mercury plummeted.
When the Freeze started, people began “Awakening.” I got nothing. But I didn’t care because I had Cade. He was my personal heater. He could generate warmth from his very cells.
In the beginning, he told me, “Romy, I can probably keep us at 65. Just wear a sweater, okay?”
And what did I say?
“65? That’s basically the morgue. I want it at 78. You’re gifted, Cade. Just try harder. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for me?”
He had looked at me for a long time that day, and then he simply said, “Okay.”
Since then, this ten-by-ten storage unit had been a tropical oasis in the middle of a graveyard. I never asked if it hurt. I never asked how he did it. I just bitched whenever the temperature dipped.
[Do you remember now, you spoiled brat? Do you remember how he spent the last ten days?]
[He sleeps three hours a night. The rest of the time he’s a human battery. He’s redlined his Gift so many times he’s lost count.]
[“One degree?” That one degree is costing him half his life force, you idiot.]
[I’m crying. Run, Cade! Leave her to the frost!]
[Where is Serena?! Ugh.]
I tripped over the edge of the cot and collapsed onto the mattress. Cade tried to stand up, using the wall for support, but his knees buckled. He swayed, his body a fragile reed in a storm.
My instinct was to reach out, but I stopped halfway.
If the Feed was right, I was a girl destined to destroy herself through sheer selfishness. I would keep pushing and pushing until Cade hit his breaking point, and then this “Serena” would show up, and I’d be cast out into the negative-fifty-degree wasteland to die.
[Ooooh, look at her. Is she having a mid-life crisis at twenty-two?]
[Go on, do something bitchy. Give us the finale we’re waiting for.]
[She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Hilarious.]
[His face is getting even paler. I can’t watch this. It hurts.]
I looked at Cade. He was shivering. Not a big, dramatic shudder, but a fine, microscopic vibration. He was a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap. I saw beads of sweat on his forehead.
Sweat. In a room that was barely 77 degrees while the world outside was fifty below.
He was burning himself up from the inside out.
My mind went strangely blank. The Feed was still scrolling, but the words lost their bite. All I could see was Cade. I saw the way his jaw was clenched, trying to keep himself upright for me.
He didn’t have to be this way. If I wasn’t such a parasite, he could have saved his energy. He could have survived this comfortably.
I wasn’t stupid. Even if the Feed was a hallucination, Cade’s condition was undeniable. Why hadn’t I seen it for the last ten days?
Because 78 degrees was comfortable. Because I was used to him saying “yes.”
Because I thought he was invincible.
“Romy,” he whispered, his voice so thin it was barely there. “Don’t be scared. I’ll… I’ll get the temperature back up. Give me a second.”
He raised his hand. A weak, flickering orange glow began to throb in his palm.
I’d seen that light a thousand times. I’d complained it was too dim, or that it made the air too dry. I never realized that light was his life leaking out.
I lunged forward and grabbed his hand.
He flinched, the light dying instantly. “What are you doing? It’s okay, I’ve got it—”
“I’m not cold,” I said.
He froze, blinking at me.
“I said I’m not cold.” I squeezed his hand. It was still icy, but I gripped it with everything I had. “This is enough. It’s warm enough. Stop. Don’t do it anymore.”
He stared at me, his eyes wide and vacant, as if I were speaking a language he’d forgotten.
[???????]
[Did her brain short-circuit?]
[Wait, this isn’t in the script. She’s supposed to throw a lamp at him or something.]
[She said she’s not cold? Is she sick? How are we supposed to get to the ‘Freezing to Death’ scene if she stops being a bitch?]
[Forget the brat—look at Cade! Look at his eyes. Oh my god, is he crying?]
His eyes were indeed turning a bright, wounded red. The moisture gathered at the corners of his lids, and he tried to blink it away, but a single tear escaped. It tracked down his pale cheek and landed on the back of my hand.
It was searing.
He was a Fire-Gifted; even his grief was hot.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I said,” I reached up to wipe the sweat and tears from his face, feeling the strange mixture of heat and chill on his skin, “that I’m fine. You’re done. You’re going to sit down, and you’re going to sleep. Right now.”
“But you—”
“78 degrees is over,” I snapped, cutting him off. “From now on, I don’t care if it’s forty degrees in here. You stay alive. That’s the only requirement.”
His mouth hung open. He couldn’t find the words.
The Feed went into a frenzy.
[Holy shit. Holy shit.]
[Did she just… evolve?]
[What is happening? Is the author drunk? This isn’t how it goes!]
[The original plot is ruined. If she’s nice, Serena has no reason to kick her out.]
[Who cares about the plot?! Look at Cade! He looks so heartbroken and relieved at the same time. He’s so beautiful when he cries, I swear.]
Cade looked like he was about to collapse. I didn’t have time for the Feed anymore.
I dragged him toward the sleeping bag. His feet were heavy, stumbling with every step. I threw his arm over my shoulder, taking his weight. He was a head taller than me and built of lean muscle; the weight nearly crushed me, but I didn’t let go.
I shoved him into the sleeping bag, zipped it up to his chin, and then grabbed every blanket, coat, and spare rug we had, piling them on top of him.
He lay there, just a head sticking out of a mountain of fabric, his red-rimmed eyes tracking my every move.
“What are you looking at? Sleep,” I growled.
“Aren’t you cold?” he whispered.
Only then did I realize I was standing there in thin silk pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor.
Was I cold?
God, yes. I was freezing. My legs were shaking so hard I thought my teeth might rattle out of my head. But looking at his face, seeing the dampness of his feverish sweat, the cold didn’t seem like the most important thing anymore.
“Nope. I’m toasted,” I lied.
He watched me for a long moment, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
“Liar,” he said softly.
He shifted over in the narrow sleeping bag, pulling the side open.
“Get in,” he commanded.
I hesitated.
“Get. In.”
[AHHHHHHHHHHH!]
[The tension! I’m screaming!]
[Wait, is the heroine getting ghosted before she even shows up?]
[This is so much better than the original. Look at them!]
[Romy, if you don’t get in that bag right now, I will find a way to reach through this screen and push you.]
I got in.
The sleeping bag was tiny. We were pressed together, chest to chest, hip to hip. His body was still radiating a strange, clammy chill, but his arms came around me, pulling me into the hollow of his chest.
“I’m going to sleep for a bit,” he murmured into my hair. “When I wake up… I’ll make it warm again.”
“No,” I muttered against his heart. “Just sleep.”
He didn’t argue. After a long time, I heard the rhythm of his heart slow down, becoming steady and deep.
The Feed slowed down too, the comments trickling by.
[Okay, I’ll admit it. The brat has some moves.]
[So what happens next? Where’s the drama?]
[Whatever, I’m shipping it for now.]
[But what about tomorrow? They’re almost out of food. Without the Wood-heroine, how do they survive?]
[Romy better think of something. She woke up once; she better wake up again.]
I stared at that last comment until my eyes burned.
I didn’t know what I could do. I was just a girl who was good at being pretty and being a problem.
But I wasn’t going to let Cade die.
And I wasn’t going to die either.
I woke up the next morning because the air felt like needles in my lungs.
I reached out, but the other side of the sleeping bag was empty. The warmth was gone.
I sat up, shivering violently. Cade was by the door, his back to me, his shoulders shaking.
“Cade!” I scrambled out of the bag. The floor felt like stepping on dry ice.
He turned around.
His face was a mask of paper-white skin. His lips were cracked and bleeding. He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.
“You’re awake?”
“What the hell are you doing?” I grabbed his hands.
Cold. Still so cold.
“You were supposed to sleep! Cade, how long have you been up?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at his palms. “The temp dropped too low. I had to… I had to stoke the fire.”
I looked down. A tiny, pathetic ember of light was flickering in his hand. It wasn’t a heater. It was a funeral pyre. He was using his own cells to keep the air from freezing.
[Oh my god, Cade, do you want to die?!]
[The brat changed, but he’s still stuck in his old patterns.]
[It’s like a runner who can’t stop after a marathon. His body is conditioned to burn itself out for her.]
[He’s going to crash. He’s going to crash so hard.]
[Where is Serena?! She’s at the warehouse! She has the healing Gift!]
I grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands down.
“Stop it. Stop the fire.”
“But Romy—”
“I said stop!”
The light went out. Cade swayed, and I caught him, realizing he was burning up—not with Gift-fire, but with a lethal fever. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.
“You’re sick,” I whispered.
The irony was devastating. A Fire-Gifted dying of a fever in a frozen world.
[It’s the backlash. His internal systems are failing.]
[Without a Wood-user to balance his energy, he’s got three days. Max.]
[Serena is a day’s walk away. He won’t make it.]
I hauled him back into the blankets. He was delirious now, mumbling about the temperature, about how I’d be cold, about how he was sorry.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, tucked the blankets around him. “It’s enough. I’m warm.”
I sat there for a long time, watching him breathe. Then I stood up and walked to the door.
It was a heavy steel door. I pressed my ear against it.
Silence.
The kind of silence that sounds like a scream. No birds, no wind, just the crushing weight of the ice.
I looked back at Cade. He was a small, broken shape under the blankets.
The Feed started scrolling again.
[What is she doing?]
[Is she going to leave him?]
[She’s going to run away, isn’t she? To find Serena?]
[She’ll never make it. It’s negative fifty out there. She’ll be a popsicle in ten minutes.]
[Wait… she’s looking for something.]
I was tearing through Cade’s backpack. I’d never touched his gear before; he’d always handled everything.
As I emptied it, my heart broke.
The bag was filled with my things. My favorite skincare, my silk pajamas, my spare sweaters, my heat packs.
And his stuff?
I found a single pack of compressed biscuits and two bottles of frozen water. That was it. He’d been living on crumbs for ten days while keeping me in luxury.
[I’m crying. For real.]
[He really does love her.]
[Why did she have to be such a brat for so long?]
I found a map at the bottom. Cade had circled a few spots in red. The nearest one was labeled “Supply Cache.” It was six miles away.
Six miles. In a blizzard. On foot.
[She’s going to do it. She’s actually going to go.]
[She’s a normal human. She’ll die before she hits the first mile.]
[Romy, don’t! Stay with him! If he wakes up and you’re gone, he’ll lose his mind.]
I folded the map and shoved it into my pocket.
I knelt by Cade one last time. His face was flushed with fever. His lips moved.
“Romy…” he breathed.
I froze. We’d been together two years. He usually called me “babe” or “princess” or “sweetheart.” But in his fever, he used my name.
[Who is Romy?]
[That’s the side-character’s name. Romy Vance.]
[Oh, I forgot she even had a name. I just call her ‘The Bitch.’]
[I think her name is Romy Jiang in the original? No, it’s localized now. Romy Vance.]
I touched his cheek. He was scorching.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered. “Stay here.”
He couldn’t hear me.
I put on every layer I owned. Three sweaters, two pairs of leggings under jeans, a heavy parka. I wrapped a scarf around my face until only my eyes were visible.
When I cracked the door, the wind hit me like a physical blow. It was a wall of white.
I looked back at Cade. One last look.
Then I stepped out and shut the door tight.
The world was a void. Snow came up to my thighs. Every step was a battle to pull my leg out of the drift.
Ten yards in, I couldn’t breathe. The air was so cold it felt like swallowing glass.
One hundred yards in, I wanted to turn back.
[She’s actually doing it.]
[This is suicide.]
[The plot is officially off the rails. Romy was supposed to die in Chapter 5. We’re in Chapter 1.]
[She’s turning blue. Her eyelashes are freezing.]
I didn’t care. I just kept moving.
Left foot. Pull. Right foot. Pull.
Six miles. In the city, that’s a twenty-minute jog. Here, it was an eternity.
I lost my sense of direction. I lost the feeling in my toes. I even lost the ability to feel the cold. There was just a dull, heavy numbness.
Suddenly, a shadow appeared in the white.
I stopped, squinting. A man. He was wearing a heavy military coat, his face obscured by a fur cap.
He saw me and started walking over.
“You’re out here alone?” he asked, his voice muffled.
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Heading to the cache?”
I stared at him.
“Don’t be jumpy,” he said with a rough laugh. “Me too. There’s a warehouse up ahead. Probably still got meds and food. We should go together. Safety in numbers, right?”
[DON’T TRUST HIM.]
[He’s a scavenger. These types are the worst.]
[Romy, run! He’s looking at your gear.]
[He’s going to rob her and leave her in a snowbank.]
I looked at the man. I looked at the way his eyes darted to my backpack.
“No thanks,” I croaked.
I stepped around him. He shouted something, but I didn’t turn back. I just kept walking until he was swallowed by the white.
I don’t know how long I walked. My vision started to tunnel. The edges of the world were turning black.
I’m not going to make it, I thought.
I’m going to die, and Cade is going to wake up alone.
[She’s been walking for three hours.]
[Three hours? That’s only two miles in this weather.]
[She’s done. Look at her.]
[Romy, don’t give up! Get up!]
I tripped. I didn’t even feel myself fall; I just realized I was face-down in the snow. It felt surprisingly soft. Like a bed.
I just need a minute, I told myself. Just a minute of sleep.
And then, a hand grabbed my shoulder.
I was hauled up out of the drift. I looked up, my eyes blurring, and saw a face.
Cade’s face.
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