Category: English

I awakened to the truth right before my arranged marriage with the male lead. After being drugged, I didn’t push open his hotel room door. Instead, gritting my teeth, I shoved open my stepbrother’s door. Under his stunned gaze, I pinned him against the door, kissed his earlobe, and whispered against his skin, “Please, save me.” I decided to go off-script. I wasn’t going to marry the male lead over some orchestrated accident, only to get divorced later because of another woman. I wasn’t going to waste years entangled with him, nearly losing my life in the process, just to have a toxic “happily ever after.” This time, I was going to hold onto the man who would give up his own life for me, even if he refused to say the words “I love you.” At the wrap party celebrating my Best Actress win, a single glass of wine sent my head spinning. I opted to leave early and head back to my hotel room to rest. Right before I pushed open Carter’s door, a flood of memories and scenes I had never actually lived flashed through my mind. I awakened to reality: I was the female lead in a toxic, angsty romance novel where the guy treats the girl like trash before finally begging for her back. The spiked drink tonight was a setup to get me into the director’s room, framing me for sleeping my way to the top and securing my award through the casting couch. In the original plot, I stumbled into the wrong room—Carter’s room. The next morning, a swarm of paparazzi would burst in, snapping photos of our one-night stand. To save face, Carter would be forced to put his arm around me and announce to the press that we had been secretly dating and were planning to get married. He would marry me, but in his heart, I’d always be the scheming woman who used dirty tricks to trap him into marriage. Because of that, the second we were married, he would slap a prenup and divorce papers in front of me to sign. The marriage would have a three-year expiration date. After three years, we’d divorce, and I’d get a ten-million-dollar alimony payout. He would repeatedly warn me not to catch real feelings during our sham marriage. But as the tragic female lead, I had already fallen hard for him long before this incident, all because he helped me out once in the past. Faced with his coldness, I foolishly hoped he’d change his mind, especially after I got pregnant from that one night. When I hinted at it, asking what he would do if I were pregnant, he ruthlessly told me to get an abortion. Later, when his childhood sweetheart and I were kidnapped together, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second—he’d choose to save her, leaving me alone on a burning yacht. I would fall into the ocean, my fate unknown. I’d end up stranded overseas, secretly giving birth to his child. Five years later, I would return to the States, determined to get justice. After my supposed death, he would finally realize his “true feelings” for me. He’d search frantically, throwing away business deals just to cross paths with me again. He’d uncover the truth about the spiked drink and confess that I was the one he truly loved. Eventually, after he took a knife for me from his deranged childhood sweetheart and ended up in the ICU, I’d soften, forgive him, and accept his proposal. The sweetheart would go to prison, and we’d have a grand vow renewal. What an absurd, pathetic storyline. Why should I ever look back at a man who put me through absolute hell? I was going to rewrite the script and sever all ties with Carter. This time, standing in front of the door I was supposed to open, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to walk a few steps further. Just as I was about to reach my own room, my legs gave out, and I crashed into another door. The moment the door opened, I froze. Standing there was Caleb, my stepbrother. I hadn’t seen him in seven years. He was wearing a bathrobe, the collar slightly parted. Droplets of water from his damp hair trailed down his chest. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses now, making him look far more aristocratic and aloof than he did at eighteen. He looked even more unapproachable now, radiating a cold, restrained energy that was completely intoxicating. Thanks to whatever was in my system, I was feeling a lot bolder than usual. Normally, I’d be slightly intimidated by him and would never dare to do what I did next—I shoved him backward, pinning him against the door. He looked down at me and reached out to feel my forehead. “Are you drunk?” The last thread of my rationality completely snapped. His hand felt so incredibly cool against my burning skin. I leaned in and haphazardly kissed his earlobe, whispering against his skin, “Please, save me.” I watched the tips of his ears turn a furious shade of red, a stark contrast to his usual stoic, ascetic expression. A second later, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me inside. But instead of the bed, he headed straight for the bathroom. Oh wow, going straight for the shower play… He turned on the showerhead, and freezing cold water instantly drenched my entire body. He looked away, his voice ice-cold. “Are you sober now? What kind of game are you playing this time?” Crap. I forgot. The first two years after he returned from abroad were when our relationship was at its absolute worst. He couldn’t stand seeing me act like a pathetic doormat for Carter, so he always gave me the cold shoulder. And ever since I joined his family, I felt like Caleb and I were natural enemies. I never had a nice word to say to him, thinking he was just my stepbrother who had no right to boss me around, so I constantly pulled pranks on him. It was completely normal for him not to trust me right now. I looked at his soaked torso, his bathrobe pulled halfway open by my grabbing hands, and closed my eyes. “I was roofied. Please get me a doctor.” When he heard I was drugged, his head snapped back toward me, his eyes dropping to freezing temperatures. “Who did this?” “I don’t know.” I paused, looking at his face, then took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. “Now get out.” I was barely holding it together. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle, muttered a quiet, “No wonder,” and stepped out of the bathroom. Caleb found a female concierge doctor who hooked me up to an IV. Finally, the heat in my blood subsided. The next morning, the paparazzi arrived right on schedule. But when the hotel door burst open, the cameras caught Carter in bed with his childhood sweetheart, Ashley. I guess she got exactly what she wanted. All these years, Carter had never really gotten over Ashley. She was his first love. Back in the day, his prominent family forced them to break up. The reason was cliché: Ashley came from a working-class background, and the wealthy family didn’t think she was good enough. She was smart about it. Instead of fighting a losing battle, she took the initiative to leave. She refused the buyout money his mother offered, smoothly handed the audio recording of the threat over to Carter, broke up with him on the spot, and flew overseas to build her acting career. She understood the toxic male ego perfectly: men always obsess over what they can’t have. So for years, Carter never forgot her. The second she returned to the States, his eyes were glued to her, clearly signaling he wanted her back. Behind the scenes, Ashley constantly provoked me, trying to make me lose my temper in front of Carter while simultaneously stringing him along. This time, she probably panicked because rumors of a corporate merger and arranged marriage between my family and Carter’s were leaking to the press. She wanted to kill two birds with one stone. She was the one who spiked the drinks last night, taking the same drug herself. The substance metabolized quickly in the bloodstream, leaving no trace for a tox screen. That was why I told Caleb I didn’t know who did it—without proof, pointing fingers was useless. In the original timeline, the truth only came out much later when she completely lost her mind and confessed. Besides, I didn’t want Caleb fighting my battles. I wanted to destroy her myself. “Are Mr. Carter and Ms. Ashley rekindling their romance?” a reporter shouted. “What kind of question is that? Look at them—the real question is, when’s the wedding?” “Could you two give a statement on your current situation?” Ashley played the shy, victimized card, pulling the duvet over herself and refusing to speak. All eyes darted to Carter, but he didn’t immediately confirm their relationship. Instead, his eyes were locked onto me, standing in the hallway, watching the drama unfold. Following his gaze, the paparazzi spotted me. A few reporters practically sprinted over, their eyes gleaming with the promise of drama. “Chloe, did you know about them? What are your thoughts?” I casually tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled gently. “I wish them the best on rekindling their spark. They should totally lock it down.” The second the words left my mouth, a stunned silence fell over the hallway. “Chloe, there’s no need to pretend you’re fine. Everyone knows your history with Carter.” It was true—everyone knew the wealthy socialite Chloe was psychotically obsessed with Carter. For him, I got into underground street racing and ended up with a broken leg that took six months to heal. For him, I got into a fistfight that landed me in a police precinct. I even joined the entertainment industry purely because he once offhandedly mentioned he liked watching movies and would probably date an actress one day. I knew full well that comment was aimed at his ex, Ashley, but I blindly dove into Hollywood anyway. Even after his ex returned, I shamelessly clung to him. Despite being an A-list actress, my fans endlessly roasted me online for being a desperate “pick-me,” but I never changed. So, it was impossible for me to just casually wish them well. “In the past, I was blinded by my own stupidity. My brain was basically mush,” I said breezily. “But that’s all in the past. I have new priorities now. They’re a perfect match, and I hope they stay together forever.” Carter’s face darkened terrifyingly. Instead of announcing his reunion with Ashley like I expected, he snatched a microphone from a reporter, slammed it into the floor, and roared, “Get the hell out! All of you, get out!” With the show over, I turned around and headed back to my room. As I turned, I saw Caleb standing nearby, his brows furrowed as he stared at me. Once we were inside my room, he spoke. “If it hurts, just cry. I won’t laugh at you.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. He genuinely thought I was heartbroken over Carter and was just putting on a brave face for the cameras. A mischievous urge took over, and I threw myself into his arms. “I’m so heartbroken! My chest physically hurts. I gave up so much for him… why won’t he just love me?” Caleb went entirely rigid, his voice tight with a hoarse, bitter edge. “Do you really love him that much?” Seeing him like that, I couldn’t bear to tease him anymore. In the past, I used to think he was just after my family’s wealth, which was why he always tried to manage my life and play the responsible older brother. Whenever we were in the same room, I was usually mocking him. I mocked him for shamelessly following his mother to marry into my wealthy family. I mocked him, calling him a gold-digging freeloader who would do anything for cash. I constantly told him to drop the fake “caring brother” act. That is, until I was trapped on that yacht. When the fire raged and I was abandoned to the flames, I thought I was dead. But Caleb charged in from the outside. To protect me from the flames, he shielded me with his own body. Half of his face was severely burned, and a collapsing steel beam crushed his leg, leaving him with a permanent limp. After that, he only dared to protect me from the shadows. He secretly paid for my directing classes overseas, wrote me anonymous letters encouraging me to become a famous director, and helped me return home in triumph. When his wounds got infected in the hospital, he held a photo of me, whispering quietly to himself, asking if I really hated him that much. He said his scars were too terrifying now, and he didn’t even dare to show his face to me. He wanted me to remember him the way he was before—handsome and whole. When he died, he left his entire estate to me, never once mentioning that he loved me. I looked up into his eyes and told him with absolute sincerity, “Starting today, I don’t love him anymore. I am completely over Carter.” He froze for a second. Then he lifted a hand, gently wiping away the fake tear on my cheek, and spoke in a strained voice. “You don’t have to put on a brave face to lie to me. If you can’t drop the act around me, I’ll leave. I’ll have your friend come keep you company.” “I’m not lying!” “I get it. Brooke should be here soon.” He pulled my hands away and walked out with long strides. Damn it. I only fake-cried because I felt terrible remembering how painfully he repressed his love for me in the original timeline. Now he totally misunderstood. By the time my best friend Brooke arrived, I was downing shots out of frustration. “Wow, the great socialite Chloe is actually day-drinking over a piece of trash?” “I am not drinking over that idiot Carter.” I guess I was a little too blunt, because Brooke actually looked up at the ceiling in shock. “Is the sky falling? You actually insulted him? In the past, if I said a single bad word about him, you’d rip my head off and remind me he was your savior.” Carter had saved me once. I was walking home late at night and realized I was being followed into an alley. He happened to be there and scared the creep away. I had begged for his help, and he put his arm around me, pretending to be my boyfriend, forcing the stalker to back off. He probably didn’t even remember it, but it was seared into my brain. The moment I saw him on the cover of Forbes, I did everything in my power to get close to him. Honestly, everything I’d done for him over the years had more than repaid that debt. But I kept acting like a brain-dead simp, constantly offering myself up to get hurt. What a garbage plotline. “That’s ancient history,” I said. “Right now, I want to chase Caleb. But he keeps thinking I’m trying to prank him.” “It’s just the two of us here, you can drop the act. Haven’t you tortured the poor guy enough since we were kids? You really want to play mind games and break his heart now? Honestly, you don’t even need to try…” She trailed off abruptly. I raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you stop?” “He’s been hopelessly devoted to you for years. If you really want to mess with him, find another way. Watching you obsess over another man has been pure torture for him. He’s suffered enough.” So his feelings for me were blatantly obvious to everyone else, and I was the only idiot who hadn’t noticed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “I couldn’t even mention either of their names around you! One was your untouchable god, and the other was your mortal enemy. The second I brought Caleb up, you’d rant about how much you hated him. Years ago, just because you threw a tantrum and said you didn’t want to see his face in your house, he instantly packed his bags, went to college overseas, and built his own empire. He only came back this time because he has domestic corporate mergers to handle.” Back then, the year after my mom passed away, sixteen-year-old Caleb and his mother moved into my family’s estate. I blamed my dad for my mom’s death. I thought he didn’t care about her enough, which drove her to swallow a bottle of pills. While she was dying in the ER, he was away on a business trip and didn’t even make it back in time to say goodbye. And yet, so shortly after, he brought home a new woman—who was supposedly his first love. Because of that, I looked at Caleb with pure hatred. Even though he and his mom constantly tolerated my awful behavior. Once, when kids at my prep school mocked me for being motherless, Caleb actually threw punches for me. He told them I had a mom, and that his mother was mine too. I looked at him with pure disgust and told him they didn’t deserve to be my family. He would always quietly trail behind me, making sure I got home safe. But I kept relentlessly targeting him. I even went so far as to intentionally cut my own leg on a glass sculpture he made, just so I could frame him for it. Looking at my bleeding leg, he asked me in a dazed voice, “Do you really hate seeing me that much?” Back then, I was paranoid and obsessed with the idea that they were here to steal my father. I glared at him with hateful eyes. “Yes. I’m sick of your fake, hypocritical faces. You act like you care about me, but you’re just trying to push me out of this family.” “I’ll leave.” He immediately filed the paperwork for an overseas boarding school and never stepped foot in the house again. It was only after he left the country that I ended up being stalked and saved by Carter. I only found out the truth about my mom’s death much later. It had nothing to do with my dad being distant. She just never loved him. She manipulated him into traveling constantly because she was planning to run away with her high school sweetheart. When her lover died in a car crash on his way to get her, she couldn’t cope and took her own life. My dad had kept her ugly secret hidden, quietly enduring my misplaced hatred all those years. He and Caleb’s mom had only reconnected by chance long after my mom’s funeral. “What does he even see in me? I’ve basically been the evil stepsister in his life story,” I muttered. “You’d have to ask him,” Brooke said. “You want to chase him? Didn’t you just get an offer for that celebrity dating reality show? The one you were going to turn down? Don’t turn it down. Go on the show. And try to get him cast too. Let’s see how long he can keep up the stoic act.”

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I spent three days and three nights as a ghost, screaming into the void, before the universe finally granted me a second chance. It all started with a Chanel bag. My mother had sent it to me as a surprise, and the sight of it sent my roommate, Teresa, into a spiraling, tear-filled jealousy that lasted for days. I couldn’t stand the noise—the constant sniffling, the weaponized fragility. In a moment of sheer desperation for some peace and quiet, I used a burner account to message her on WhatsApp and transferred fifteen thousand dollars to her, disguised as a “secret admirer” who just wanted her to stop crying. I never expected her to turn around and post the bank balance to the campus GroupMe. She announced to everyone that she’d been “testing” us by playing poor, and that I—the girl who actually owned the bag—was the greedy, social-climbing fraud who failed her little litmus test. The backlash was instant. My classmates’ vitriol felt like a physical weight, and my boyfriend, Jordan, didn’t even hesitate to dump me. When I finally confronted her on our dorm balcony, she “accidentally” pushed me. I died hitting the pavement three stories down. My other two roommates? They took a thousand dollars each from Teresa to testify that I had jumped out of shame. … I opened my eyes. The air felt thick, real. Teresa was staring at her phone, her eyes widening as she saw the notification for the money I’d just sent. She looked up, a triumphant, ugly smirk twisting her face. She pointed a manicured finger at my nose. “Sophie, get your ass up and fetch me some water for a foot soak. Do it now, or I’ll tell the whole class exactly how much of a shallow, gold-digging bitch you really are.” I didn’t waste a heartbeat. I lunged forward, snatched the phone out of her hand, and hit “Refund” before she could even blink. I met her panicked, confused gaze and patted my chest, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Thank God, I thought. Almost fed the stray dogs again. Can’t have that. Living with Teresa was like living in a low-budget soap opera. If I washed my face, she’d stand behind me, sobbing. “I heard that cleanser is eighty dollars a bottle. That’s my grocery budget for the month! How can you be so wasteful?” If I brushed my teeth, she’d wipe away a stray tear. “Is that an ultrasonic toothbrush? I guess girls like me will never know what it’s like to have the best things in life…” If I tried to sleep, she’d moan from the across the room. “Can I just touch your silk sheets? I just want to know what it feels like to be special for one second.” Then my mom went to Paris and sent me the Chanel. Teresa snapped. She cried for three days straight, a relentless, performative mourning of her own perceived poverty. I’d cracked. I’d sent the fifteen thousand with a simple note: Stop crying. In my past life, the GroupMe had exploded seconds later. [OMG, did you guys see Teresa’s balance? Fifteen grand in one go? She’s literally a secret heiress!] [Wait, so Sophie was the one faking it the whole time? That’s so pathetic.] [I knew Teresa had that ‘old money’ vibe. Sophie just looks like she’s trying too hard. Gross.] I scrolled up on my own phone, watching the history repeat itself—almost. In my previous life, Teresa had cropped my burner account’s profile picture and posted the screenshot with a caption that made my blood run cold: I only pretended to be struggling to see who my real friends were. Most of you are amazing, but Sophie… I’m going to be blunt. Sophie, it’s okay to be poor. You don’t have to carry knockoffs to feel important. It’s honestly just sad. And then, the killing blow. Jordan, the campus golden boy, tagged me in front of everyone. [Sophie, I can’t believe I fell for your act. You’re hollow. The most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done is date you. We’re done. Don’t ever call me again.] The class responded with cheers and “victory” emojis. [Justice!] [Good for you, Jordan. You deserve way better than a fake like her.] In that life, I had stormed out to the balcony to find Teresa. She hadn’t even looked at me. She was too busy typing furiously to my “secret admirer” account. Who are you, handsome? You care about me so much… can we meet tonight? Why aren’t you answering? Are you shy? It doesn’t matter what you look like. I’m a person who looks at the soul, not the face… I had waved my phone in her face, the words “There is no secret admirer, you idiot, it was me” dying on my lips as she shoved me. She was surprisingly strong when she was annoyed. Damn, she’s got a grip, was my very last thought before the world went black. Floating as a spirit, I watched her cry “accidentally-on-purpose” tears. My other roommates, Kelly and Bella, came out to see my body on the concrete. They looked at each other, then at Teresa—or rather, at Teresa’s new wealth. “Don’t worry, Teresa,” Kelly said, her voice devoid of emotion. “We saw it. Sophie jumped. She couldn’t handle being exposed. It has nothing to do with you.” Teresa had hugged them, sobbing with “gratitude,” and promptly sent them a thousand dollars each from my money. They celebrated my death like it was a civic service. But now, I was back. Teresa was currently typing her “I’m treating the whole class to dinner tonight—except Sophie” message into the GroupMe. She looked at me, gloating as she pulled up the chat with my burner account. “Ever seen this much money in your life? All your little flexes? They’re nothing.” She leaned in, her voice a poisonous whisper. “Do you feel small yet? Do you want to go find a hole to crawl into?” I stayed silent. It was hilarious, really. My baseline lifestyle was a fever dream of luxury to her. Fifteen thousand dollars had been enough to make her lose her mind and reveal her true, ugly self. When I didn’t respond, she got bolder. She pointed at my face. “I told you, Sophie. Fetch me the water. Now. Or the whole school finds out what a lying, status-obsessed freak you are.” I looked at her phone. The transfer was still pending. She hadn’t officially “accepted” it into her bank balance yet. My eyes lit up. I lunged, grabbed the phone, and tapped “Refund.” The money vanished from her screen and slid back into my account. I let out a long, shaky breath of relief. Safe. Teresa’s face contorted. “Sophie!! Are you insane?! You owe me fifteen thousand dollars! Give it back!” Having died once, I knew I wasn’t going to win a physical fight with her. I didn’t grab a single thing. I just took my phone and bolted out of the dorm. Goodbye, snakes. I was going home to my parents’ villa. I didn’t hear her chase me, but I heard the scream. It was primal. Even as I reached the ground floor, I could hear the sound of things being smashed in our room. My phone started buzzing incessantly. Teresa was blowing up the burner account. [Hey, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you! I’m not a gold digger, I swear. I don’t even want the money, I just want to see you…] [Please answer… I grew up an orphan, it’s been so hard, but I have my pride. I can’t just take money even if I’m starving… but I don’t know how I’ll pay my tuition now…] [Talk to me… please…] I kept walking, shaking my head at the absurdity. I wondered how she was going to treat the whole class to dinner on her five-hundred-dollar-a-month allowance. I was so caught up in the irony that I walked straight into Jordan. He was clearly on his way to the dorm to deliver his “righteous” breakup speech in person. “Ow!” I stumbled, hitting the pavement. Jordan looked down at me. A flash of pity crossed his handsome face, but he quickly masked it, clenching his fists. “Get up. Don’t think for a second that acting pathetic will make me stay. I’m breaking up with you, Sophie. You know how hard I worked to get out of my small town and into this university. I won’t have my reputation tarnished by a fraud. You’re a stain on my life.” He sighed, looking like a martyr in a Greek tragedy. “Don’t blame me for being cold. I loved you, really. But I can’t sacrifice my future for you.” In my last life, I’d believed that look. But I remembered him after my death, holding Teresa, whispering, “Don’t feel bad. I was with her for a month; I know who she was. She jumped because she was a bad person. It’s not your fault.” They had been hooking up behind my back the whole time. I stood up, brushed the dust off my jeans, and while he was still mid-sigh, I wound up and slapped him across the mouth as hard as I could. “You’re the stain, Jordan. Your whole family is a stain.” He was too stunned to move. By the time he found his voice, I was half a block away. “You crazy, fake bitch!” he roared. “You’re not worth a hair on Teresa’s head! You’ll regret hitting me!” His impotent rage was an exact match for Teresa’s. Honestly, they were perfect for each other. It was the weekend, so I went straight to my parents’ place, soaked in a tub that cost more than their combined tuition, and waited for the show to begin. The GroupMe was humming. [Hey Teresa, where are we going for dinner?] [I just finished my makeup! Can’t wait for pics with our girl Teresa!] [I’m wearing my best shirt for our princess!] Teresa was silent. On my burner account, however, she had sent over three hundred messages and attempted a dozen video calls. The texts turned into frantic voice notes. I played the last one. She was sobbing. [Please… my grandmother just called, she needs emergency surgery. If you can just lend me a little bit of money, I’ll be yours forever. I’ll do anything…] I felt like playing a little. I typed back: Anything for you, sweetheart. “Sweetheart” was Jordan’s pet name for her. I’d only found out after I was dead. This time, I’d help them synchronize. Teresa must have seen the reply and assumed Jordan was the “Secret Admirer” finally revealing his billionaire status. She immediately posted the dinner location to the GroupMe: a trendy new Hot Pot place near campus. [To make it easy for everyone, we’re going here! Next time, I’ll have my driver take us somewhere truly high-end!] I turned off my phone, smiling. But then the screen lit up again. Someone had @-ed me in the main group. It was Jordan, of course. [Sophie, we’re at the Golden Pot at six. Show up and apologize to Teresa on your knees, or don’t show up at all.] Before I could type a snarky reply, he posted a photo. It was a pile of all the gifts I’d bought him over the last month. A Rolex, a curated Hermes messenger bag… [Teresa said these are all fakes. Come get your trash. It’s making me nauseous just looking at it.] I sat bolt upright and typed one word: Deal. I didn’t want him to change his mind. Any one of those items could pay for his life for years. He thought I was coming out of fear. Let him think that. I wanted to see how they’d handle a four-figure bill with zero dollars in their pockets. When I arrived at the restaurant, the whole class was there. Teresa hadn’t heard back from “Sweetheart” yet, so she was too scared to ask for a private room. They were crammed into three tables in the corner of the main floor. As soon as I walked in, Jordan stood up, adjusting his sleeves with an air of unearned importance. “Sophie. Down on your knees. Tell Teresa you’re sorry for everything you did to her, and maybe we’ll let you leave with your dignity.” I actually laughed. “Where do you get off, you absolute hobo? Who are you trying to impress?” Jordan’s face turned a shade of purple. Being called poor was his ultimate trigger. For the month we dated, I had paid for everything—his clothes, his meals, his tech—because I knew he struggled. At first, he was grateful. Then, he became entitled, telling me that once he graduated, his “future earnings” would be mine, so my spending was just an “investment.” The audacity was breathtaking. “Where’s my stuff?” I asked. “Give it here.” Jordan held up a large shopping bag, threatening to drop it. “Who wants this junk? I only took it because I didn’t want to embarrass you.” “If it breaks, you’re paying full retail price,” I said coldly. He froze. He couldn’t afford to pay for a sandwich, let alone a Rolex. He handed the bag over with a trembling hand, his face flushed with shame. Teresa signaled for a soda, and Bella immediately poured it and placed it in front of her like a servant. Teresa nodded, dismissed her with a wave, and looked at me like I was dirt. “What,” I said, “did you become a paraplegic in the last three hours? You can’t pour your own drink?” “You!” Teresa slammed her hand on the table. The table wobbled, and the entire glass of dark soda spilled directly onto her pristine white dress—the one she’d saved for months to buy. “No!!” she shrieked, looking at the ruin of her only ‘expensive’ outfit. She pointed a shaking finger at me. “This is your fault! Kneel! Kneel right now!” “You’ve been watching too many teen dramas, Teresa. You’re not a princess; you’re a roommate with a stain on her lap.” I ignored her and sat down at an empty table nearby. The smell of the broth was actually amazing. “Waiter! Menu, please!”

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My ex-boyfriend was loaded, so I became his simp for the cash. I kissed his ass diligently every single day, right up until a two-faced pick-me girl stepped in. On the day we broke up, I cautiously asked, “Hey, about that condo you gave me… are you…” “Can you just get the hell out of here?” he snapped. He was annoyed. It was a scorching hot day. I obeyed, clutching the deed to the condo, and ran away as fast as my legs could carry me. Ever since elementary school, I was a total doormat for money. My desk-mate back then was filthy rich, his desk drawer literally stuffed with loose bills. I ran errands for the little rich boy every day—five bucks a pop. I was so money-hungry I even escorted him to the bathroom to make an extra buck. At a young age, my piggy bank was overflowing. Eventually, the rich kid transferred schools, but the stash I saved up got me through my childhood. In middle school, I ran a little side hustle. I’d hit up the corner store during lunch, pack my backpack full of snacks, and sell them at a markup to the kids in my class between periods. My best customer was a girl named Harper. She was a preppy, flawless girl who got hundreds of dollars a day in allowance. I still don’t understand her mindset back then. Every recess, she’d buy dozens of dollars worth of snacks from me. She wouldn’t even eat them; she just bought them to pass around for fun. When the empty wrappers littered the floor, she’d pay me twenty bucks to sweep them up. I was incredibly hardworking back then, buzzing around the rich girl day in and day out. Honestly, most students have zero concept of money, so I made a killing. On my best days, I could clear three hundred bucks. Student money is always easier to make than real-world money. People who haven’t tasted absolute rock bottom don’t realize how important cash is. As for me? No mom, no dad. I grew up in the foster system, so I was street-smart from day one, constantly scheming on how to secure the bag. When I got to college, I grinded hard to make a living. I worked my fingers to the bone until I met Tristan. He was a trust fund baby on steroids, spent money like water, and was an absolute godsend for my wallet. What kind of guy was Tristan? A brilliant art major whose family owned a massive real estate empire. A total golden boy. How did we meet? I was a campus RA, and this was the twelfth time I’d caught him skipping class. His academic advisor looked at the attendance sheet, furious. “So what if he’s rich? Look, don’t clear his name from this list. Let the penalties stand.” Since the advisor gave the word, I kept my mouth shut and kept marking him absent. Finally, right before the holidays, he sought me out. He asked me what the deal was. I carefully replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t really have a choice here.” “If there’s no choice, invent one.” He leaned back on the sofa, looking at me with pure irritation. Later, I actually did invent a way for him. I ran around campus with the golden boy, pulled a few strings, and got the issue resolved. He was extremely satisfied with my bootlicking. Probably because he was in a good mood, and because I looked tragically broke, he casually tossed me a designer gold chain. A thirty-thousand-dollar piece of jewelry. I pledged my highest allegiance to the golden boy on the spot, texting him good morning and good night like clockwork. Then one day, he asked if I was trying to hit on him. I cautiously replied: Are you annoyed by my texts? I can stop sending them. He didn’t reply. A long time passed before a message popped up: Your name is Riley, right? Yes. (Cute cat sticker attached). You know Harper, right? The popular girl? I do. She flunked a final… Understood. I’ll ask around the registrar’s office for you over the next couple of days. Cool, thanks. Tristan truly lived up to his status. Right below that text was a Venmo transfer. Five thousand dollars. I didn’t hesitate. I accepted the money and immediately sent back a wildly grateful reaction meme. Probably because I took so much of his money in the beginning, the phrase Tristan said to me the most when we eventually started dating was: Riley, could you stop being such a gold digger? I never defended myself. After all, I was a gold digger. I kept every single dollar he transferred me. From the very start, I was never in it for him. How did Tristan and I actually start dating? It all goes back to Harper. Harper and I actually had a lot of history—same middle school, same high school, and we both got into the same university. But once college started, our majors were completely different, so we rarely spoke. If we bumped into each other, we’d say hi, but that was the extent of it. Until one night, in the dead of winter, Tristan called me. He asked if I had a ride. I said yes. He said he was wasted and couldn’t drive. He shot me a Venmo payment and told me to come pick him up. In the middle of the night, I rolled up on my beat-up e-bike. The golden boy took one look at me and couldn’t hold back a laugh. “First time I’ve ever been on a moped.” “Do you want me to call you an Uber instead?” “Nah, cars make me nauseous right now. The moped is fine. The fresh air will help.” I picked him up, but before we even got back to campus, the alcohol took over. He started crying softly, mumbling into the wind. “She rejected me… First time I’ve ever confessed to a girl… and she rejected me…” Tristan looked so incredibly pathetic in the night breeze. Eventually, he just wrapped his arms around my waist, rested his head against my back, and fell asleep. I stiffened. I was only paid for a pickup; getting treated like a body pillow cost extra. When I finally parked the bike, Tristan confessed to me. He didn’t say it out loud. He just transferred me twenty thousand dollars with the memo: Be my girlfriend. I gritted my teeth and accepted it. When I looked up, Tristan saw the transfer go through, shoved his phone into his pocket, and walked into his frat house, completely satisfied. I stood outside in the freezing wind before it finally dawned on me. The golden boy wasn’t confessing his love. He was just humiliated from being rejected, and he was using me as a rebound to stroke his ego. I stared at the balance in my banking app under the streetlights. The longer I looked, the wider I smiled. I went home and slept like a baby. I had a boyfriend, but the only person who knew was Tristan. He didn’t tell anyone, and neither did I. Occasionally, he’d Venmo me with a note: Come eat. Followed by an address. I’d happily rush over. It was great—not only did I get paid, but I also scored a free meal. Sometimes it was just the two of us. Tristan would book a private room and eat at a leisurely pace. He was used to the finer things in life, completely unhurried. He also couldn’t stand seeing me scarf down my food. If I inhaled three bites at once, he’d raise an eyebrow. “Drink some soup.” I’d take a sip from the tiny bowl, look up to make sure he was satisfied, and then get right back to devouring my meal. If it was a group dinner, I’d rein it in. I’d sit quietly, taking small, polite bites. If someone spoke to me, I’d look up, smile, and answer their questions. When they stopped asking, I went back to eating. People told me I seemed so sweet and well-behaved, telling me to make myself at home. I’d just smile and nod. As for being “well-behaved,” I really can’t judge. All I can say is, if you grew up in the foster system, you’d be just as well-behaved as me. I stayed in my lane. When my birthday rolled around, Tristan told me to come celebrate, so I went. We were on his family’s massive yacht. The ocean breeze felt incredible. I closed my eyes to make a wish. He leaned back on the lounge chair and lazily interrupted, “If you want something, just say it out loud. Why keep it in your head?” I hesitated for a second before bluntly saying, “I want a house.” Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Funny you say that. My family literally builds houses. Congrats, your wish aligns with my inventory. I’ll take you to get the deed transferred in a few days.” He leaned back, casually scrolling through his phone. He promised it so effortlessly that my heart pounded, but I didn’t dare ask if he was serious. I just cut myself a piece of cake and sat beside him. The sunset over the marina was gorgeous, and the frosting was so sweet. For a brief, crazy second, I turned my head. I wanted to kiss him. I didn’t care about the house anymore. I could always save up and buy my own eventually. In that exact moment, I just really, really wanted to kiss him. But I didn’t say a word, and I didn’t move. He kept scrolling out of sheer boredom until he played an audio message. I didn’t catch what the voice said, but he frowned immediately. “Let’s go. We’re heading back.” It was getting dark. He had an emergency and left. I grabbed a rideshare back to my dorm, only to find out that Harper had passed out from low blood sugar and was rushed to the ER. I leaned over my roommate’s shoulder and saw a photo someone had taken at the hospital. Tristan was standing right by Harper’s bed. Suddenly, I remembered the slice of cake I never finished. I stood there for a long time, finally let out a yawn, took my phone, and climbed into bed. For the next few days, Tristan was busy, and I didn’t bother texting him. It wasn’t until the day Harper got discharged that Tristan finally messaged me, inviting me out. A weekend camping trip. He sent the money, so I happily packed my little duffel bag and went. When I arrived, I realized they brought two SUVs. Exactly eight people. I was the odd ninth wheel. I froze. Everyone was already in their seats, dead silent. The awkwardness hit me like a truck, but I was already there. I couldn’t exactly turn around and walk away without making it worse. Tristan looked at me, frowned, and then glanced toward the park’s shuttle carts nearby. Harper reached out and grabbed my arm. “Come on in, we can squeeze.” There was a tiny bit of space in her row, but she had just gotten out of the hospital and clearly still looked weak. I immediately shook my head. “I’ll just take the shuttle cart! It goes to the same place.” Harper looked at me, our eyes met, and after a long silence, she finally let go of my arm. Their cars drove off. I sat alone in the pavilion. It wasn’t tourist season, so the park was completely deserted. Just me, sitting there by myself. I waited a long time before the cart finally arrived. By the time I made it to the peak, it was pretty late. The group had already started the cookout. I barely knew any of them—I’d only had dinner with them once or twice. I found a quiet corner and sat there from noon straight through the afternoon. Tristan was grilling. Occasionally, someone would hand me a skewer. The scenery was beautiful. Once I was half-full, I decided to go for a walk to look around. I told Tristan I was heading out. He seemed preoccupied with something and didn’t even look at me, just giving a dismissive grunt. The mountain air was crisp. Because of my time in the group home, I rarely got the chance to just wander in nature. I walked for almost an hour, figuring they’d be wrapping up lunch by now, so I headed back. But things didn’t go as expected. I stared at the completely empty campsite. In that split second, I realized it’s impossible for a person to not feel a little heartbroken. It was already dusk. The shuttle carts had stopped running. My only option was to walk down the mountain. The sun dipped below the horizon, and I was alone in the wilderness. Halfway down, my phone died. I kept walking in dead silence. This trail felt exactly like the road I took when I ran away from the foster home as a little kid. The same dim light, the same blurring surroundings, slowly dissolving into pitch-black, suffocating darkness. I couldn’t find my way home, and my dad wasn’t coming back for me. I looked around in sheer terror and started running. The moonlight filtered through the trees onto the dirt path. I was terrified. I screamed at the top of my lungs: “Tristan…!” The echo bounced through the mountains, sending a bone-chilling shiver down my spine. I walked for the entire night. And I was terrified for the entire night. When dawn finally broke, I found a bus driver at a transit stop who let me charge my phone. He took one look at my disheveled state and jumped. “Were you out here all night? Why didn’t you call 911?” I held up my phone. “Forgot to check the battery. It died.” “Sweetheart, you can’t come hiking all by yourself. At least bring a boyfriend or some friends!” I did bring one… or maybe, he didn’t count as one after all. “Yeah, I’ll remember that. Thanks so much, sir.” I turned my phone on to see a text Tristan had sent me last night. He said they were heading out first and told me to get home safe. I let out a bitter laugh, leaned my exhausted body against the bus window, and fell asleep. Tristan still called me out to eat every few days. One day, he apparently remembered his birthday promise. He actually transferred the deed of a condo into my name. It wasn’t massive—three bedrooms, never been lived in. For Tristan, it was probably just spare inventory he kept around for loose gifts. The day I got the deed, I was just as ecstatic as I always was about cash. I happily inspected every inch of my new little home. Tristan couldn’t understand it. “It’s just a small condo. You really like it that much?” I nodded solemnly. “You just don’t get it.” I was still the campus RA. When I didn’t have class, I’d check in for Tristan’s courses. His only demand was that if he skipped, he didn’t want to hear about any disciplinary issues. I did my job perfectly. When winter break rolled around, everyone went home for the holidays. I didn’t, because I didn’t have a home. I went to my little condo. It had basic furnishings, but not even a TV. I figured I’d buy one before New Year’s. I bumped into Tristan while browsing at an electronics store. He was out with his little sister, who looked about eight or nine. She was adorable. He clearly had no idea how to handle kids. The second he saw me, he grabbed my arm. I immediately slipped into my simp persona. “Hey, Tristan.” “Do you know how to fold origami cranes?” “Yeah.” “Teach her for a minute, I’ll Venmo you.” Say less! I nodded instantly, noticing the little girl holding a piece of paper, crying her eyes out. Hearing my voice, she handed it to me. It was just standard origami paper. I folded it up, and the little girl grabbed the paper crane and happily ran back to the play area. Tristan frowned. “It’s literally a cheap piece of paper. I don’t get why she likes it so much.” I shook my head. “It has nothing to do with money. When you love something, even the cheapest thing in the world is a treasure.” He probably didn’t expect that kind of answer from me. He gave me a look. “Buying stuff?” “Yeah, looking for a TV.” “You helped me out. Come on, I’ll pick one out for you.” Him picking it out meant he was paying. I instantly lit up. “Thank you so much!” “Yeah…” He bought me a really nice TV. Tristan and I were familiar with each other, but we were definitely miles away from being a real couple. Maybe just friends, or acquaintances with benefits. I was a junior now, twenty-one years old. I cooked myself a simple holiday dinner for one and watched the New Year’s Eve fireworks explode outside my window. The streets were filled with teenagers running around with sparklers. I grabbed the sparklers I bought, blended into the crowd, and walked down to the river to watch the show. Back in the foster home, whenever New Year’s Eve came around, we’d eat dinner early and get sent straight to bed. None of us could sleep. We’d wait for midnight. When the fireworks started going off outside, all of us kids would crowd around the tiny window to watch. First, one kid would start crying, and soon, the whole room was in tears. We were so considerate—we never cried out loud. We just stared out the window with tears streaming down our faces. We didn’t want to upset the social workers who took care of us, but man, we missed the idea of a real family. Tonight, watching the fireworks, I started crying again. Surrounded by a roaring, happy crowd, staring up at the bright sky, I laughed and wiped my tears at the same time. Someone tugged at my jacket. I looked down. It was Tristan’s little sister, Lily. She was holding a stuffed animal, her eyes wide and bright. “Origami crane lady!” “Where’s your brother, sweetie?” I asked, picking her up. “Over there.” I looked where she was pointing and saw the group. It was the same crew from the hiking trip, with Tristan standing right in the center. They bought massive, gorgeous fireworks that painted the night sky red. Their celebration was loud and spectacular, and I was lucky enough to stand at the edge and watch. I put Lily down, made sure she ran back to them safely, and then backed away into the shadows and went home. The next morning, New Year’s Day, I slept in until someone knocked on my door around noon. It was Tristan. He handed Lily over to me. “She insisted on coming to wish you a Happy New Year. Wouldn’t shut up about it.” “…” “Happy New Year, Riley!” I definitely didn’t expect anyone to visit me for the holidays. I dug around frantically until I found a decorative envelope and stubbornly stuffed a twenty-dollar bill in it for her. Before they even left, there was another knock on the door. Busy morning. I opened the door and was immediately tackled in a bear hug. “Riley! Did you miss me?! I missed you so much!” The young guy hugged me so tight he was basically hanging off me. I fought for my life to push him away. “Noah, let go of me…” “No way…” “Ahem… we have company…” Noah finally let go. He looked at Tristan holding a little girl in my living room, processed the scene, and stared at me in pure horror. “Riley, please don’t tell me you sold out to become some rich guy’s stepmom?” “?” Are you out of your mind? Do I look like that kind of person? “Do I look that old?” Tristan was the one who broke the silence. Noah secretly rolled his eyes and whispered to me, “Who is this guy? Giving orders like he’s your dad.” “Wow…” “He’s my friend, Tristan. This is his sister, Lily. And this is my brother from another mother, Noah.” Noah pouted. “Why do I have to be your brother? Can’t I be your boy toy?” “No. I don’t date younger guys.” “Tch. Tastes can change. Whatever, I’ll take the hit, you can call me ‘babe’—wait, Riley, don’t walk away! What’s for lunch? I was on a Greyhound bus all night, I’m starving…” “Go sit at the table. Three minutes. The microwave is going, I’ll bring it to you.” “No, you always burn your hands on those plates. I’ll get it.” “You’re gonna burn your hands too.” “That’s different, it’s my hands.” “Get out! Get out! I bought oven mitts.” Tristan stood by the kitchen watching us bicker for a moment before finally picking up his sister and leaving. After eating, Noah happily crashed in my bedroom. I hadn’t bought a guest mattress yet, so my room was the only one set up. I honestly didn’t expect Noah to show up. Our colleges were on opposite sides of the country. Just getting here required three transfers, and holiday tickets were impossible to find. Whenever we called, he always said he couldn’t make it. Even when I called him yesterday, he said everything was sold out. But on New Year’s Day, there he was. I hadn’t seen him in three years. He had changed so much—gotten so much taller—but the second I saw him, he was still exactly the same kid I knew. A lot of big box stores were open on New Year’s Day. I went out and dropped nearly two grand on a high-end mattress, a luxury comforter, and hypoallergenic sheets. My wallet was screaming in pain, but Noah’s bedding had to be top-tier. He had incredibly sensitive skin and severe allergies. I still remember his first day at the foster home; they put him in the bed next to mine and told me to keep an eye on him. By midnight, he was covered in hives. I woke up, saw his swollen face, panicked, and carried him outside. The clinic doctor said he was allergic to the cheap detergent on the blankets and had almost gone into anaphylactic shock. After that, Noah had his own special blankets that nobody else was allowed to touch. I was the only exception, because he was just a kid and didn’t know how to do laundry yet. Ever since the night I rushed him to the clinic, he clung to me. He was allergic to everything, but somehow, he wasn’t allergic to me. He was like superglue, always trying to stick himself to my side. When he was a little kid, it was easy to carry him around. Now, he was six-foot-two. Hanging off me was just a liability. Noah finally woke up around 8 PM. Still half-asleep, he stumbled out to find me, and instinctively tried to hug me again. I shoved him away, and he finally snapped out of it. “Evening, Riley.” “Go heat up your dinner. Use the oven mitts. Your room is set up down the hall.” “Riley, do you wanna check my suitcase?” “Huh?” “I brought you a present.” Suspicious, I unzipped his bag. It wasn’t big, but sitting perfectly inside was a massive bouquet of roses. “Happy New Year, Riley!” I stared at the flowers. “Happy New Year.” “There’s a debit card hidden in the bouquet. The pin is your birthday…” “Noah.” “Yeah?” “You don’t need to do this.” “You have to take it. Maybe this means nothing to you, but it means everything to me. Not just because I love you, but because I want to actually provide for you. Even if you end up marrying someone else one day, or decide to live completely alone, you can’t reject this. If you won’t let me be your husband, I’ll be your safety net. “Riley, the reason I never visited all these years… I was broke. I didn’t have the right to say any of this without capital. I was too ashamed to see you. But today, I finally can. It’s been years. I missed you so damn much.” “Get out of here! Go eat your food and take your dramatic flowers to your room.” “No, I’m hungry. Don’t cry, you’re ruining the moment.” “Who’s crying? I just have overactive tear ducts! I cry easily, that’s all…” Noah stayed with me for a while. I took him shopping for some new clothes. Most of his clothes had to be specifically tailored from organic cotton. Not to flex, but because his immune system was practically aristocratic. Compared to anyone else, this kid was the real high-maintenance diva. It was the seventh time this month I bumped into Tristan while running errands. At this point, it was basically routine. He looked at me, his face much darker than usual. Noah couldn’t stand him. The second he saw Tristan, he started roasting him. “Does he know how to do anything besides scowl? Riley, how much money do you owe him? Honestly, I’ll sell a kidney to pay him back. Looking at his miserable face every day is a health hazard.” “Shut up. He gave me a condo. The one we’re living in.” “Huh? Just that? We could pool our cash and afford that. Just give it back to him!” “You shut up! I earned this condo. I had to go to a camping trip with his rich brat friends and ended up walking down a pitch-black mountain all night by myself. This is my hazard pay.” “Riley, that’s messed up. Just wait. The startup I launched with my buddies is actually taking off. Once I make real money, I’ll buy you ten condos. Go to grad school! I’ll move out here to be with you. If my friends ask why I moved, I’ll tell them I’m a sugar daddy for a grad student. Sounds amazing.” “Get out…” Tristan watched us whispering with our heads practically glued together, his brow furrowing deeper. “Why do you two need to stand so close to talk?” Noah muttered under his breath, “Talking trash about you.” But then he looked up and flashed a brilliant, fake smile. “Tristan, man! I’m heading out soon, so I need you to look after Riley for me. She gets spooked easily. Things like leaving her to walk down a pitch-black mountain by herself… let’s try to avoid that in the future. She’s just a girl, she was terrified…” Tristan froze. “When did I ever make her…” He stopped mid-sentence and locked eyes with me. I immediately looked at the floor. I didn’t tell him, wasn’t me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450759”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them. I was at the office recently to pick up my check, and the new accountant—a girl who looked like she’d crawled out of a “Fast Fashion” catalog—actually threw my corporate card at my face. She stood there, eyes narrowed, screaming that I had some nerve showing up once a month to collect a paycheck. She called me a “drain on resources.” I tried to keep my voice level. I explained that my arrangement was personally cleared by the CEO. She wasn’t having it. She slammed her hand on the mahogany desk, barking that I was clearly a grifter taking advantage of the boss’s frequent business trips. She told me if I missed another day of “real work,” I could pack my bags. I actually laughed. I told her fine, I’d be there every single day next month. Deep down, though, I knew the truth. I just wondered if the company would even last thirty days with me in the building. You see, I have what some might call a “Reverse Midas Touch.” It sounds like a fairy tale, or a curse, depending on who’s asking. Whenever I tried to be a “hustler”—grinding twelve-hour shifts, obsessing over spreadsheets—the company’s revenue would flatline. Leads died. Contracts evaporated. But the moment I stepped away? Projects would practically fall from the sky. Eventually, my boss, Robert, hired a high-end spiritual consultant—one of those guys who charges five figures to read the “energy” of a boardroom. The consultant took one look at my birth chart and nearly fell out of his chair. My “aura” was apparently too potent; when I was “still,” I blocked the flow of wealth. When I moved, the vacuum I left behind sucked in prosperity. Since then, Robert has paid me a retainer of $100,000 a month plus bonuses to do absolutely nothing. My job description is simple: Travel. Go to the Maldives. Hike the Alps. Just don’t come to the office. The first day I left for my global sabbatical, the firm landed a $150 million account. A few months later, I got homesick and came back to work for three days; we lost three major clients before the week was out. Robert literally booked me a red-eye to Singapore that same night. He begged me, “Nina, please. For the sake of my kids’ tuition, just stay on a beach. Check in once a month, but for God’s sake, stay away.” So, I became a professional nomad. Until this little incident at the accounting desk. 1 “I need my salary deposited onto this card this month. My other account hit its limit,” I said, sliding my card across the desk to the accountant, Tracy. I also set down a gourmet lavender latte I’d picked up on the way in. “I thought you might like this, Tracy. It’s a long morning.” Tracy stared at the card for a few beats. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she sent it flying. It clipped my cheek before clattering onto the floor. “Nina Quinn,” she spat. “You show your face here once every four weeks. How do you sleep at night, taking this kind of money for doing zero work?” The sting on my cheek ignited a spark of genuine anger. I forced myself to breathe. “It’s a specialized contract. Robert cleared it. I’m required to check in once a month. That’s the deal.” Tracy let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh, please. You’re just a parasite. You think because Robert is in Europe half the time, no one notices your little scam? You’re pathetic. Have some dignity.” I felt my hands start to shake. I didn’t want to descend into a shouting match, so I pulled out my phone to call Robert. The call went straight to voicemail after two rings. Tracy’s smirk widened. “He’s on a private flight to London, Nina. No signal. There’s no one here to protect you today.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Tracy, you’re an accountant. Your job is to process the payroll, not audit my life. Robert will be on the ground in six hours. Are you really prepared to explain to him why you’re withholding my pay?” She didn’t flinch. “Explain? I’m doing him a favor. It’s an issue of fairness. Why should the rest of us kill ourselves while you treat the company like a personal ATM? It’s bad for morale. If we ran the firm like a charity for lazy girls, we’d be bankrupt in a week. Robert will thank me for looking out for his bottom line.” At that moment, a few other colleagues drifted into the breakroom area. “Hey, Tracy,” one of the account managers said, checking her watch. “Is payroll processed? We’re all heading out for a celebratory dinner after five.” Tracy sighed dramatically, gesturing toward me. “I’m trying, guys. But Nina here is holding up the entire queue with her entitled drama. I haven’t even been able to finalize the spreadsheets because she’s been standing here badgering me.” 2 I was speechless. I was the one being “unreasonable” for wanting my own paycheck? Two other women from the marketing department looked me up and down with thinly veiled contempt. “Oh, look who decided to grace us with her presence,” one whispered. “I saw her Instagram yesterday—New Zealand. Must be nice to be a ‘full-time traveler’ on the company dime.” “She’s only here because it’s payday,” the other added, loud enough for me to hear. “The help always shows up for the check.” I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. I turned to leave, deciding I’d just handle this with Robert when he landed. It wasn’t worth the degradation. But then, someone else chimed in. “What does Nina even make? I’ve been here three years and I’m still fighting for a cost-of-living adjustment. Does anyone even know what her ‘role’ is?” “Salary discussions are against company policy,” I said, my voice cold. Tracy leaned back in her chair, a predatory glint in her eyes. “Well, since we’re talking about ‘fairness,’ let’s be transparent. Last month, this team brought in a $5 million contract. Your bonuses were around five thousand each. Meanwhile, Nina’s base is a hundred thousand a month, and she just got a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus for a deal she never even saw. I refused to sign off on it. I’m waiting for Robert to return so I can fix this injustice. But Nina is demanding the money now, and it’s delaying everyone else’s pay. I’m sorry, guys. I’m doing my best.” The room went silent for a split second before erupting into a chorus of indignation. “A hundred thousand? For what?” “I’ve been working weekends for six months! She’s hiking in Queenstown while I’m eating Cup Noodles at my desk!” I remembered that New Zealand trip. I had originally planned to stay in the city and actually help with that $5 million bid. But Robert had called me, sounding frantic. He told me the bid was going south and the client was leaning toward a competitor. He’d practically begged me to get out of the country. The moment my plane touched down in Auckland, he’d texted me: The proposal was just accepted. Don’t come back. Go see the fjords. I’m sending you a bonus. Now, the very success I’d “caused” by my absence was being used as a weapon against me. Tracy looked triumphant. “Do you really think you deserve that money, Nina? What have you contributed? Give me one reason why you’re worth ten times the people who actually do the work.” I rolled my eyes, my patience finally snapping. “Tracy, you’re a line manager for payroll. Do your job. If you have an issue with my compensation, take it up with the man who signed the contract. Otherwise, give me my check.” In a blur of motion, Tracy grabbed the lavender latte I’d bought her and threw it. The warm, sticky liquid splashed across my face and my white silk blouse. “You’re a joke,” she hissed. “I know exactly how you’re getting this money. You’ve got my father wrapped around your finger, and you think you can just bleed us dry.” The room froze. “Your father?” I wiped the milk from my eyes. “That’s right,” Tracy said, her chin tilting up. “Robert is my father. I’m not just the new accountant. I’m here to clean up the trash he’s too ‘nice’ to throw out. And I’ve found the biggest piece right here.” I took a deep breath, using a napkin to blot my clothes. I was trying so hard to remain professional for Robert’s sake. He’d been good to me, in his own eccentric way. “Tracy,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Everything I do is at your father’s request. The salary, the travel, the bonuses—it was his idea. I will wait until he lands to settle this.” I checked my phone. I had a flight to London in three hours. Robert had been very specific: he was closing a massive international merger tonight, and he needed me “happy and far away.” 3 I turned to walk away, but Tracy stepped out from behind the desk, blocking the exit. “Oh, you’re not going anywhere. You think you can just hide behind my dad? He’s been blinded by whatever ‘voodoo’ you’ve sold him. I looked at the books. Over the last year, you’ve taken nearly two million in salary and bonuses. You’re going to pay it back. All of it.” I stared at her, genuinely bewildered. “Pay it back? That’s not how labor law works, Tracy.” She sneered. “Those payments were ‘unreasonable’ and ‘fraudulent.’ I’m reclaiming them for the company.” She turned to the crowd of angry employees. “Listen up! This firm’s success is built on your sweat. Once I force Nina to return the stolen funds, I’m going to redistribute that money as a ‘Loyalty Bonus’ for the real workers. What do you think?” The room roared with approval. They looked at me like I was a criminal. “Tracy, are you serious?” someone yelled. “Dead serious,” Tracy said. “My dad is an old-school softie. He let this parasite settle in. But I’m here now, and I’m setting things right.” I felt a surge of hysterical laughter. “This money is mine. I’m not giving back a cent. If you want to challenge it, call a lawyer. Better yet, wait for Robert.” Tracy grabbed a heavy three-ring binder from the desk and swung it. It slammed into my shoulder, the sharp edge cutting into my skin. I gasped, the pain lancing through my arm. That was it. The “Nina Quinn” who tried to be nice was gone. I kicked the small coffee table in front of her, sending it skidding across the floor. “Listen to me, you spoiled brat,” I snarled. “You want that money? You have two choices. One: Robert stands in front of me and asks for it himself. Two: You file a lawsuit and explain to a judge why you’re harassing a contracted employee. Until then, get out of my way.” One of the marketing girls stepped forward and shoved me. I stumbled, falling hard onto the carpet. The latte she was holding—the one I’d bought for the group—was poured over my head. “You’re pathetic, Nina,” she said. “Taking our hard-earned money and then acting like a victim? Give it back and maybe we’ll let you leave.” I sat there on the floor, drenched and bruised. “You think my salary comes out of your pocket? The company makes tens of millions because of my contract. You wouldn’t even have a job without me.” Someone grabbed me by the hair, pulling my head back. “The company makes money because we work. You’re just the boss’s mid-life crisis. If you don’t sign a repayment agreement right now, you aren’t leaving this office.” I didn’t argue. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “I don’t know if I’ll have to pay back my salary,” I said into the receiver as the operator picked up. “But I do know that assault and false imprisonment are felonies. See you in court.” The person holding my hair let go instantly. The bravado in the room evaporated the moment they heard the word “police.” The cops arrived twenty minutes later. The office security footage was clear. Three people were taken away in handcuffs for harassment and battery. Tracy didn’t get arrested—she hadn’t physically shoved me—but she had to pay a massive fine on the spot to avoid being taken down to the station for inciting a riot. As she walked out of the precinct later that afternoon, she glared at me. “You’re dead, Nina. As long as I’m at that company, I will make your life a living hell.” 4 I stared at her, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Actually,” I said, “I quit. I’m done.” I turned to walk away, but her voice stopped me, cold and oily. “Sure, Nina. Quit. But I hope you have ten million dollars sitting in your bank account.” I stopped. I turned around. She was holding a copy of my employment contract. “Section 8,” she said, tapping the paper. “A ten-year exclusivity and non-compete clause. If you resign without cause before the term is up, you owe the firm a ten-million-dollar liquidated damages fee. My dad really wanted to make sure you didn’t leave, didn’t he?” My heart sank. I’d forgotten about the “Golden Handcuffs.” Robert had been so terrified of another company “using my energy” that he’d insisted on a massive buyout clause. At the time, I thought it was a compliment. “See you tomorrow morning at nine, Nina,” Tracy smirked. “Every minute you’re late is a day’s pay docked. Three strikes, and I take half your monthly salary. You’re going to be a very busy, very poor girl.” I narrowed my eyes. I’d spent six months relaxing. I was rested. If she wanted me to work, I’d work. But she had no idea what “Nina Quinn at a desk” actually meant for the company. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there. I’m going to be the most hardworking employee you’ve ever had.” The next morning, I clocked in at 8:59 AM. Tracy was waiting for me with a stack of folders three feet high. “These are the pending contracts for the quarter,” she said, dropping them on my desk with a thud. “I want every single one audited and cross-referenced by end of day.” It was an impossible task. A week’s worth of work for a team of three. “No problem,” I said, opening the first folder. “I’m on it.” Tracy sneered. “Good. Since you’re getting paid the big bucks, you can do the big work.” I started reading. I focused intensely. I took notes. I was productive. Ten minutes later, a phone rang in the next cubicle. “What?” my coworker shouted. “Mr. Lewis? We were supposed to sign this afternoon! What do you mean the merger is off? We’ve been working on this for a year!” The room went quiet. Another phone rang. Then another. “The Chicago deal just went dark.” “The logistics firm in Seattle? They just pulled their account. No explanation.” I looked down at the contract in my hand. It was the Lewis account. I’d just finished “working” on it. Tracy came running out of her office, her face pale. “What is going on? Why are the leads dropping like flies? We just lost twelve major accounts in one hour!” I leaned back, tapping my pen against my chin. “I don’t know, Tracy. Maybe it’s just a run of bad luck? Do you want me to keep going through these files? I’m only on the second one.” Tracy glared at me, then barked at her assistant. “Get her away from the contracts! Give her something else! Nina, go to the basement and organize the physical archives from 2018. If you aren’t doing ‘revenue’ work, you can do manual labor.” I smiled. “Whatever you say, Boss.” I spent an hour in the archives, meticulously filing old tax returns. Suddenly, a scream echoed from the floor above. “MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

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My Mother Said She Was a Systems Transmigrator. If She Couldn’t Make My Father Fall in Love With Her, She Would Be Erased. The kind of erased where your soul shatters and scatters completely. I secretly told my dad, but he just said, “Then let her die.” My mom heard him too. She didn’t cry. She just held me gently. Later, my mom really did die. But my cold, ruthless dad… he went insane. 1 Mom had been asleep for a very, very long time. It was time for me to go to preschool, but she still hadn’t woken up. I touched her arm. It was cold and stiff. Not warm and soft like usual. “Mommy, I’m hungry,” I shook her hard, but she didn’t open her eyes. She never used to be like this. Before, if I so much as whimpered, she would wake up instantly, pull me into her arms, and soothe me. But now, she was sleeping so deeply. I pulled the comforter up over her and climbed off the bed to get a phone to call Dad. Dad hadn’t been home for days. Our neighbor, Mrs. Miller, said his “first love” had gotten divorced and come back last month, and that Dad didn’t want Mom and me anymore. Mrs. Miller also said Mom looked a lot like this “first love,” and that Dad only married Mom because he saw her as a replacement. I didn’t know what a “first love” was, so I asked Mom. Mom stayed quiet for a long time before saying: “It’s someone you could never have; someone who belongs in the past.” I didn’t understand. I decided I didn’t like the past. Because it stole my dad. 2 To stop me from playing on her phone, Mom had set a passcode. I couldn’t use it to call Dad. I held the phone up to Mom’s face, but it didn’t unlock with Face ID like it usually did. I said to the phone, “Siri, I won’t watch cartoons in secret anymore. Please open, I need to call Dad.” But Siri ignored me. I went to knock on Mrs. Miller’s door, but no one was home. So, I climbed back onto the bed and lay next to Mom, just watching her. Mom was beautiful. Even asleep, she looked prettier than the fairy princesses on TV. Dad used to watch her sleep too. He would scoop her up from my bed and carry her to their room. He would nibble her neck like a puppy. Mom was terrified of dogs, but she never pushed him away. The next morning, Mom would always wake up late, rushing around the kitchen to make breakfast for me and Dad. Adults always say little kids don’t remember things, but I remember everything. I remember that no matter how chaotic the mornings were, Mom’s eyes were always smiling. But Dad never smiled. He would just sit there scrolling through his phone. After breakfast, he would head to his firm and drop me off at preschool on the way. The teachers at preschool loved it when Dad dropped me off. I heard them whispering that my dad was the most handsome dad of all—tall, rich, and looking like a movie star. They also said he was ice-cold and ignored everyone, and that he would be absolutely perfect if he were just a little warmer. I thought they were wrong. Leo’s dad was the best. Every time Leo’s dad dropped him off, he carried him on his shoulders. That was so cool. My dad just lifted me out of his SUV and told me to walk inside by myself. 3 I pulled a photo out of Mom’s hand. It was taken at an art museum a few days ago. Dad had plans and originally didn’t want to go with us, but Mom held him back. “Let’s just take one more picture. Lily can look at it when she grows up, otherwise… otherwise it’ll be too sad.” I saw tears welling in Mom’s eyes, but she held them back. Dad finally agreed. In the picture, Mom is holding me in my princess dress, leaning gently against Dad’s shoulder. Dad didn’t push her away; he just quietly let her lean on him. Out of the three of us, I was the only one smiling brightly. Last night before bed, Mom held me as we looked at this photo. She kissed my cheek and said, “I wish Mommy were more useful.” “Lily, you have to grow up brave. Never be afraid.” I rolled around in her arms happily. “Okay! I’ll grow up brave.” She smiled too, but her face was covered in tears. She cried a lot lately. She cried even more than I did. Later, as she rocked me to sleep, I vaguely heard her pleading with someone: “It’s not time yet, why are you here?… Just let me make one call to arrange things for my daughter… She’s only three, please…” I didn’t know who she was talking to. It was just the two of us at home. But I was so tired, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. When I woke up, Mom was lying next to me. The comforter had slipped off her, which was why her body was so cold. I held her hand in my small ones, hoping she would warm up. But she didn’t. 4 A while later, Mom’s phone rang. I reached for it, but the ringing stopped. The battery had died. I plugged the charger in, but the phone didn’t ring again. I was hungry. I pulled a small stepping stool over to open the fridge, but I could only reach a loaf of bread. I wanted to grab the milk from the top shelf, but the stool tipped over, and I fell hard. “Mommy, it hurts,” I cried, crawling back to her. Mom still didn’t wake up. She always used to be so terrified of me getting hurt. I cried until I fell asleep next to her. Then, in my dream, I heard Dad’s voice. No, not a dream. Dad had actually come home. I opened my eyes and heard the sound of the keypad lock chiming. The door opened, but Dad didn’t walk into the bedroom. I just heard his voice: “Lily’s preschool called and said she didn’t show up today. I came back to check. Don’t worry, it’s normal to feel like that after surgery. Ask your doctor about it, I’ll come see you soon.” He was on the phone. His tone was so gentle. He never spoke to me and Mom like that. With us, he was always flat, sometimes even cold. “Daddy!” I climbed off the bed and ran out. Dad frowned when he saw me. “Why aren’t you dressed? Where’s your mother?” I stopped, too scared to go closer. Standing by the bedroom door, I said softly, “Mommy is sleeping in bed.” He didn’t go check on her. He just spoke coldly toward the bedroom: “Mia, I’ll give you three more days to think about it. I’ll leave you this house and the cars. Sign the divorce papers quickly; it’s better for both of us.” Something fell to the floor inside the bedroom. I thought Mom had woken up and ran to look. It was just the phone slipping off the nightstand while charging. I ran back out to call Dad, but he had already taken the elevator down. I stood on my tiptoes, wanting to press the button and go after him. I wanted to tell him that Mom wouldn’t wake up. But Mom had told me little kids are absolutely never allowed to take the elevator alone. Once, I sneaked into the elevator and went down to the parking garage to play. Mom searched for me for so long and was crying so hard when she finally found me. I went back and lay down next to Mom. I didn’t want her to cry. When she cried, she looked so heartbroken, and she always hid so I wouldn’t see. I loved it when she smiled. 5 I finished the bread. Now all I had was water. But water didn’t stop the hunger, and Mom still hadn’t woken up. I figured Mom must be sick. When I was sick, I slept a lot too, but I always got better after Mom gave me medicine. I found the children’s Tylenol I took when I was sick and tried to feed it to Mom. She wouldn’t open her mouth, and it took a lot of effort to squeeze the syringe in. I got tired again and fell asleep snuggled against her. When I woke up, preschool had already let out. I squatted on the balcony and looked down. Leo was riding on his dad’s shoulders, and his dad was holding his mom’s hand. His mom looked a little chubby. Leo told me his mom wasn’t chubby; she was pregnant. He was going to have a little brother or sister soon. I wanted a little brother or sister too, so we could share toys and go to preschool together. When Mrs. Miller came over, she had told Mom, “Lily is three now. You and Ethan should have another one. The Sterling family only has him, and with his status, plenty of women will try to sink their claws in. Having another baby secures your position.” My mom had said, “A marriage held together by children isn’t a stable one. Plus, he’s been really busy at the firm lately.” Mrs. Miller laughed. “Busy? I saw you two getting cozy in his car down in the garage just last month…” “Emily,” my mom blushed and covered my ears. “Lily is right here.” Mrs. Miller waved it off. “It’s fine, kids don’t understand anyway.” She was right, I didn’t understand. After Mrs. Miller left, I kept asking Mom what she and Dad were doing in the car. Were they eating secret snacks without me? Instead of answering, Mom asked me, “Lily, do you want a little brother or sister?” I nodded vigorously. “Yes! Make one fast, Mommy! I want one tomorrow!” Mom touched my cheek. “That might be nice. With a brother or sister, you won’t ever be entirely alone.” Mom had told me she grew up as an orphan and was terrified of being lonely. She also told me that in her original world, she was incredibly sick and dying. A magical being called “The System” sent her here. As long as she could make Dad fall in love with her, she would get a healthy body and stay here forever with me and Dad. “Does Daddy love you?” I asked her. Mom didn’t answer. She seemed like she didn’t know either. 6 That night, Mom cooked a delicious dinner and tucked me into bed before Dad got home. But the moment Dad walked in, I woke up. I wanted to tell him that he absolutely had to love Mom so we could be together forever. I cracked my door open and saw Mom, wearing a beautiful red dress, pouring a glass of wine for Dad. My mom looked so gorgeous! But Dad pushed the glass away. “What, trying the same old trick again?” He was angry. Mom froze, and I felt a little scared. She put the bottle down nervously. “I… I don’t know what you mean.” Dad sneered. “Five years ago, you showing up at that bar… was it really just a coincidence?” “You just knew exactly what I needed at my lowest point, and you manipulated your way into my life.” Mom didn’t say a word. She just looked down, like she had done something wrong. Dad stood up. “I despise being used and lied to. We’re getting a divorce tomorrow. You keep this house and the cars, and you get full custody of Lily. I’ll give you a massive settlement, enough so neither of you will ever have to worry about money again.” I knew what divorce meant. Chloe’s parents from my class were divorced. She lived with her dad and said it was really hard to see her mom, no matter how much she missed her. Mom’s tears fell like shattered pearls. Dad offered no comfort. “Why are you crying? Isn’t this exactly what you plotted to get when you married me?” Mom shook her head. “No… I didn’t want any of this. Even if you didn’t have a dime… I just liked being with you.” Dad didn’t believe her. He walked out. Leaving Mom standing alone in the living room for a very, very long time. She whispered to herself, “You forgot. You were the one who held me tight and begged me not to go.” “You said you loved me. You said you loved me so much.” “That was the very first time… anyone ever loved me.”

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The lawyer slid a shoebox across the desk toward me. He said it was the inheritance left by Mr. Thomas Becker. I popped the lid. There wasn’t any cash inside. Just fifteen bundles of Western Union money order receipts, bound tightly with rubber bands. The paper was yellowing at the edges. I pulled the top slip from the pile. The designated payee was Haley Becker. The amount was exactly $500.00. The date stamped at the top read March 15, 2009—the year I turned twelve. I distinctly remembered my mother’s voice: Your father walked out on us. He never gave us a single red cent. I flipped through the slips, one by one, until I reached the very last receipt at the bottom of the final bundle. The date stopped at February 3, 2024. Exactly one week before he died. One hundred and eighty receipts in total. Stamped across the front of every single one, in bright, unforgiving red ink, was the word: CASHED. Every last penny had been claimed. 1. The lawyer’s name was Mr. Wallace. He was in his fifties, operating out of a cramped office where a potted fern dying by the window seemed to suck all the air out of the room. He watched me sitting there in absolute silence, eventually pouring a paper cup of water and pushing it toward me. “Ms. Becker, your father was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer late last year. He passed away on February ninth.” I didn’t take the water. I just stared at the bundle of receipts in my hand. The top one: March 2009, $500. The second one: April 2009, $500. The third, the fourth, the fifth. One for every single month. He never missed a beat. “He… he kept sending money?” I managed to choke out. “Yes,” Mr. Wallace said quietly. “For fifteen years. Once a month, without fail.” I snapped the rubber band off the first stack and spread them out across his desk. All of 2009, $500 a month. 2010, still $500. In 2011, it bumped up to $600. By 2012, $800. My fingers moved faster, flipping through the years. 2015, $1,200. 2018, $1,500. 2021, $2,000. For the last two years, it was $2,500 a month. I pulled out that final slip again. February 3, 2024. $2,500. In the small memo section at the bottom, written in a shaky, uneven scrawl, were three words: For Haley. Safe. My hands started to tremble. I wasn’t cold. “Mr. Wallace, this money…” “Every single transfer was collected.” He pointed a thick finger at the red stamp on the paper. “‘Cashed’ means the receiving party walked into a branch and took the money.” “I never took it.” “I know.” “I’ve never seen a single one of these in my life.” He didn’t reply to that. Silence settled heavy over the desk for several long seconds. I dropped my head, looking back at the paper trail of my life. $500, $500, $500, $600, $600, $800… Every month, he walked into a Western Union or a bank. He stood in line. He filled out the slip. He sent the money. Fifteen years. One hundred and eighty times. My mother had told me—when your father left, he didn’t even look back. I looked up, my eyes burning. “Did my dad leave anything else?” Mr. Wallace opened his desk drawer and pulled out a manila envelope. “A notebook. He requested that you read the receipts first, and then look at this.” I didn’t open it. I couldn’t look at it right now. I didn’t have the air in my lungs for it. I clutched the envelope and the shoebox to my chest and stood up. “Mr. Wallace, when my father passed, how much was left in his bank account?” “Two thousand, three hundred dollars.” I walked out of the law office and stood on the edge of the sidewalk. The March wind was still biting, completely devoid of spring’s warmth. There was only one thought turning over and over in my head, grinding against my skull. 180 receipts. Every single one of them was addressed to me. Every single one of them was taken by someone else. I hadn’t seen my dad since I was twelve. My mother said he didn’t want me anymore. I swallowed that lie for fifteen years. Then, standing there on the curb, a memory suddenly bubbled to the surface. Fifth grade. The end of the school day. There was a man standing outside the school gates. He was wearing a gray canvas work jacket, his face deeply tanned and weather-beaten. As I walked past him, he shifted his weight, took half a step, but never called my name. I hadn’t recognized him. But I remembered him now. That gray work jacket. The sender’s address on the very first money order: Caldwell Construction Co., Worker Housing. The jacket of a man working on a construction site. It was that exact shade of gray. 2. Growing up, I knew one fundamental truth: we had no money. I don’t mean we were just tight on cash. I mean the kind of broke where, two days before the school year started, my mother was pacing the kitchen, calling relatives to beg for loans. Registration day, freshman year of high school. The activity fees, required tech deposit, and AP textbooks came out to $1,800. I emptied out the tip money I’d saved from bussing tables all summer. It was exactly $1,000. “Mom, I’m still short eight hundred.” She was at the kitchen counter, chopping onions. She didn’t even look up. “Go talk to your guidance counselor. See if they can give us an extension.” “They already gave us an extension last semester.” “Then go talk to them again.” I stood frozen in the doorway of the kitchen. “Mom.” “Alright, enough! I’ll figure it out.” Her version of “figuring it out” was forcing me to humiliate myself in front of my homeroom teacher. The teacher helped me apply for a hardship waiver that covered $400, and he quietly paid the remaining $400 out of his own pocket. I carried that debt in my chest for three years. The summer after I graduated high school, I worked double shifts, marched into the school, and handed him $400 in cash. But that exact same month, my freshman year. My younger half-brother, Tyler, was enrolled in an elite travel baseball camp. It cost $3,200 for the season. Dana—my mother—pulled a wad of cash from her purse and counted out $3,200 without a flicker of hesitation. “Tyler has natural talent. The coach said we can’t let him lose his momentum.” I was in the kitchen washing dishes when she said it. The faucet was on blast, the water roaring against the cheap aluminum sink. But her words still managed to drill into my ears, syllable by syllable. Three thousand, two hundred dollars. But the eight hundred I needed for my education? She didn’t have it. That was the blueprint of our lives from then on. I wore hand-me-downs from my older cousin. When the jeans were too long, my mom hacked the hems off with kitchen scissors. “They fit fine. You’re a girl, it’s not like you need to dress to impress anybody.” Tyler got everything new. Brand-name Nike cleats. A new North Face backpack. New school supplies. My pencil case was a dented tin box. Half the paint had chipped off, the latch was broken, and I kept it shut with a thick rubber band. I used that exact same tin box from seventh grade all the way to my senior year of high school. Once, Tyler accidentally knocked it off the table. It hit the floor with a loud, embarrassing clatter. “Jesus, Haley. Just throw that piece of junk away already.” I crouched down, picked up my pens, and snapped the rubber band back into place. I didn’t say a word. The summer I turned sixteen, I got a job at a diner near the highway. I was on my feet ten hours a day. Hauling heavy trays, scrubbing grease off plates, wiping down sticky booths. The owner paid me under the table—thirty bucks a day and one free meal from the kitchen. By the end of that summer, I had scraped together $2,100. When school started, I walked into the main office and paid my own fees. When I got home, Dana was peeling an apple for Tyler. “Did you pay your school fees?” “Yeah.” “Good.” She didn’t ask how I paid them. Tyler stood next to her, chomping on the apple, the juice running down his chin. I retreated to my bedroom. It was the size of a closet. A single bed, a tiny particle-board desk. The bed was actually the top bunk of Tyler’s old bed frame, propped up on cinder blocks because two of the legs had snapped off. I sat on the edge of the mattress. I reached under my pillow, pulled out my remaining cash, and counted it. One hundred and twenty dollars. My $2,100 earnings, minus the $1,800 school fees, plus the meager scraps I had saved from before. I rolled the bills tightly together and shoved them deep inside my pillowcase. That was my entire net worth. 3. Three days after meeting with the lawyer, I took a sick day and went to the main bank branch downtown. I work as a bookkeeper for a mid-sized logistics firm. Balancing ledgers, reconciling accounts, verifying invoices—I spend every single day elbow-deep in numbers. Tracing a money trail is literally my profession. The woman behind the plexiglass punched my dad’s information into her terminal. “Records going back fifteen years have to be pulled from the central archive. Give me two days.” Two days later, I went back. She handed me a thick stack of printed A4 paper. One hundred and eighty rows. I sat down on a hard plastic chair in the lobby of the bank and started at row one. Transaction ID. Sender: Thomas Becker. Payee: Haley Becker. Amount. Date. Status: CASHED. Date Cashed. Identification Number of the person who claimed it. The ID number. Every single row had the exact same driver’s license number attached to it. I knew that number by heart. I used to fill out the paperwork for my mother’s health insurance. It was her ID. Dana. One hundred and eighty transactions. From March 2009 to February 2024. Every month. Zero exceptions. Every single transfer was claimed within three to five days of being sent. The person claiming it, every single time, was Dana. I folded the printouts with surgical precision and slid them into my purse. When I walked out the glass doors of the bank, my knees felt like water. I had to stand on the concrete steps for a long time just to remember how to breathe. Fifteen years. He sent it every month. She took it every month. He thought I was receiving his love. She looked me in the eye and told me he had abandoned me to rot. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened the calculator app. Year one: $500 x 10 = $5,000 (starting in March). Year two: $500 x 12 = $6,000. Year three: $600 x 12 = $7,200. … I added it up, year by agonizing year. By the end, my thumb was shaking so badly I messed up the inputs twice and had to start over. Finally, I hit the equals button for the grand total. One hundred and ninety-eight thousand, four hundred dollars. $198,400. I stared at the glowing white numbers on my screen until my vision blurred. One hundred and ninety-eight thousand. My mother said we were destitute. I suffered humiliation over an $800 school bill. I busted my ass waitressing for a whole summer at sixteen to make $2,100. To this day, the most expensive coat I own is a clearance rack parka I bought for $230. My take-home pay right now is $4,500 a month, and I dutifully transfer $1,500 of it directly to my mother to “help out.” $198,400. I reached into my bag, pulled out the shoebox of receipts, and found the one from September 2012. Amount: $800. Memo: School starting. That was the year I started high school. The year I was exactly eight hundred dollars short. He sent the eight hundred. That eight hundred. I slowly slid the receipt back into the stack. Then I flipped to September 2015. Amount: $1,200. Memo: Haley’s tuition. That was my senior year. My mother had told me: “Those SAT prep courses are a ripoff. You’ll just have to study on your own.” He had sent twelve hundred dollars. I never took the prep course. I killed myself studying outdated library books, and managed to test into a decent state college. Then I found July 2016. Amount: $3,000. Memo, just two words: Haley’s college. My hand froze mid-air. July 2016. The summer after graduation. I had been accepted into the state university. I barely made the cut, but I made it. The acceptance letter— I never actually saw the acceptance letter. “Mom, shouldn’t my letter have come by now?” “It came. I looked at it. The financial aid was a joke, Haley. The tuition is over five grand a semester, and we don’t have that kind of money. You need to drop this college fantasy and get a job.” “But I really want to go…” “What does it matter what you want? Where’s the money? I broke my back raising you kids by myself. Your deadbeat father never gave us a dime. Am I supposed to print money in the basement?” I never brought it up again. The very next month, I drove out to the industrial park and took a job packing boxes at an Amazon fulfillment center. I was eighteen years old. $3,000. The memo read Haley’s college. That same month, Tyler was enrolled in a private academic tutoring center to get a head start on his sophomore year. How much did that cost? I remembered my mother complaining about the price tag—$2,800 for the semester. 4. I went back to my tiny apartment and opened my laptop. I opened a fresh Excel spreadsheet. I’ve been a bookkeeper for four years. Reconciliation is what I do best. Column A: Date. Column B: Transfer Amount. Column C: Memo. Column D: Household Expenses that Month. I filled it out, row by row. 180 rows. From 2009 to 2024. I plugged in every major expense I could dredge up from my memory.

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When my college acceptance letters arrived, I sent a text to my online crush. “I can’t go to Harvard. Goodbye.” Then I turned around, enrolled at MIT, and blocked her number. Fast forward to my freshman year practicum. The graduate teaching assistant stood at the front of the class and called my name. “You. Come up to the board and solve this. I’ve taught you this before.” Me: “…” Are you kidding me?! Why the hell is the girl I met online, who desperately wanted me to go to Harvard, teaching my class at MIT?! During my junior year of high school, my grades took a massive nosedive. I was absolutely terrified I wouldn’t make the cut for MIT. Out of sheer desperation, I went online and started flirting with an older girl whose username was “Harvard Reject,” begging her to tutor me. She was sweet, considerate, and incredibly understanding. “Don’t worry. With me here, I guarantee you’ll get into Harvard.” I was flattered. “No, no, it doesn’t have to be Harvard.” Secretly, I was thinking: MIT is exactly what I want. “Tsk, what kind of attitude is that? You can doubt your own IQ, but don’t you dare insult my teaching abilities.” Me: “…” Yes, ma’am. I certainly didn’t dare doubt her. Because this girl actually knew her stuff. Under her rigorous tutoring, my grades didn’t just climb; they stabilized at the very top. On my final practice SAT, I scored a flawless 1600. I excitedly texted her to share the news. She was completely unfazed. “Mhm. That score should be enough to get you into Harvard.” It was definitely enough, but I didn’t want to go to Harvard. I had always dreamed of going to MIT. But over the year she spent tutoring me, I distinctly felt her bizarre, borderline obsessive fixation with Harvard. If she wasn’t obsessed, she wouldn’t have kept the username “Harvard Reject” for over a year. If I didn’t go to Harvard, would she be disappointed? Looking at her message, I decided to test the waters. “What if I don’t end up going to Harvard?” “Relax. You’ll definitely get in.” Well… She probably thought I was just having pre-college anxiety and was trying to comfort me. Because of that, I never brought up my dream of MIT again. The day before decision day, she texted me, telling me to relax. She was swamped with her graduate thesis and told me to just text her my final college decision once everything was official. Late spring rolled around, and the official acceptances came out. I had my pick of the litter. I could go to Harvard, or I could go to MIT. While I was agonizing over the decision, the MIT admissions office called my mom directly at three in the morning to confirm a massive scholarship package. So, she decisively chose MIT for me… Goodbye, Harvard. Getting into my dream school was amazing. But whenever I thought of the girl who had tutored me for an entire year, a wave of anxiety hit me. She had constantly pushed me toward Harvard. Choosing MIT felt like an ultimate betrayal. While I was stressing over how to break the news, her text came through. “Decisions are out, right? How did it go?” Look at that gentle, caring check-in. The guilt in my chest multiplied tenfold. I hardened my heart, gritted my teeth, and typed out a message. “I messed up. I can’t go to Harvard.” “…” She went silent. Before she could send a second message, I quickly fired off another: “I’m so sorry. Goodbye.” Then, I decisively blocked her number and went offline. After that, I completely lost contact with her. Even though it was just a fleeting, anonymous internet romance, when I arrived in Cambridge for my freshman year and walked past Harvard Yard, I couldn’t help but stop and stare. My roommate, Noah, asked me what was wrong. Seeing the lingering regret and longing in my eyes, I sighed. “Once upon a time, I was this close to going to Harvard.” “…” Noah rolled his eyes and dragged me toward the library to snag a seat. “Let me tell you a secret: every single MIT student who walks past this campus says the exact same thing. Hurry up, or the library is gonna be full.” Me: “…” Such a raw, unfiltered flex… Sure enough, by the time we got to the library, there were barely any seats left. Noah let out a groan of despair. “Are these people demons?! You already got into MIT, why are you still grinding this hard?!” At a glance, every table was packed. There were a few seats in the group study area, but after listening to the chaotic babble of five different languages being spoken at once, we decided the silent reading room was a much safer bet. “Hey, I see a spot! Over there!” Noah excitedly smacked my shoulder and sprinted over to negotiate. A few seconds later, he waved me over. “Ethan, hurry up, there’s room here.” I walked over just in time to catch the end of their conversation: “No problem at all. You guys freshmen?” “Yep!” Noah was smiling so hard his face was practically glowing. I glanced over and realized the person sitting across from us was an incredibly cute girl. I quietly sat down. The seat directly across from me was empty, but there was a textbook resting on the desk. “You should actually call me your senior. I’m a few years ahead of you guys. I’m in grad school now.” “Wow, you don’t look it at all! That’s awesome.” While I was busy wondering if the seat across from me was actually taken, Noah had already exchanged numbers with her. Once we settled in, silence fell over our section. I looked down at my textbook. A few minutes later, the lighting shifted as a delicate, floral scent drifted over the table. A slender silhouette pulled out the chair directly across from me and sat down. A whispered conversation immediately followed: “The professor dragged you into his office again?” “Yeah. There was a margin of error in one of the datasets. I had to recalculate the whole thing.” The first voice belonged to the girl who had let us sit there. The second voice, while unfamiliar, was incredibly melodic and soothing. I sneaked a glance upward. Sitting across from me was a breathtakingly pretty girl wearing thin, wire-rimmed glasses. She had straight, raven-black hair, porcelain skin, and long, dense eyelashes. Her eyes were exceptionally beautiful, almost like they were drawn straight out of an anime. Perhaps sensing my gaze, she looked up. The moment our eyes met, my breath literally hitched. She was stunning. But this anime-like girl merely gave me a cold, indifferent glance. Then, her eyes landed on the textbook resting in front of me, and a flash of surprise crossed her face. “Materials Science and Engineering? Is that your major?” Wait, she actually spoke to me? I nodded. I was a total STEM kid in high school. Thanks to my “Harvard Reject” tutor, my foundation was rock solid, so I declared this major the second I got to MIT. I didn’t know if I was imagining things, but the corners of her lips curled up ever so slightly. “Not bad.” While I was trying to figure out what she meant, the friendly girl sitting next to her chimed in: “What a coincidence! That’s our major too.” Ah, well, that is a coincidence. Direct upperclassmen. “Nice to meet you both.” I greeted them politely. The girl across from me just gave a faint “Mhm,” her demeanor immediately returning to freezing cold. “Don’t mind her, Emily is just like that,” her friend whispered with an apologetic smile. I smiled back, brushing it off. My major was notoriously brutal. The coursework was heavy, and the assignments were soul-crushing. It was another weekend. Noah and I were trapped in our dorm room, agonizing over a physical chemistry problem set. Finally, Noah let out a tortured wail. “I can’t do this anymore! Just kill me! How is this so damn hard?! I’ve recalculated it five times, and it’s wrong every single time!” Looking at the few strands of hair he had literally ripped from his own scalp, I genuinely felt bad for him. But there was nothing we could do. The difficulty spike from high school to college was a massive, vertical cliff. “Should we try asking someone else?” I suggested. “Ask who?” That was a very good question. The professor? We were way too intimidated. Our classmates? The guy sitting next to me was the literal state valedictorian, and he was currently tearing his hair out. While I was agonizing over it, a specific person popped into my head. My online tutor! If she were here, these problems would be an absolute breeze for her. But… I had already blocked and deleted her! If I had known I’d be suffering this much in college, I never would have acted so impulsively. Suddenly, Noah bolted upright from his desk like a zombie coming back to life. “I know who we can ask!” “Who?” “That grad student we met at the library! Chloe! I have her number! She’s in our major, she definitely knows how to do this.” Noah was a man of action. He immediately grabbed his phone and fired off a text. A minute later, he excitedly yanked me out of my chair. “Let’s go, let’s go! She said yes. We’re going to meet her right now.” Noah dragged me all the way to the research and laboratory building. “They’re running an experiment right now, we just have to wait a bit.” Not long after, people started trickling out of the lab. Soon enough, Chloe—the girl who had given us the seats—walked out and waved us inside. “Is it okay for us to just walk into the lab?” “The actual sterile lab is further in. This is just the briefing room, it’s totally fine.” Noah nodded eagerly and pulled me into an empty seat. Chloe sat across from Noah, and I sat next to him, just listening in. I have to admit, grad students really are built differently. Within minutes, Noah was nodding in absolute enlightenment. I was just about to ask a follow-up question. When the door to the briefing room swung open. The person who walked in stopped, and the three of us stared at each other in dead silence. “Oh, Emily, you’re back?” The girl standing in the doorway was the incredibly pretty, glasses-wearing senior from the library. Emily. Her cold eyes swept over Noah and me. Chloe quickly explained: “Oh, these are the freshmen we met at the library. They got stuck on a few problems, so they came by to ask for help.” “Mhm.” Her attitude was as freezing and distant as ever. Noah and I exchanged a quick glance. We read the exact same thought in each other’s eyes: What an ice queen. Noah pulled me up from the chair. “Well, uh, we got what we needed, so we’ll get out of your hair! Thanks so much, Chloe.” “No problem at all! Oh, by the way, our lab is actually looking for two undergraduate assistants. Are you guys interested?” Chloe suddenly asked. Noah and I both froze. I acutely noticed Emily furrow her brow. She was clearly not thrilled about the idea. I was just about to politely decline. When Noah blurted out, “We’d love to! Ethan, come here, exchange contact info with them so we can set it up.” Wait, why did I have to exchange info? Didn’t he already have Chloe’s number? While I was standing there in confusion, Noah practically shoved me forward, winking at me like a maniac.

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The Great Famine was exactly seven days away, but the heat had already turned the world into a pre-apocalyptic kiln. I’ve come back. I’ve been reborn into the exact moment I first received the Feast System. The memories of my past life are still etched into my retinas like a burn—the way I starved myself, scrounging every calorie the System provided just to keep my sister and my boyfriend alive. And how did they reward me? Once the world stabilized, they locked me in a windowless basement. They used me. They bled me. My boyfriend told me the Feast System should have been his from the start. He said if he had it, he could have saved Hailey—his “best friend,” his “soulmate.” He called me selfish for not giving half my rations to a woman who had never offered me so much as a smile. Even my own sister turned on me, claiming I was just jealous of Hailey’s popularity, that I was hoarding food out of spite. I died in that basement, watching my own blood pool on the concrete. Now, history is repeating itself. My sister is reaching for the System, her eyes gleaming with the same greed. She wants to be the savior. She wants to ensure Hailey lives so that Jude will finally look at her with gratitude. I watched her back as she turned to leave, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. She has no idea. She took the Feast System, but she doesn’t know I have a second one. I have the Siphon. 1 “Feast System online. Selecting host for binding…” “I’ll take that!” Before the System could lock onto my DNA, my sister, Macy, lunged forward and snatched the interface out of the air. “Binding initiated… Binding complete!” Macy let out a breathy, triumphant laugh. Her face was flushed with an ugly kind of joy. “Honestly, Claire, you wouldn’t even know what to do with power like this. Better to leave the heavy lifting to me.” The way her eyes sparkled gave her away. She’s back, too. She remembers. In my last life, when the temperatures spiked and the supply chains collapsed, I was the one who kept us fed. I practically hand-fed her and my boyfriend, Jude. In exchange, they conspired to toss me into the dark, letting me bleed out because I wouldn’t let Hailey raid our pantry. I felt a cold, sharp stone settle in my chest. If you love Hailey so much that you’d kill your own flesh and blood for her, Macy, then let’s see how far that loyalty goes this time. “Fine,” I said, my voice intentionally flat, feigning indifference. “Take it. I don’t even know what that thing is supposed to be.” Macy sneered, her lip curling in disdain at my “ignorance.” She turned her attention back to the glowing blue interface in her palms, stroking it like a lover. To test her new toy, she whispered a command: “Feast System, give me a roasted chicken.” A second later, a golden-brown, glistening bird appeared on our kitchen table. The scent of rosemary and fat filled the room, making my stomach ache with a phantom hunger. “Oh my god,” Macy breathed, her eyes wide. “Infinite food. I’m never going to be hungry again.” She’s so naive. The Feast System isn’t a magic wand; its reserves are finite. In my previous life, I skipped meals for days, storing every scrap for her and Jude. I loved them more than I loved myself. I was a fool. “Now that I’m the one with the food, Jude is going to realize who the real asset is,” Macy said, her voice dropping into that sugary, manipulative tone she always used when she was winning. “Don’t be too jealous when he starts coming to me for everything, Claire.” I didn’t realize back then that she had a thing for my boyfriend. I was too busy trying to keep us from dying. Macy squinted at me, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face. “You… you don’t know the rules for using this, do you?” She was testing me. Trying to see if I was a “Returner” like her. After all, I was the original master of the Feast. I shook my head slowly. “Rules? It’s your thing, Macy. Why would I know anything about it?” She let out a long, visible sigh of relief. The suspicion in her eyes was instantly replaced by pure, unadulterated arrogance. “Perfect. I’m going to go find Jude and Hailey. We have a lot to talk about.” The moment the front door slammed shut, I whispered into the empty room. “Siphon. Status report.” 2 “Siphon System online. Awaiting host instructions.” In my first life, I had actually been granted two systems. But back then, I was “good.” I was “moral.” I knew resources were scarce, and the Siphon felt like a villain’s tool. It felt wrong to take from others when everyone was struggling to survive. But I’m not that girl anymore. That girl died in a basement. I checked the date on my phone. June 20th. We had seven days before the heat became lethal and the world went dark. It was more than enough time. I grabbed my keys and drove to the outskirts of the city, to a decommissioned industrial lab my father had left me. On the surface, it looked like a rusted-out husk of a building—an old chemical research firm. But beneath the floorboards lay a massive, high-tech bunker. My father had spent his life there, working on classified contracts. Before he died, he gave me the only key. It had everything: a bedroom, a full kitchen, a reinforced ventilation system, and even a luxury bathroom. It was a fortress. I spent the next three days in a fever dream of preparation. I hit every wholesale club in the county. Cases of bottled water, mountain-sized stacks of protein bars, canned goods, medical supplies—I hauled them all into the bunker. The space was the size of three football fields; I could live here for years without ever seeing the sun. While I was dripping sweat and hauling crates, Macy was playing house. She thought the Feast System was a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card. When I finally dragged myself back to our shared apartment, looking like I’d been through a war, she just laughed. “Rough day at the office? You look like hell, Claire.” I didn’t look at her. I cracked a bottle of water and downed half of it in one go. “Just looking for work. The market’s drying up.” “Don’t bother,” she said, her voice smug. “Pretty soon, work isn’t going to—” She cut herself off, realizing she was about to spoil the surprise. She had no intention of warning me about the apocalypse. She wanted me to be caught off guard. She wanted me to be desperate. “Anyway,” she continued, changing the subject. “I think Jude’s finally realizing that he and I have a deeper connection. You should probably just… let him go. Do the graceful thing.” I glanced at her and forced a smile. “You? I thought he was obsessed with Hailey.” “It’s not like that!” Macy snapped, standing up. “They’re just close. They’re like family. Stop being so insecure.” I didn’t argue. I just went to my room and started ordering more supplies on my phone. Macy followed me, her tone softening into that fake-sweet register. “Claire, why are you spending all that money on Amazon? Stop wasting it. Give me your credit card—I want to buy Jude something special for his birthday.” I frowned. “You’re trying to steal my boyfriend, and you want me to pay for it?” “Don’t be so dramatic,” she huffed. “You guys aren’t even married. I have a right to pursue happiness. And honestly? He doesn’t even love you.” In my last life, she’d said the opposite. Every time Jude and I fought, she’d be there, telling me what a “catch” he was, how I’d never find anyone better. She was just keeping me in the relationship so she could stay close to him. My happiness was never part of her equation. Looking at her now, I felt a wave of nausea. I didn’t hate her for wanting Jude. I hated her for being so willing to watch me starve while she did it. 3 I didn’t give her a dime. I let her scream and throw a tantrum in the hallway while I locked my bedroom door and calculated my final needs. Solar generators for the bunker. Specialized steel plates to reinforce the vault door. I even moved my father’s old “defensive research” samples into the bunker—just in case. Finally, I set up a network of tiny, undetectable cameras throughout the apartment. I needed to see the look on their faces when the walls started closing in. By the time I was finished, the apartment felt like a tomb. Macy hadn’t done a thing to prepare. She’d bought a few cases of San Pellegrino and locked them in her closet, convinced that her “magic” would handle the rest. Jude came over that evening. Macy flew to the door like a moth to a flame. “Jude! You’re here! Claire’s just being lazy in her room again,” she chirped. “Where’s Hailey? Didn’t she come with you?” Jude looked frayed. He was sweating through his shirt, his eyes darting around the room. He grabbed Macy by the shoulders. “That thing you said… about the world ending. The heat. Are you sure?” Macy nodded, her expression solemn. “Trust me. But don’t worry. I have the Feast. I’ll take care of you.” Jude’s eyes widened. “We have to tell Claire. We need to get her to—” Macy cut him off, her hand on his chest. “Why? So she can eat our food? So she can complain and drag us down? Jude, if you’re still hung up on her, then maybe my ‘gifts’ aren’t for you.” She pouted, her eyes welling with fake tears. Jude didn’t hesitate for more than a second. The survival instinct—or maybe just the greed—erased every ounce of loyalty he had for the woman who had supported him for eight years. He pulled Macy into his arms. “No,” he whispered. “You’re right. It’s always been you, Macy. She… she doesn’t need to know. But we have to make sure Hailey is safe. She’s my best friend. I can’t lose her.” “Of course,” Macy purred. “Hailey is like a sister to me. We’ll look after her.” I watched it all on my phone from the other side of the door. Jude and I had met in college. He was the guy eating plain ramen in the library because he couldn’t afford a meal plan. I was the girl who gave him half my tray every single day, even when my own father’s lab was bleeding money. I lived in a damp basement for three years so he could start his business. I drank myself into a stomach ulcer at corporate dinners to land him his first big clients. He had knelt by my hospital bed and sworn I was his entire world. And now, with the world about to burn, he was choosing to let me “die off” so there would be more for him and his mistress. I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. Okay, Jude. Let’s see how that loyalty tastes when the plates are empty. 4 The day before the collapse. Macy had invited Jude and Hailey to move into the apartment. Apparently, Jude didn’t fully trust Macy’s “magic,” because he had spent his savings on a massive haul of supplies. The living room was stacked floor-to-ceiling with crates of water and canned meat. “Why did you buy all this?” Macy asked, sounding offended. “Don’t you trust my System?” Hailey, a blonde woman with a perpetually bored expression, shifted uncomfortably. Jude stepped in, kissing Macy’s cheek. “It’s just a backup, babe. High temperatures are coming. We have to be smart.” Macy leaned into him, beaming. “Fine. Give me a kiss.” Jude obliged, though I could see the slight flinch in his eyes. “Where’s your sister?” Jude asked, glancing toward my closed door. Macy sat on the sofa, lazily painting her nails. “Working. Or whatever it is she does. But don’t worry—I changed the locks while she was out this morning. I even reinforced the window frames. When she tries to come home tonight, she’s going to find out she’s been evicted.” Jude looked startled. “You’re locking her out? Macy, if the riots start…” “So what?” Macy snapped. “She’s always been the ‘perfect’ one. The smart one. The one with the boyfriend. I’m over it. If she gets caught in a riot, it’s one less thing for me to worry about.” Jude’s face paled, but then he looked at his mountain of supplies. “Right. I mean… we don’t know how long the heat will last. We have to prioritize.” He turned to Hailey. “You okay with this?” Hailey shrugged. “She never liked me anyway. Always acted like she was better than me just because she was paying your rent. Good riddance.” A united front. Three people I would have died for, deciding I wasn’t worth a single calorie. I sat in my bunker, three stories underground, eating a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips and watching them on my tablet. The next day, the sun rose, and the world broke. The temperature hit 115 by noon. The news was full of reports of melting asphalt and power grids failing. My trio was huddled in the apartment, blinds drawn, eating ramen and feeling very smug. But their supplies were only meant to last a few weeks. Fast forward fourteen days. The fridge was a graveyard of empty containers. The crates in the living room were gone. “Okay, Macy,” Jude said, his voice cracked from thirst. “Time to show us what you can do.” Hailey leaned forward, her eyes hungry. “Yeah, Macy. Let’s see this ‘Feast’ in action.” Macy stood up, tossing her hair back with a flourish. “Easy. Watch this.” She closed her eyes, summoning the interface. “Feast System: Three large pepperoni pizzas. Now.” Ping. Three steaming, grease-glistening pizzas appeared on the coffee table. The smell was heavenly. Jude and Hailey lunged forward like starving animals. But before their fingers could touch the crust, the pizzas vanished. They didn’t just fall. They didn’t slide. They simply ceased to exist in that space. “What the—?” Jude yelled, his hands hitting the empty table. “Where did it go?”

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Years Later, My Second-Chance Romance Novel Went Viral. The Male Lead Was Him. At my new book launch, he sat in the audience as the lead investor. His girlfriend smiled and said, “We’re getting engaged soon. I hope certain people don’t flatter themselves.” The reporters didn’t give up. “Mr. Sterling, if you hate the author, why did you buy the copyright?” Noah Sterling didn’t even glance at me, answering with cool indifference, “The plot is atrocious. I don’t want to see it ever again.” 1 “Did you hear? In the novel, the main characters didn’t actually get back together. The female lead dumped the guy.” “Why?” “Because he was broke.” “Later, when Noah became the heir to the Sterling family, she went crawling back to him, but he turned her down.” “How does she still have the nerve to write a book?” The AC at the New York book launch was set to a freezing 64 degrees. Insults and jeers from the readers echoed through the room. I kept my head down, carefully signing my name on the title page of the hardcover books. I wrote this novel the year I graduated from college. I never expected it to blow up on Amazon. The crazier the readers shipped the characters back then, the more viciously they cursed me now that my past with Noah Sterling had been dug up. But I couldn’t afford to be upset. Even if I had to smile while being verbally abused, I had to finish this launch event. Because it was what the investors demanded. Noah was currently sitting in the audience. Dressed in a tailored bespoke suit, he sat poised and composed, watching the girl next to him accept media interviews. “We’re getting engaged soon, so please, some people shouldn’t flatter themselves.” The girl smiled sweetly. “If someone ruined another person’s entire life, it would be absurd to think they could just get back together.” I knew this girl. Stella Montgomery, our college classmate. Her family and the Sterlings were both old-money elites in New York, with ties going back generations. Back in college when I was dating Noah, she went out of her way to be my best friend. After graduation, we became strangers. The reporter then handed the microphone to Noah. “Mr. Sterling, rumor has it that the story between you and the author has gone viral online. How did you two break up back then?” Noah didn’t even look at me. “I suggest you ask the author.” That frigid, icy tone only further confirmed the rumors. It confirmed that I had overestimated myself and abandoned Noah. Laughter erupted all around me. “Some say your first choice wasn’t Wall Street, but rather going to MIT to become a physicist.” “Could you tell us why you came back to inherit the business empire instead?” Noah’s gaze pierced through the layers of people, staring at me expressionlessly for a moment. Then, he looked away. “I was young and didn’t know what I wanted.” “Facts have proven that people should return to the social class and field where they belong.” “Instead of… compounding a mistake.” After finishing his sentence, he asked blankly, “What do you think, Miss Evans?” Facing the cameras, my mind went completely blank. Just as I was about to say something, Noah lowered his eyes and turned to converse with a Wall Street executive next to him, seemingly unconcerned with how I would answer. The giant screen in the venue switched to an exclusive interview Noah had done previously. “What was your reason for purchasing the film rights to this book?” Noah’s tone was cold. “The plot is atrocious. I never want to see it again.” 2 I actually only found out today that Noah was my investor. Very few fans showed up to the new book launch. Instead, I received an industry blacklist order. My website was about to take down the novel, and physical copies were being pulled from shelves. “Lily, the Hollywood adaptation probably isn’t going to happen.” After the launch event, my literary agent, Arthur, stopped me. I stood by the door, feeling somewhat dazed. His gaze fell on my ears, and he hesitated for a moment. He asked, “Your… ears?” I touched the hearing aids hidden beneath my hair, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Yeah… The doctor said there’s a new experimental treatment at Johns Hopkins. I want to give it a try.” Over the past few years, my hearing had been deteriorating. If I didn’t stare at people’s lips, I often couldn’t decipher what they were saying at all. The medical bills for the treatment would be $150,000. Without the advance royalties from this book, I couldn’t possibly afford it. Arthur sighed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” I knew he was in a tough spot too. We were just a small independent publisher, trying to make a living. Who would have known we’d suddenly be targeted by major capital? The work I wrote right after graduation a few years ago had been dug up and hyped into a viral sensation. And I had been pushed into the eye of the storm. “It’s okay. I’ll figure something else out.” He patted my shoulder. Before he could finish speaking, someone suddenly bumped into me. I stumbled, and my hearing aid went flying. “Oh, sorry about that…” The UberEats delivery guy quickly disappeared into the elevator. I crouched down and found my hearing aid cracked. The ambient noise around me was suddenly muffled by a layer of fog, buzzing unintelligibly. That was, until the light above my head was blocked out. A pair of polished black dress shoes stopped in front of me. I looked up. Noah was in his sharp suit. His gaze cut through the cool metallic frames of his glasses, scrutinizing me without an ounce of warmth. His hand rested lightly on a stack of cargo boxes that had almost tipped over. His slightly furrowed brows revealed a hint of impatience. “Are you deaf?” I read his lips clearly. I also saw a terrified delivery worker next to him, apologizing to me profusely. It turned out I had crouched right in the middle of the hallway, blocking his path, and hadn’t heard his warning. He had been pushing a tall stack of boxes and couldn’t see me. Which was why I had almost been crushed. “I’m sorry for the trouble.” I hurriedly hid the broken hearing aid in my purse, stood up, and apologized to the worker. Noah withdrew his hand, and the boxes crashed down right next to my feet. “This is my corporate building. I don’t want any accidents happening here, that’s all.” After saying that, he turned and walked away without looking back. 3 I had been busy all day and hadn’t even eaten yet. I received an iMessage from my best friend and briefly explained the situation to her. “Stella is with Noah?!” My best friend exploded the moment she saw my text. “Does he know what kind of person Stella is? If she hadn’t abandoned you back then, would you have ended up like this?” I paused, then replied: “People naturally want to run when they encounter danger. You can’t… blame others for that.” The weather in New York in June was always unpredictable. A massive downpour started without warning. Just across the street, a massive LED billboard in Times Square displayed the new Manhattan real estate project jointly invested in by the Sterling and Montgomery families. It was in full swing. I remembered the analysis I’d seen on Twitter. Marriages between old-money families were historically unbreakable. In the years since graduation, I occasionally heard news about Noah from old classmates. Everyone used to think he came from a poor background. He had excellent grades and even won first place in the National Science Bowl. When we broke up, Noah was negotiating a full-ride scholarship to MIT. But later, his grades suddenly plummeted. He missed the Ivy League cut-off. When he reappeared, it was as the heir to the Sterling empire, suddenly exposed to the media. He was a completely different person. Ruthless and decisive. I knew who caused these changes. Which was why I couldn’t say a single word to offset the past. Rain drifted under my umbrella with the wind. My face and clothes were soaked. I touched my ear, hailed a yellow cab on the side of the street, and went to find someone to repair my hearing aid. Muffled thunder, like cotton-wrapped thuds, drifted into my ears. 4 Arthur was a good guy. Unwilling to let my hard work go to waste, he pulled a lot of strings to connect me with an independent film studio. They were willing to risk offending Noah to support me. Arthur set up a dinner meeting. If we struck a deal, I could get the check by next week. Unfortunately, on the night of the meeting, he got stuck in Manhattan rush-hour traffic. Leaving me sitting with a group of strangers in a VIP room at a high-end club. To make matters worse, Stella was there too. My hearing aid still hadn’t been fixed, so all night long, I had to carefully watch people’s lips to decipher what they were saying. Stella crossed her legs, swirling her martini. “Gentlemen, please don’t hold back with Miss Evans. She’d do absolutely anything for money.” A producer immediately chimed in, “Life is so hard, Miss Evans. Don’t you want an easier way out?” The remark drew a chorus of laughter. I kept my head down, picked up my wine glass, took a small sip, and remained silent. Arthur had gone to great lengths to arrange this meeting. His wife had just had a baby, their mortgage was high, and I couldn’t bear to let his hard work go to waste. As long as I waited for him to arrive, everything would be fine. Who knew their comments would only get more outrageous. “Spend the night with me, and I’ll—” A figure suddenly wedged himself between me and the producer, blocking my view. “You want her to spend the night doing what?” I looked up to see Noah throwing an icy remark across the table. Under the overhead lights, his features looked exceptionally cold and sharp. Why was he here? Stella’s smile vanished as she stood up. “Noah, what are you doing here?” The producer fell completely silent, forgetting how to even smile. “Mr… Mr. Sterling…” Noah grabbed my arm and started walking. Before I could even react, I was dragged out of the room. Stella’s face flushed with anxiety as she called out, “Noah… don’t be impulsive…” Her voice was quickly left behind. We walked unimpeded until I was thrown into the backseat of Noah’s Maybach. “How much do you want?” The icy words hit my ears like blocks of ice. The veins on the back of Noah’s hand, gripping the leather seat, bulged, betraying his rage. I stared at him blankly. “What?” He laughed out of pure anger, pulled a Centurion Black Card from his suit pocket, and threw it in front of me. “Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Millions? Swipe as much as you want. There’s absolutely no need for you to go begging to other people like a dog.” My heart felt like it was being pricked by needles. I wanted to explain. But how could I? I was definitely desperate for money. My life these past few years had ground away too much of my pride. In this country, there is nothing more terrifying than medical bills and poverty. “Didn’t you want money?” Noah gritted his teeth. “Is my money too dirty for you?” I picked up the black card, gripped it tightly, and futilely said: “I’m borrowing a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I’ll pay you back.” I knew his black card held far more than $150,000; it was likely limitless. Noah’s face was stony. “Really? Remember your words.” “From now on, I expect to see money wired into my account every single month. If not, my legal team will contact you.” “So, you’d better not play hide-and-seek with me.” I clenched my jaw. “I’m not that kind of person.” “No?” Noah pressed closer. “Lily Evans, you have a criminal record with me.” The words stuck in my throat. I wanted to get out of the car, but Noah wouldn’t move. He leaned against the car door, cupped the side of my face with one hand, and forced me to look up. Forcing me to meet his eyes. “Now, let’s discuss the price.” I was stunned. “What price?” “Did you think I’d willingly let you use me again?” His freezing fingertips traced my cheek like a ruthless blade of ice. “Lily, you brought this on yourself. You didn’t show a single ounce of mercy back then.” “So, strictly business—” Noah’s final words were veiled in a layer of fog, pouring into my ears in a blurry hum. “Sign the prenuptial and marriage agreements, and I’ll give it to you.” 5 The Maybach cruised silently down Fifth Avenue. Noah didn’t let me out of the car. Because ten minutes ago, I had blurted out a lie on the spot. “I’m getting married.” Noah’s expression had turned exceedingly grim. He stared out the window at the gloomy sky without saying a word. It took him a long time to finally ask, “To whom?” I didn’t catch it clearly, so I looked up and stared at his lips. “Hmm? What?” Noah raised his eyes. “I asked you, who are you getting married to?” I opened my mouth but couldn’t formulate a coherent answer for a long time. A seasoned Wall Street shark, Noah possessed a ruthless eye. He asked calmly and coldly, “Time? Location? Do our college alumni know?” I couldn’t answer a single one of those questions. Noah’s eyelids twitched. “Lily, to hide from me, you don’t even bother rehearsing your lies?” “It’s none of your business.” “Sign this.” He suddenly tossed over a legal document. Printed boldly on the letter-sized paper were the words “Marriage Agreement.” My heart tightened as I read the clauses below. Did he… really not care? Almost all the clauses were in my favor. I wouldn’t even have to assume any marital debt. “I’m sorry, I can’t agree to this.” “Reason.” I pushed the contract back to him. “You and Stella—” Before I could finish, I saw a profoundly meaningful scrutiny on Noah’s face. “I thought you didn’t care?” “You disappeared completely all these years. Not a single word, not a single message on Twitter or Facebook to check up on me, right?” “So who I get engaged to, or what I think, why does that matter to you?” Actually, I really wanted to say that I had asked about him… But explaining it now would just be futile. Noah said, “Marrying Stella is the board of directors’ decision. I have no personal relationship with her.” “Lily, think this through.” His gaze was piercing. “Marry me, and you’ll get everything you want.” “Including hitting the New York Times Best Seller list, getting your novel adapted in Hollywood, and—” “Money.” At that moment, I finally understood why Noah had blacklisted me. When someone is pushed into a corner, they’re easier to control. He had always been a successful hunter. He simply wanted to force me out of hiding. “But what do you want to get out of this?” “You.” Noah’s tone was detached. “Don’t imagine the days ahead will be wonderful.” “The pain I experienced, I will return to you exactly as it was.” Actually, I had no reason to refuse. I desperately needed the money for my medical bills. I was willing to do it.

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Dinner tonight was a bitter pill to swallow. I’d spent the entire morning at the farmer’s market and the afternoon hovering over a hot stove, prepping a spread that could feed a small army. My back ached, but I wanted everything to be perfect. Across the table, my sister-in-law, Amber, flashed me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice was sugary, but the words were laced with venom. She started dropping hints about how “comfortable” I’d made myself, how I seemed to treat my childhood home like a free hotel every time I was on break from grad school. Then, she pointedly looked at my plate. “You’re really going for the expensive stuff, aren’t you, Dana?” she asked, her voice tilting upward in mock curiosity. Before I could respond, my six-year-old niece, Piper, pushed her bowl away. Her eyes welled up with performative tears. “Auntie Dana took all the shrimp! I didn’t get any!” I froze. I had literally just picked up my second piece. Amber didn’t hesitate. She reached over with her own fork, snatched the shrimp right off my plate, and dropped it into Piper’s bowl. She sighed, looking at me with a patronizing pity. “It’s not that I’m stingy, Dana. It’s just… you’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t be lingering in someone else’s house, eating them out of house and home.” Someone else’s house? I turned to my brother, James. He kept his head down, shoveled rice into his mouth, and refused to meet my eyes. 1 My mom had only been on her dream trip to Tuscany for two weeks, and already, they were acting like this house—the house I had lived in since I was in diapers—belonged solely to them. A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in my throat, fueled by pure indignation. Amber set her silverware down with a delicate clink and leaned in. “Look, Dana, I’m not trying to kick you out.” She sighed again, her tone so maternal it made my skin crawl. “I left home before I even finished high school. I worked three jobs, paid my own way, and even helped my younger brother with a down payment on his condo. And here you are, in your mid-twenties, still relying on family. I’m just worried about you.” She paused, her gaze narrowing. “A girl can’t stay in her ‘maiden home’ forever. It looks bad to the neighbors. People talk.” Every sentence was wrapped in the guise of “caring for me.” But every word felt like a deliberate needle prick. I gripped my fork so hard my knuckles turned white. Beside her, Piper pointed a greasy finger at me and shrilled, “Leech! Mommy says you’re a shameless leech!” “Piper! Don’t say that!” Amber chided, though the corners of her mouth were twitching upward. I stared at the grains of rice in my bowl, my voice trembling when I finally found it. “I come home on breaks because this is my home. And I never come empty-handed. Every time I’m here, I—” “Oh, please!” Amber cut me off with a sharp laugh. “We’re family, why are you keeping score? You stay here for free, don’t you? We don’t charge you rent.” She glanced at James, then back at me, her eyes glinting with a calculated spark. “Tell you what. Based on the current market rate in this neighborhood, why don’t you just give your brother fifteen hundred a month? Consider it a ‘contribution’ to the household. Sound fair?” I was stunned. I’d lived here for over twenty years. And now, I was being asked to pay for the privilege of sleeping in my own bed? I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat. James finally looked up. His expression was cold, distant—the look of a landlord, not a brother. “Dana, just do what Amber says. It’ll make things easier for everyone.” Easier for everyone. It hit me then. This wasn’t a spontaneous argument. They had choreographed this. Amber played the villain, James played the “reasonable” decider, and even a six-year-old had been coached on when to call me a leech. I looked at the man sitting across from me. He felt like a stranger. I remembered when our parents were going through their messy divorce years ago; he was the one who held my hand and told me, “Don’t be scared, Dana. I’ve got you.” When I got into my Master’s program, he’d slipped a few hundred dollars into my bag and told me to study hard. But this version of James? He was treating me like an unwanted tenant. I couldn’t take it. I slammed my cutlery onto the table, stood up, and stormed back to my room. As the door swung shut, I heard Amber’s voice drift from the dining room. “Look at that temper. No wonder she’s still single.” She didn’t whisper it. She wanted me to hear. Then James’s voice: “Let it go. If she won’t pay, she won’t pay. Don’t stoop to her level.” I leaned against the door, the first hot tears spilling over. My phone buzzed in my pocket. 2 I swiped at my eyes and looked at the screen. It was a text from Mom. “Hi honey! I managed to change my flight. I’ll be home tomorrow! I picked up those dark chocolates you love from that little shop in Florence. Can’t wait to see you!” The tears came faster then. I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I typed out a long, rambling message about how cruel they were being, then deleted it. I typed it again. Deleted it again. Finally, I just replied: “Sounds good. Safe flight.” Outside, I could hear Amber and Piper laughing. “Mommy, the shrimp is so yummy!” “Eat up, baby. It’s all yours.” I closed my eyes, letting the tears disappear into my hair. When Amber first married into the family, I truly looked at her as the sister I never had. She came from a rough background—a small town where girls weren’t expected to do much, and she’d been working since she was sixteen. I remember the first time she told me about her past; her eyes had been red, her voice thick with the pain of being ignored by her own parents. I’d felt so much for her. I’d taken her hand and told her, “Amber, this is your home now. You have us.” When Piper was born, I was the one who stepped up. I did the midnight feedings so Amber could sleep. For her birthday, I used my meager savings from a work-study job to buy her a designer scarf. She’d bragged about it for weeks. “My sister-in-law has such great taste,” she’d tell everyone. Once, when she and James had a blow-up fight and she ran out of the house crying, I’d chased her down for three blocks. I bought her a coffee, sat with her in the park, and listened to her vent until the sun went down. I took her shopping, did her nails, introduced her to the city. She told me no one had ever treated her like that before. I thought we were family. But looking back, maybe she never saw me that way. Maybe I was just a convenience. When I was picking a grad school, she was the loudest voice in my ear, telling me to stay local. “Stay close to home,” she’d say. “If anything happens, James and I are right here to back you up.” I had been so touched. I thought she loved me. I even bragged to my friends about what a “cool” sister-in-law I had. But once I started school, the calls started every weekend. “Can you come home? We’re so busy.” And every time I came back, I was the one grocery shopping, cooking, scrubbing the floors, and doing the laundry. She would just sit on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, acting as if my labor was a given. One summer, she went on a trip with her friends and left Piper with me for a week. I was trying to finish my thesis while wrangling a toddler. When she returned, she told her friends right in front of me, “Dana is so great. She’s better with the baby than I am!” I took it as a compliment then. Now, I see it for what it was: a tactic to keep me working. Even a few months ago, when the refrigerator died, she complained about it for days until I used two thousand dollars from my part-time tutoring gig to buy a new one for the house. I treated her like a sister. She treated me like an ATM and a maid. The weight of the betrayal felt heavy in my chest. I pulled the duvet over my head, trying to stifle my sobs. After a while, the silence of the house settled in. I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I passed James’s room, I heard hushed voices. 3 It was Amber. “I’m telling you, we can’t wait. We have to get her out of here before your mom gets back.” I froze, my breath catching in my throat. “Every month she’s here, the utility bills go up,” Amber continued. “And you know how your mom is. She favors her. Who knows if she’ll try to leave the whole house to Dana in the will? We need to secure the deed now, so we can move forward with that… other thing.” “Yeah,” James’s voice was low, resigned. “You’re right.” “I’ve got a plan,” Amber whispered, followed by a soft, sharp laugh. “You’ll see tomorrow.” My heart hammered against my ribs. A plan? The next morning, the living room was a hive of activity. I woke up to the sound of hushed, urgent whispering. “It’s just shameful… she needs to be taught a lesson…” “You can’t let this kind of behavior slide…” I frowned, threw on a robe, and stepped out of my room. The living room was crowded. James, Amber, and Piper were there, but so were the neighbors: Mrs. Higgins from downstairs, Sarah from across the hall, and Mrs. Gable from the next unit over. They all turned to look at me at once. Their eyes weren’t friendly. They looked at me like I was a criminal caught in the act. On the coffee table, several empty jewelry boxes were scattered, along with Amber’s favorite leather tote bag, which had been turned inside out. Amber spoke first. “Dana, I need to ask you something.” Her voice was trembling, the perfect image of a victim. “My diamond necklace, my gold hoops, and all the cash I had in my bag… it’s all gone. There’s no one else in the house. Did you take them?” I looked at her, and a cold, sharp realization washed over me. So this was the “plan.” Luckily, I hadn’t spent the night just crying. I’d prepared. “I didn’t take anything,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. Amber scoffed. “You didn’t take it? So it just grew legs and walked away?” “I have no idea where your things are.” I turned to walk back to my room. Suddenly, Piper stepped out from behind Amber’s legs. “Auntie Dana…” Her lower lip trembled, her eyes wide and tearful. She looked up at the neighbors, then pointed a small, shaky hand at me. “Mommy told me to be honest… it’s not right…” She started to sob. “Yesterday… I saw Auntie Dana go into Mommy’s room. She was digging through the jewelry box… she told me not to tell or she’d hurt me…” 4 A bucket of ice water couldn’t have made me feel colder. To coach a six-year-old to lie like that—to use her own child as a weapon—was a new low. Amber immediately pulled Piper into a hug. “Oh, Dana! How could you? She’s only six! You’re terrifying her into lying for you!” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but I looked at James instead. He was staring at the empty jewelry boxes, his head bowed, refusing to look at his own sister. Mrs. Higgins sighed, shaking her head. “Dana, honey, if things are tight, you should have just asked. But this? Your sister-in-law has been so good to you. This is heartbreaking.” Sarah chipped in, “Honestly, these grad students… they look so respectable, but you never know what they’re doing behind closed doors. Stealing from family? How do you even show your face?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. “I. Did. Not. Take. It.” Amber put a hand to her chest, looking like she was about to faint. “Dana, just admit it. Keep the jewelry, I don’t care. Just don’t lie to me.” I took a deep breath and looked directly at my brother. “James. Do you really believe this?” His shoulders tensed. It took him a long time to speak. “If you took it… just give it back. Don’t make this harder on everyone than it already is.” Amber saw my silence as a white flag. She stood up, her voice rising an octave, gaining strength. “My mother-in-law isn’t here, so I’m going to do what’s necessary. I’m setting a boundary!” She pointed toward the front door, her eyes gleaming with a manic sort of triumph. “Pack your bags and get out. Now! We will not have a thief under this roof!” I stood my ground, crossing my arms. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?” “Get out!” she screamed. “Evidence,” I said calmly. “Everything requires evidence. Tell you what. Go into my room. Search it. If you find anything, I’ll leave and never come back. But if you don’t, you apologize to me in front of everyone here.” Amber blinked, caught off guard for a split second, but she recovered quickly. “Search? Why would I search? You’ve obviously hidden it somewhere else. I’m not playing your games.” She turned to the neighbors, her face a mask of wounded dignity. “You see? Even caught red-handed, she’s so arrogant. I’ve done everything for her, and this is how she treats me.” Mrs. Higgins stepped forward to play peacemaker. “Dana, just apologize. Don’t let it get this ugly…” Amber didn’t wait for her to finish. She lunged forward and grabbed my arm, trying to pull me toward the door. “Go! Just go! I don’t want to see your face—” The moment her hand touched my skin, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the room. Click. The front door swung open. My mother stood there, her suitcase in hand, staring at the chaos in her living room.

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