Category: English

Victor Sterling drank too much last night. In his drunken stupor, he slipped his family’s vintage heirloom bracelet onto my wrist. His eyes were rimmed red as he held me in a suffocating grip, murmuring her name over and over: “Serena, please don’t go…” I let him hold me. I even patted his back gently, coaxing him to sleep. The next morning, when Victor woke up and sobered, he stared at the bracelet on my wrist with visible annoyance. His voice was ice-cold. “Take it off. That doesn’t belong to you.” I obediently slipped it off and carefully placed it on the nightstand. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. I know my place.” Of course I knew my place. After all, if I just endured this for one more month, my contract would expire. That five-million-dollar payout at the end of the term was exactly what I needed to save my fiancé, who was currently lying in an ICU bed. Victor was the kind of man whose deep-seated, aristocratic superiority bled through even when he was annoyed. He sat on the edge of the bed, massaging his temples. He didn’t even spare me a glance, his eyes locked solely on the bracelet I had just taken off. That bracelet was a ten-million-dollar antique, the engagement gift he had prepared for his first love, Serena. “Forget everything that happened last night.” His voice was hoarse, carrying an undeniable tone of command. I was half-kneeling on the rug, picking up his discarded suit jacket. Hearing this, I looked up and flashed the gentle, graceful smile I had practiced in the mirror a thousand times. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. You went straight to sleep the moment you got back. Nothing happened, and you didn’t say a word.” This was exactly why he was so satisfied with me. I was sensible, obedient. I didn’t listen to things I shouldn’t hear, and I didn’t remember things I shouldn’t remember. Victor’s expression softened slightly. He stood up and walked into the master bathroom. I let out a sigh of relief. I quickly stood up, placed the burning-hot, ten-million-dollar bracelet into its velvet box, and set it dead center on the nightstand where he would see it the second he walked out. Once that was done, I went downstairs to the kitchen to prep a hangover remedy. Just as I set the glass on the dining table, Victor’s executive assistant arrived with fresh clothes—and a piece of news. “Mr. Sterling, Ms. Serena’s flight back to New York is booked. She lands on the 5th of next month.” Victor, who was in the middle of buttoning his cuffs, froze. The usual cold, hard lines of his face instantly melted, replaced by a fleeting, barely detectable panic. “The 5th… That’s less than a month away.” He muttered to himself, then turned to look at me. His gaze suddenly became complex and critical. I knew exactly what he was thinking. The real deal was coming back. It was time for the cheap knockoff to exit the stage. For the past five years, I had followed his instructions to the letter. I wore the plain, pastel dresses Serena liked. I kept my hair long, straight, and black just like hers. I even practiced curving my lips to match the exact angle of her smile. You could say I was Serena’s most flawless shadow. But shadows can never survive in the light. “Harper,” Victor began, his tone dripping with a charitable, condescending chill. “Move out to the condo in Jersey this month. Don’t hover around me unless absolutely necessary.” “Yes, Mr. Sterling.” I agreed without a second of hesitation. My response was so fast and painless that it actually made him frown. “Also. When the contract ends, I never want to see your face in New York again.” “Understood. I will disappear without a trace. I absolutely won’t cause any trouble for you or Ms. Serena.” I pushed the hangover drink toward him, thoughtfully checking the temperature against the glass. “It’s the perfect temperature. Drink this before you head to the office; it’ll settle your stomach.” Victor stared at my submissive demeanor, looking almost uncomfortable. In his mind, I was supposed to cry. I was supposed to throw a fit, demand answers, and beg him not to throw me away. But I didn’t. Not only did I not cry, but I was practically doing mental cartwheels. The 5th of next month. That was the exact day my five-year contract with Victor expired. Once that five-million-dollar final payment hit my bank account, I’d never have to wait on this moody, arrogant billionaire ever again. Victor drank the remedy. Before walking out the door, he tossed a sleek credit card onto the table. “Go buy yourself some decent clothes over the next few days. I’m taking you to a party this weekend. It’ll be your last one.” He paused, his eyes sweeping over me with a hint of mockery. “Don’t embarrass me, and wipe that pathetic, subservient look off your face. Serena never acted like a servant.” I picked up the card with both hands, my eyes curving into a bright smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sterling. I’ll do my best to learn.” As long as the money cleared, forget acting like Serena—I’d put on a Batman suit and fight crime if he paid me enough. The “party” Victor mentioned was a gathering of his elite, trust-fund buddies. The venue was The Apex, Manhattan’s most exclusive, money-burning VIP lounge. When I pushed open the private room doors, arm-in-arm with Victor and wearing my brand-new designer white gown, the room went dead silent for a split second. Then, the raucous cheering erupted. “Whoa, Vic brought the missus?” “What missus? That’s Harper. Our little Harper.” “Gotta admit, dressed up like that, she’s a dead ringer for Serena. A solid nine out of ten. No wonder Vic couldn’t control himself and kept her around for five years.” The one running his mouth was Carter, Victor’s childhood best friend, and the guy who despised me the most. In his eyes, I was a gold digger who sold her dignity for a paycheck. I was just a toy to fill the gap while Victor waited for his true love. Victor didn’t defend me. He just led me to the center booth. I expertly picked up a bottle of vintage liquor and began pouring drinks for the wealthy heirs around the table, keeping my posture as low and submissive as possible. “So, Harper, word on the street is Serena is coming back. What are your plans?” Carter swirled his glass of bourbon, staring at me like he was watching a circus act. All eyes in the VIP room zeroed in on me. These guys lived for this kind of drama—the pathetic stand-in getting forced out by the true love, weeping and begging for scraps. My hand was perfectly steady. The amber liquid flowed into the glass without a single drop spilling. “That is entirely up to Mr. Sterling. I will follow his arrangements.” Carter let out a sharp scoff. “Stop pretending. You’re probably cursing us all out in your head, aren’t you? Five years with Vic, enjoying all this wealth and luxury… you really willing to just walk away?” He suddenly reached out, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger, his tone sleazy. “How about this? When Vic tosses you out, come be with me. I might not be as loaded as him, but I can easily throw you a hundred grand a month for pocket money.” The room erupted in mocking laughter. Victor leaned back against the leather sofa, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. His face was obscured by the smoke, but he made no move to stop Carter. He was enjoying this. He loved the intoxicating feeling of having someone entirely dependent on him, entirely under his control. I sneered internally, but on the outside, I put on a look of sheer panic. I instinctively shrank back, pressing myself closer to Victor’s side. “Please don’t joke like that, Carter.” Victor seemed immensely pleased by my display of dependency. Finally showing some mercy, he swatted Carter’s hand away. “Alright, knock it off. Don’t scare her.” He tapped his cigarette ash into the tray, his voice flat. “She’s been with me for five years, and she’s done her job well. We’ll part on good terms. Let’s not make it ugly.” Carter shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. You’re always too soft on your old flings. But hey, Harper, a little self-awareness goes a long way. Take your payout and disappear. Don’t get any delusional ideas about clinging to him.” I nodded obediently. “I understand perfectly.” Halfway through the night, Victor stepped out to take a phone call. I didn’t even have to guess. It was definitely about Serena. The moment he left, the vibe in the room shifted. Carter ordered me around, making me peel grapes for him, and even purposely ashed his cigar onto the hem of my pristine white dress. I didn’t say a word. I just sat there and took it. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a backbone. It was that Victor bought this dress with his card. If it got ruined, I didn’t have to pay for it. More importantly, every single ounce of humiliation I swallowed right now was fueling my sprint toward that five-million-dollar finish line. Just then, my phone buzzed in my clutch. It was a text from the hospital. [Ms. Harper, Ethan’s condition has become highly unstable. His vitals are dropping. We need to prepare the funds for his second surgery immediately, along with the imported anti-rejection medications. The current deficit is roughly $500,000.] Five hundred thousand dollars. And that was just the current gap. Combine that with the medical debt I already owed, plus the astronomical rehabilitation costs required to guarantee he woke up safely… That five million dollars—I couldn’t afford to lose a single cent. I stared at my phone screen, my fingers tightening their grip. “What are you looking at? Vic’s not even here, and you’re not even trying to entertain us?” Carter kicked me lightly in the calf, looking annoyed. I put my phone away and looked up at Carter. For a split second, I didn’t manage to mask the icy hostility in my eyes. Carter froze. “What the hell is that look for?” But in the blink of an eye, I morphed back into the timid, submissive girl. “It’s nothing. I was just wondering when Mr. Sterling would be back.” Right on cue, the heavy doors pushed open. Victor strode in. His face was dark, carrying an aura of aggressive irritation. “We’re leaving.” He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me up. His grip was so harsh it made my wrist ache. “Mr. Sterling, what’s wrong?” The moment we got into his sports car, Victor slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The car shot down the Manhattan streets like a bullet. “Serena’s flight got moved up. She lands tomorrow.” He gritted his teeth, his voice tight. “You are moving out tonight.” When Victor was in a rush, he had zero patience for anything. He sped all the way back to his Upper East Side penthouse. He didn’t even step inside. He just sat in the driver’s seat, glaring at me coldly. “Go upstairs and pack your things. You are only allowed to take what belongs to you. Do not touch a single thing I bought for you.” “You have one hour.” This kind of heartless, unreasonable demand would have shattered the heart of any woman who had spent five years with him. But to me? It felt like total liberation. “Understood, Mr. Sterling. I’ll be quick.” I stepped out of the car, my footsteps so light I had to physically restrain myself from skipping to the elevator. This penthouse was luxurious, but to me, it was nothing but a suffocating prison. Every corner of this place was meticulously designed to echo Serena’s preferences, and I was just the live-in maid hired to maintain her ghost. I walked into the bedroom and pulled out a battered, cheap suitcase I had brought with me five years ago. I opened the massive walk-in closet. It was stuffed with designer clothes, diamond jewelry, and luxury handbags that Victor had bought me. I didn’t touch a single one of them. I only packed the cheap, faded clothes I had arrived in, a frayed toiletry bag, and from a hidden compartment in the nightstand, a slightly yellowed photograph. In the photo, Ethan was wearing a crisp white button-down. His smile was as warm as a spring breeze, and he was holding two ice cream cones. We had taken it during our college days. Back then, the horrific car crash hadn’t happened yet, and I hadn’t sold my soul to Victor Sterling to pay for his life support. Looking at the photo, the intense nausea that Victor and Carter had stirred up in my stomach finally began to dissipate. “Just a little longer, Ethan. It’s almost over.” I whispered softly, carefully tucking the photo into my worn-out wallet. It took me less than thirty minutes to pack. When I got downstairs, Victor was standing in the living room, smoking a cigarette. Several crushed butts were already scattered by his feet. When he saw the pathetic, battered suitcase in my hand, he froze, his brows knitting tightly together. “That’s it?” “Yes. Everything else was purchased by you. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to take it.” I stood in the entryway and placed the penthouse keys on the console table. My attitude was so flawlessly respectful and professional that he couldn’t pick out a single flaw. Victor seemed inexplicably irritated. My clean, unhesitating departure gave him the frustrating sensation of punching a pillow. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this card. Consider it severance.” He tossed another black credit card onto the table. I didn’t reach for it. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Sterling. The contract clearly states I only receive the final tail-end payment upon completion. This hundred thousand isn’t covered by our agreement. I can’t accept it.” I don’t take risks with small change. I was here for the five million dollars written in black and white on my contract. What if I took this hundred grand, and he used it as an excuse to claim I breached the contract and withheld my final five million? When it came to making money, I was as meticulous as a Wall Street auditor. Victor’s face darkened. “I gave it to you, so take it! Stop talking back!” “I really don’t need it, Mr. Sterling. I’m not desperate for money.” I lied smoothly, pushing the card back toward him. Victor let out a cold, angry laugh. “Not desperate for money? If you weren’t desperate for money, would you have sold yourself as a stand-in for five years? Harper, don’t act like a saint when you’re anything but.” I kept my head down, refusing to argue. “Fine. If you want to play the noble martyr, then get the hell out.” He pointed at the front door. I felt like I had just received a gubernatorial pardon. I grabbed my suitcase handle and marched toward the exit. Just as I stepped out the door, Victor’s dark, brooding voice echoed from behind me. “Harper. Once you walk out that door, there’s no turning back. Don’t think I’ll come crawling after you to coax you back like before.” Coax me? When had he ever coaxed me? Oh, right. I remembered. When I first moved in, I was so overwhelmed by his volatile, toxic mood swings that I used to cry secretly in the bathroom. He found my crying annoying. He tossed a designer handbag at me and snapped, “Stop crying. It’s giving me a headache.” That wasn’t coaxing. That was paying for peace and quiet. I stopped walking, but I didn’t turn around. I just straightened my spine. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. I will absolutely never look back.” I dragged my suitcase out of the luxury high-rise, but I didn’t head to the condo in Jersey. Instead, I hailed a cab and went straight to the downtown hospital. Outside the ICU in the dead of night, it was so quiet I could only hear the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitors. I pressed my hands against the glass window, staring greedily at the man lying inside. Five years. Ethan had lost so much weight. His face was deathly pale, and his body was hooked up to countless tubes and machines. But he was still alive. As long as he was alive, there was hope. The Head Nurse walked by, saw me, and let out a soft sigh as she approached. “Ms. Harper, you’re here this late?” “Yeah. Just wanted to see him.” “Mr. Ethan’s condition has been deteriorating over the last two days. The doctors said if we don’t perform the second surgery immediately, I’m afraid…” “I know.” I turned around and looked at the nurse. My eyes had never been more resolute. “I have the money ready. Next month, on the 5th. We operate exactly on schedule.” Life after leaving Victor was incredibly fulfilling. I rented a cheap motel room. Every day, besides visiting Ethan at the hospital, I stared at the calendar, counting down the hours. Just three days left until the contract expired. As long as I survived these three days, and Victor wired the money as agreed, I would be completely, totally free. However, life never goes exactly as planned. On the night before the deadline, I got a call from Victor. “Where are you?” His voice sounded slightly drunk. The background noise was chaotic, like he was at a club. “Mr. Sterling, I’ve already moved out,” I reminded him calmly. “I asked where the hell you are!” he roared. “Serena wants to see you.” My heart plummeted. Serena wanted to see me? The original first love wanting to meet the cheap stand-in? What good could possibly come of that? “Mr. Sterling, this violates our agreement…” “Shut up! Get your ass to The Apex in thirty minutes, or you can kiss your final payout goodbye!” The line went dead. I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning white. He was using my five million dollars to threaten me. That money was Ethan’s life. I took a deep breath, changed into the pale blue dress that Serena supposedly loved most, and took a cab to The Apex. The moment I pushed the VIP room doors open, my eyes landed on the woman sitting next to Victor. She was stunning. She possessed a natural, effortless elegance and confidence that I could never replicate, even after five years of trying. However, she was wearing a fiery, bold red dress. It was completely different from the plain, demure, “pure” aesthetic I had been forced to adopt. It seemed Victor had only forced me into pale colors because that was how he remembered her from their youth. The real Serena had long since outgrown that phase. “So you’re Harper?” Serena looked me up and down, her eyes carrying three parts curiosity and seven parts absolute disdain. “You do look a little bit like the old me.” I stood by the door, neither haughty nor humble. “Good evening, Ms. Serena.” Victor held a glass of whiskey, his gaze shifting back and forth between me and Serena, clearly anticipating a good show. “Vic, I heard she’s been with you for five years?” Serena looped her arm through Victor’s, laughing flirtatiously. “How much did you spend to keep such an obedient little pet?” Victor glanced at me dismissively. “Not much. She was just a plaything to pass the time.” Plaything. The word pierced my ears like a needle. But my face maintained a perfect, polite smile, not showing a single trace of humiliation. “I heard you’re willing to do absolutely anything for money?” Serena suddenly stood up and walked over to me, holding a glass of red wine. “So, if I told you to get on your knees, apologize to me, and admit you’re just a shameless, pathetic knockoff… would you do it?” The VIP room went dead silent. Everyone was staring at me, waiting to see what I would do. Victor frowned. He seemed to think Serena was crossing a line, but he didn’t say a word to stop her. He was waiting. He was waiting for me to beg him for help. I looked at Victor, then down at the glass of red wine teetering dangerously in Serena’s hand. For five million dollars. For Ethan’s life. What was my dignity worth? What were my knees worth? I slowly bent my legs, letting my knees sink toward the carpet, inch by inch. Victor’s pupils contracted violently. He abruptly stood up, looking like he wanted to yell something. Thud. My knees hit the floor with a muffled sound. “I am so sorry, Ms. Serena.” I looked up, meeting Serena’s eyes directly. My tone was as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “I am just a cheap knockoff. I shouldn’t have tried to imitate you and cause you discomfort.” Serena froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to kneel so effortlessly, without a single shred of psychological resistance. The twisted thrill of humiliating me hadn’t even peaked before it was completely suffocated by my robotic, business-like attitude. “You…” Serena was furious. She raised her hand, ready to splash the entire glass of red wine directly into my face. “Enough!” Victor suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Serena’s wrist. The wine sloshed out of the glass, splashing onto the floor and staining the hem of my dress. “Vic?” Serena looked at him in total disbelief. Victor’s face was livid. He stared down at me, his chest heaving with explosive breaths. “Harper, you…” He looked like he wanted to scream at me, but he didn’t even know what to say. Yell at me for having no spine? Yell at me for having no self-respect? “Mr. Sterling, do you have any other instructions?” I remained kneeling, looking up at him. “If not, may I leave now?” “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” Victor roared, violently hurling his whiskey glass against the wall, shattering it into a hundred pieces. I stood up smoothly, brushed the dust off my knees, and gave him and Serena a slight, respectful bow. “I wish Mr. Sterling and Ms. Serena a lifetime of happiness.” With that, I turned on my heel and walked out, without a single ounce of hesitation.

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After seven years of caring for my severely paralyzed mother, she finally passed away, a look of peace on her face. But three days after her death, my brother—who had vanished for seven years—suddenly appeared, clutching a will. “Mom’s will makes it perfectly clear. As her son, I inherit everything she owned.” The relatives were quick to react, immediately taking his side. “The money belonged to your mother. She can leave it to whoever she wants. As her children, you just have to respect her wishes.” “You’re the older sister; it’s your duty to step aside for your brother. If it were me, I’d be too ashamed to fight my own flesh and blood over an inheritance.” I covered my face with my hands, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Everyone thought I was sobbing in absolute devastation. But only I knew the truth: my idiot brother was completely, utterly screwed. … When Kyle showed up, I was just about to lower my mother’s urn into the freshly dug grave. He ran out of the crowd, crying hysterically, forcefully shoved me aside, and threw his arms around the urn, wailing like a banshee. “Mom! How could you just leave us like this?! I didn’t even get to see you one last time!” “Chloe, you heartless bitch! Mom was perfectly fine when I left! It’s only been a few years, and you actually managed to kill her!” “Give me my mother back!” The relatives began whispering and murmuring among themselves. Even I felt a bit dazed for a second. The last time I had seen Kyle was seven years ago. I had just graduated from college and landed a fantastic job at a Fortune 500 company. My life was finally on an upward trajectory when I suddenly got a call from Kyle. “Chloe, you need to come home right now! Mom was in a terrible car accident, she’s in the ICU!” My head spun. I bought a red-eye flight and rushed home. Our dad died when we were young. My mom raised Kyle and me all by herself. She hadn’t enjoyed a single day of comfort in her life, and now this happened. But what I couldn’t accept was what happened next. While I was distracted speaking with the surgeons about her emergency procedures, Kyle secretly grabbed my mom’s phone, her ID, and her debit cards, ran back to our house, and drained every single cent of our family’s savings. I didn’t have any money of my own back then. To scrape together enough to cover Mom’s immediate medical bills, I borrowed from everyone I possibly could. The crushing debt almost drove me to jump off a bridge. After that, I personally cared for her, spoon-feeding and bathing her for seven grueling years, until the day she died. Seeing Kyle now, I wanted nothing more than to flay him alive. “You son of a bitch. How do you even have the nerve to show your face?” “When Mom was fighting for her life in the hospital, you stole all her money and ran! When she was paralyzed in bed, unable to move, where the hell were you?!” “Now that she’s dead, you pop up playing the devoted son?! I’ll beat you to death, you shameless piece of trash!” Kyle yelled at the top of his lungs: “Stop bringing up irrelevant garbage! Mom only has one son! If I wasn’t here to handle her funeral rites, her soul would never rest in peace!” “If I didn’t show up, who knows? You probably would have secretly hoarded all of Mom’s inheritance for yourself!” “What inheritance?” While I was momentarily stunned, Kyle pulled a piece of standard printer paper from his jacket. He held it up high for the entire crowd to see. “Aunt Brenda, Uncle Dave, Aunt Susan—look closely! This is a will, written and signed by my mother’s own hand.” “It states very clearly: upon her death, her entire estate goes exclusively to her son, Kyle.” “Bullshit! Mom couldn’t even read or write!” I fired back. “She was paralyzed for seven years! I handled all her meals, her bathing, everything! Where exactly did she go to draft a will?!” Kyle smirked smugly. “Mom knew this day would come. She set everything up seven years ago. Uncle Dave can back me up.” I looked at my uncle in absolute disbelief. Just this morning, he had patted my shoulder, tears in his eyes. “Your mother had a hard life, Chloe. Thank god she had a daughter like you to take care of her so well. You didn’t let her suffer.” Uncle Dave avoided my gaze, looking shifty. “Yeah… that did happen. When your mom was first brought to the hospital, she was still lucid. She drafted the will right in front of me. I helped her sit up so she could sign it.” “Chloe, you’re a good kid. We all see that.” “But the money was your mother’s. She can give it to whoever she wants. As her children, you just have to respect her wishes.” It was easy for him to say. My uncle hadn’t worked a single honest day in his life; he survived entirely by leeching off his sisters. That old parasite was obviously going to take the side of the younger parasite, Kyle. Aunt Brenda immediately chimed in. “I’m an older sister too. It’s an older sister’s duty to step aside and provide for her younger brother. If I were you, I’d be too ashamed to fight my own flesh and blood over an inheritance.” She even forced a few fake sobs. “These past few years, your mom cried to me so often because she missed her son. Well, it’s finally over. You came back, Kyle. She can rest in peace now.” “You’re the only male heir left in the family line, Kyle. Don’t worry, your aunt is 100% on your side.” I stood frozen in place, utterly paralyzed. When the hospital was threatening to cut off her care because I couldn’t pay the bills, I didn’t cry. When my friends were landing amazing careers, while I could only take odd temp jobs so I had time to rush home and change my mom’s adult diapers, I didn’t cry. When I was sick and in agonizing pain, rolling around in bed but refusing to go to the doctor to save money, I didn’t cry. When I was drowning in debt and loan sharks threw red paint on our front door, I didn’t cry. Seven years. Seven full, grueling years. I took care of my mother for seven years. I spoon-fed her every meal, cleaned up her waste, and starved myself just to buy her medication. And yet, behind my back, she left absolutely everything to my brother. I doubled over in pain, my entire body shaking. The tears finally broke free, pouring out uncontrollably. Kyle clicked his tongue in annoyance, tossing his hair. “Alright, enough! Who are you crying for?!” “A son inheriting the property is the natural order of things. Hurry up and hand over the house keys. I have real estate agents waiting to view the property.” Aunt Brenda was startled. “You’re selling the house?!” “Then where is your sister going to live?” Kyle scoffed. “Why the hell should I care where she lives? It’s my house, I can sell it if I want.” “She lived there rent-free for seven years. I’m already doing her a massive favor by not charging her back-rent.” “My girlfriend is pregnant, and her family is pushing us to get married. If I don’t sell the house, how am I supposed to afford a new one for us?” “Unless… you guys are volunteering to lend me some cash?” The moment they heard the word “lend,” every single relative started waving their hands frantically. “I don’t have any money! Your cousin’s wedding wiped out our savings.” “All my cash is tied up in the stock market. If I had it, I’d definitely lend it to you.” … Hearing this, I slowly raised my head and wiped away my tears. “You want the estate, right? Fine. You can have it all.” Kyle grinned broadly. “Now that’s more like it.” I laid out my condition: “If you want me to formally waive my right to contest the inheritance, you have to sign an agreement with me right now. From this moment on, absolutely everything belonging to this family is yours, and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “And whether you live or die in the future, you are strictly forbidden from coming to me for help.” Kyle looked me up and down with pure disdain. “Look at you. You don’t even have a real job. Once I sell the house, you’ll literally be sleeping on the streets. I’m the one who should be worried about you clinging to me for cash!” “I’ll sign it. Hurry up and get the papers!” I borrowed a pen and paper from the funeral home staff and quickly drafted the document. Aunt Brenda leaned in close and whispered, “Silly girl, that’s your own biological brother. If you cut him off completely, aren’t you afraid your dad’s ghost will come back to haunt you?” I looked at her with a dead, icy smile. “When Mom’s spirit visits me on the seventh day after her death, I’ll be sure to ask her whose ghost is going to haunt the person who ripped the gold wedding band off my grandmother’s finger the second she stopped breathing. Let’s see who should be afraid of karma.” Aunt Brenda’s face drained of color. She grabbed her hand and scurried away. After Kyle signed the paper, I folded the agreement carefully and put it in my purse. I couldn’t help it—I covered my face, my shoulders shaking violently. He clicked his tongue impatiently. “Crying is useless. The agreement is signed. From now on, this family has nothing to do with you, and you won’t get a single red cent.” “Hurry up and pack your trash. I’m coming to claim the house tomorrow.” With that, he rallied all the relatives to go grab lunch at a nearby restaurant. It wasn’t until they were completely out of sight that I finally dared to laugh out loud. Chapter 2 Oh, my sweet, idiotic brother. What “estate” did he think was left? He hadn’t been home in seven years; he had no idea. Anything of value in that house had been sold years ago to pay for Mom’s medical bills. The house itself had a massive second mortgage on it, and I was drowning in an ocean of external debt, constantly stressing over how to survive. And now, he timed his return perfectly to catch the falling anvil. I was absolutely thrilled. I left the funeral home and took a cab straight to a nice hotel. The old house was filled with memories of my mother, and honestly, I couldn’t stomach looking at it right now. After taking a long, hot bath, I wrapped myself tightly in the thick hotel comforter. For the first time in seven years, I didn’t have to jolt awake at 3:00 AM to change my mom’s diaper or sponge-bathe her. I slept so deeply it felt like a coma. When I finally woke up, my phone was blowing up like a ticking time bomb. On the other end of the line, Kyle’s voice was a chaotic mix of uncontrollable smugness and desperate impatience. “Chloe, where the hell are you?!” “Get back to the old house right now and hand over the keys! Don’t you dare touch any of Mom’s stuff! I’m coming over to take inventory immediately.” “I’m warning you, if you try to hide anything, and I find out, I will make your life a living hell.” I gripped my phone, staring at the pristine hotel ceiling, and suddenly broke into a huge smile. “Alright.” “I’ll wait for you. I’ll even bring some people over to help you with the inventory.” I hung up the phone and immediately dialed the number of my biggest creditor. “If you want your money, bring your guys to my house right now. If you’re late, the opportunity is gone.” I heard heavy breathing on the other end, mixed with a few muffled curses and people scrambling in the background. “Fuck yeah. Wait right there, we’re on our way! If you’re trying to play us…” “Bring all the promissory notes and loan contracts,” I added, then hung up. I checked out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and headed back to the old house—the house where I had struggled and suffocated for seven years, the house I currently wanted to burn to the ground. Just as I pulled up, a dirty, beat-up black van slammed on its brakes, arriving at the exact same moment. Three men stepped out of the van. The leader was a massive guy with a shaved head, eyes sharp as knives, and aggressive tattoos crawling up his neck. We exchanged a single glance. No words were spoken. With a silent, mutual understanding, we walked up the stairs together. The front door of the old house was slightly ajar. The lock had been smashed. Kyle’s voice drifted out from inside. “This place is a bit old, but if I clean it up, I can rent it out for a decent chunk of change.” “Just wait here, I’ll have her clear out her garbage right now.” I pushed the door open. Kyle was standing in the center of the living room, a small notepad in his hand, jotting things down. When he turned and saw the three terrifying bruisers standing behind me, he froze for a second. Then, a look of profound, arrogant mockery spread across his face. “I knew you wouldn’t just hand it over peacefully. Yesterday was all just an act, huh?” “You didn’t dare say a word in front of the family, and now you bring a bunch of thugs here to play tough?” He waved the photocopied will in his hand. “Read it and weep. This is notarized! It’s a legally binding document! Everything in this house now belongs to me, Kyle! Who do you think you’re scaring with a few street punks? Get the hell out of my house!” I smiled. This really was my wonderful brother. I was worried he might try to deny it! What more was there to say? “The law is the ultimate authority.” I said, stepping aside. “You guys heard him, right? He is the legal owner of this house. Everything belongs to him. Whatever business you have, take it up with him.” The bald guy completely ignored Kyle’s yelling. He pulled a thick stack of loan contracts from his leather bag. “Kid, you’ve got a big mouth. Since you own everything here, I assume that means you’re ready to settle the debts attached to it?” Kyle stumbled back half a step, terrified, but tried to maintain his tough guy act. “What debts?” “You’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t owe you anything.” “Get out of here right now! You’re trespassing on private property! I’ll call the cops!” The bald guy let out a menacing, predatory laugh. “Be my guest. Call ’em right now. I’d love to see if the cops arrest me, or arrest you.” “Paying debts is the law of the land! I brought the signed contracts right here. You dare try to deny it?!” He suddenly raised his voice, booming like thunder. “Seven years ago, your mother used this house as collateral to borrow $20,000 from me. With interest compounding over the years, the total balance today is exactly $720,000.” “It’s all right here in black and white, stamped with her red thumbprint. The contract clearly states that if she can’t pay the cash, the house is forfeited to cover the debt. And now you’re jumping up and down claiming you’re the sole heir to her estate?” The bald guy stepped forward, his spit practically hitting Kyle’s deathly pale face. “Well then, shouldn’t you be inheriting this debt too?” The color drained entirely from Kyle’s face, leaving him as white as a sheet. His eyes bulged out of his head. He looked at the terrifying stack of loan contracts, then at the bald guy, and finally, he whipped his head around to glare at me. His eyes were filled with absolute, terrified disbelief and fury. “No! This is impossible!” “This is the debt her mother owes! It has nothing to do with me! Go after her!” he screamed hysterically, his trembling finger pointing directly at me. I laughed and pulled out the agreement we had signed in front of our mother’s urn yesterday. “Didn’t we agree yesterday? Everything in this family is inherited by you, and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.” “We are blood siblings, after all! My mom is your mom! A son inheriting the estate is the natural order of things. All our relatives can testify to that.” “My dear, sweet brother, if you hadn’t come back waving that will around, I honestly wouldn’t have known where to find you to give you all of this.” I picked up the will that had fallen to the floor and gently placed it on the coffee table. I tapped the words: “…shall be inherited entirely by my son, Kyle.” “As children, we have to respect Mom’s wishes. She said you inherit everything, so it’s all yours.” “This old house, the few pieces of cheap furniture she left behind, and of course… all the outstanding debts.” “NOOOOO!!!” Kyle let out an inhuman, guttural howl. The bald guy was already out of patience. He waved his hand. The two massive thugs behind him lunged forward like they were grabbing a helpless chicken. They instantly pinned Kyle’s arms behind his back and slammed his face into the wall. “Chloe! You set me up! You set a fucking trap for me!” He struggled uselessly, cursing and screaming, his voice cracking with tears and absolute despair. I looked at the bald guy. “We are completely settled. Whatever happens next is between you and him.” Then, I turned and walked out of the apartment. Taking a deep breath of the outside air, the crushing burden I had carried on my shoulders for seven years finally fell away. The news of Kyle being cornered and beaten by loan sharks in the old house sprouted wings and flew instantly across the family group chat. Aunt Brenda was absolutely heartbroken. She rallied all the relatives to go “save” him. She also launched a vicious attack on me in the group chat. “Chloe, how could you be so evil?!” “Kyle is your biological brother! He’s the only male bloodline your father left behind! How could you just stand by and watch him get beaten like that?!” “If your parents knew about this, they’d be rolling in their graves!” I casually typed a reply: “If my dad knew his own sister just stood by and watched her nephew get beaten, he’d be rolling in his grave.” “Why don’t you do a good deed and pay off the debt for him?” Kyle immediately seized the opportunity, spamming the chat with “Thank you, Aunt Brenda!” and “Aunt Brenda, you’re the best!” He expertly hoisted Aunt Brenda onto a pedestal she couldn’t climb down from. Her son instantly chimed in: “If you dare pay a single cent of his debt, I am disowning you! You can just adopt him and let him be your son!” Seeing this, Aunt Brenda quickly backpedaled, stating that she couldn’t make financial decisions for her household and couldn’t help with the money. However, she was more than willing to discipline me, the “ungrateful daughter,” on behalf of my dead parents. “Regardless of everything, blood is thicker than water! You are the older sister! Now that your mom is gone, the eldest sister is like a mother! You have to take care of him! Look at the suffering he’s going through right now!” “As his aunt, watching this feels like a knife twisting in my heart!” I watched her performance with an emotionless expression. Aunt Brenda finally revealed her true objective. “Chloe, your aunt knows things haven’t been easy for you either. But right now, saving Kyle is the priority. I actually have a solution, it just depends on whether you’re willing to make a sacrifice for this family.” “The Director of my agency, Director Miller, has a son. He’s a very honest, well-behaved guy. It’s just that he had a severe fever when he was a kid, so his brain works a little slower than normal people. But he absolutely never causes trouble.” “The Miller family is loaded! They live in a massive mansion! They don’t mind your current financial situation at all. As long as you agree to marry him, you can name your price for the bridal price.” “You’d be marrying into a wealthy family, you’d save your brother, and you’d secure your own future! It’s a win-win-win situation!” The group chat exploded. Everyone started chiming in to support her. “Chloe, your aunt really found a great way out for you!” “Chloe, if you marry into high society, don’t forget about us poor relatives!” “Kyle, you better remember your sister’s sacrifice for the rest of your life.” I almost laughed out loud. His brain works a little slower? I bet if they “cured” him, he’d still be drooling on himself. This wasn’t setting me up on a date. This was blatantly trying to sell me off as a commodity so she could curry favor with her boss! I quickly shut down her beautiful fantasy. “Since the conditions are so amazing, please don’t waste it on an outsider like me. You should have your own daughter marry him! I wouldn’t dream of stealing such a prime opportunity from her.” “Or, even better, just have Kyle marry him! He marries into a rich family, pays off his debt—it’s the perfect solution! Just tell Director Miller not to be too strict on the gender requirement.” Kyle was absolutely furious. “Chloe, don’t be a stuck-up bitch!” “What the hell do you think you are right now?! No parents, drowning in debt! Who besides the Millers would even look twice at you?!”

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Five years after our divorce, I crossed paths with Silas Thorne in a tattoo parlor. He was there to touch up the color on his lover’s name, etched across his chest. I was there to mask old scars on my wrist. Years had passed, and for a long moment, we just stared at each other in silence. Silas was finally about to speak when a pair of small hands grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Daddy,” a little boy piped up, looking at me with undisguised curiosity. “Who is she?” A gust of wind off the ocean set the wind chimes on the porch clinking, breaking the heavy quiet. “I’m a customer,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Just like your dad. Here for a tattoo.” The little boy tilted his head. “Do you know my daddy?” “Leo.” Silas’s tone held a sharp edge of warning. The little boy puffed out his cheeks and fell silent. “No, I don’t,” I answered him anyway. “We’re strangers.” Silas’s expression darkened perceptibly. The shop owner tapped the counter, his gaze shifting between us. “Who’s first?” Silas had been leaning casually against the bar, but now he stood up straight, locking eyes with me. “Her.” He was wearing a white linen button-down paired with silver-gray dress pants. The top buttons were undone, revealing a good portion of his fit chest. Over his left pectoral, there was a tattoo in English script. It was partially obscured, but I knew exactly whose name it was. Even though that name hadn’t been written over Silas’s heart when we divorced. “First come, first served,” I said with polite formality. “This gentleman should go first.” Before Silas could reply, his phone vibrated on the counter. In a fleeting second, I saw the screen display “Wife.” He slammed his hand down on the phone to kill the screen, his first instinct to look at me. I simply turned and walked toward the lounge area. Behind me, I heard the boy’s excited query: “Was that Mommy?” Silas had a naturally cool voice, but he tended to lower his register when he was coaxing someone. It was soft and low now, blending with the cello music playing in the shop. I looked down, gently stirring my coffee, when a childish voice right beside my ear chirped, “Excuse me, ma’am.” I turned to find the little boy leaning over the armrest of my chair, watching me. He was fair-skinned and delicate-looking, with a scholarly air about him. He was truly adorable. So adorable that, even knowing whose child he was, I couldn’t bring myself to feel any resentment toward him. “I have to tell you, you look a lot like my mommy,” the boy said, whispering like he was sharing a massive secret. “She’s a super famous, super pretty movie star.” “Then you must look a lot like her.” The boy’s eyes lit up instantly, and he seemed about to climb into the chair with me, but a large hand pressed down on the top of his head. Silas patted the boy’s head. “Go wait in the car with Mr. Miller.” I raised an eyebrow and turned to see the middle-aged man standing behind Silas—someone who had been with him for years. Our eyes met, and he looked utterly shocked, with an undercurrent of awkwardness. “…Ms. Vance.” I nodded calmly, feeling a slight pang of nostalgia at the reunion. “Mr. Miller.” Silas scooped the boy up into his arms. As he stood, a silver gleam flashed from his wrist. It was his watch—a Patek Philippe, a style he never would have chosen in the past. On his ring finger, he wore a simple band—understated luxury. In our two years of marriage, Silas had never worn a wedding ring. True love really is true love. I took a sip of my coffee. All these years later, she still hadn’t become just another scar. Mr. Miller led the boy away, but Silas remained standing in front of my booth. “Chloe,” he said. It was the first time he’d used my first name. “How have you been all these years?” My coffee was half finished. I set the cup down. “Quite well, thank you for asking.” After a long silence, the shadow over me vanished as Silas followed the owner upstairs to the second floor. The cello music faded out, replaced by a slow, calm piano melody—much like my heart in that moment. The studio owner was an internationally renowned tattoo artist. His custom hand-drawn designs were nearly impossible to get, and he only accepted two clients a day. What a striking coincidence this was. My gaze scanned the designs lining the walls, stopping abruptly on the central piece. It depicted a red lip tattoo on the inside of a man’s thigh. The man in the design was sitting on the floor with one leg bent, wearing a black silk robe over black boxer briefs. A light pink lip print was seductively placed in that intimate area. The shape of the lips was beautiful, the lines clean, creating a dark, tension-filled contrast against the bronze skin. It was a mark left by a woman between a man’s legs. “Ms. Vance.” The owner’s voice behind me snapped me back to reality. “Right this way, please.” I turned to see Silas coming down the spiral staircase, the collar of his shirt now buttoned all the way up. I asked, “That fast?” “He’s being erratic. Decided not to get the touch-up after all.” The owner was clearly well-acquainted with Silas. He told me, “You go on upstairs.” Silas walked to the foot of the stairs and stopped. He jammed one hand into his pocket, his face expressionless. He stood over me, his gaze heavy and dark. We stared at each other in silence, but all I could think about was the last time we were intimate. After kissing, we got into bed, and I saw that red lip tattoo on his inner thigh. The clock on the wall chimed. I grabbed my bag and headed for the stairs. As I brushed past Silas, he gripped my wrist. He squeezed hard, his watch pressing painfully into my skin. “Chloe,” Silas said, his voice raspy. “Are you determined to pretend we’re strangers?” I didn’t struggle against his grip. I looked into his eyes, and there was absolutely nothing there. “Being able to pretend we’re strangers is me showing you respect.” He froze, then slowly let go of my hand, rubbing his fingertips together, his emotions seemingly cooling. “I know you still hate me.” Silas always had this knack for holding onto control, for never letting himself be embarrassed, no matter the situation. Just like back then, when the photo of him kissing Maya Sterling became the top trending topic, he faced me with this exact same composure. Except back then, I was hysterical. Faced with my husband’s calm demeanor, I looked like a raving lunatic. “You overestimate yourself.” I took a few steps up the stairs, my tone detached and cold. “Our relationship now isn’t significant enough for hate.” Silas seemed about to say something else, but I didn’t care. I turned and continued upstairs. The studio’s decor was highly unique—post-modern, empty, and quiet. The owner was at his computer confirming my tattoo design, and an assistant was preparing my skin. I took off the leather strap watch on my right wrist, looping it off in three rotations. The fleshy pink, yet gruesome, scar on my wrist was revealed. “This spot on the wrist hurts a lot,” the owner said, unfazed by the sight. “Just so you’re mentally prepared.” I smiled slightly. “It shouldn’t hurt as much as when I first slit it.” Two scars, one deeper than the other. When the numbing agent wore off, the owner confirmed the design with me one last time before transferring the stencil lines. It was a clear, clean-cut image of a blue butterfly with outstretched wings. “Because of the location, you might need a touch-up later on.” The owner put on a face mask. “But I guarantee I can mask the scar perfectly for you.” “Do all tattoos need touch-ups?” “No. In Silas’s case, it’s because of his skin type.” The owner didn’t hide the fact that he knew Silas. “Giving him a tattoo is actually kind of bad for my reputation.” I didn’t say anything. Having been in a real marriage with Silas for two years, I obviously knew he had a sensitive skin type. Back then, Silas didn’t really like me leaving marks on him during intimacy. Now, however, even though it was tedious enough to require frequent touch-ups, he still had Maya’s name tattooed over his heart. And he had Maya’s kiss mark tattooed on his inner thigh. As the first needle pricked my wrist, I inevitably flinched from the sharp pain, knitting my brows. The owner suddenly said, “Tell me the story behind your scar.” I was slightly taken aback, then laughed. “What, do tattoo artists have a hobby of collecting stories now?” In the court of public opinion today, Silas Thorne was seen as having won at life. In business, he had caught the right wind and expanded his territory, rising steadily. In love, he was perfectly matched with a popular starlet, living a picture-perfect, happy family life. “When I met Silas, he was already married to Maya Sterling,” the owner said. “And Maya looks incredibly similar to you.” I smiled, pulling a cigarette case from my bag. “Mind if I smoke?” The owner shook his head. I blew a smoke ring, thought for a moment, and said slowly, “I’m Silas’s ex-wife.” Silas and I met in college. He was a year ahead of me in the same major, and when he started his own company, he recruited me. While Advanced Tech is practically an industry giant now, at the very beginning, there were only two people. Silas had incredibly high standards. He was a prominent figure on campus, and countless people submitted resumes. “But I was the only one who stayed.” I squinted through the smoke. “Silas was extremely arrogant back then, walked around with his nose in the air. I was the very last person he interviewed.” Nobody held out much hope. I thought he was way too full of himself, and he spent the whole day interviewing, thinking everyone was an idiot—including me. “But that day, we talked all night, right until dawn. He stuck his hand out to me and said, ‘Pleasure doing business with you.’” “We shared the same philosophy, the same goals. Silas had massive ambition.” I tapped the ash from my cigarette. “And as it turns out, my ambition wasn’t small either.” For those first two years as Advanced Tech was getting off the ground, Silas and I rented an apartment off-campus. We pounded the pavement for business together, pulled in investments together. Silas was my mentor; he taught me everything about interpersonal skills and professional knowledge, without holding anything back. On the night of my twenty-second birthday, Silas and I pulled an all-nighter writing code. As dawn broke, he leaned against the windowsill and lit a cigarette. “He asked me,” I took a drag, “if I knew how to smoke.” I leaned in, curious, and immediately choked, tears streaming down my face. Silas started laughing, pulled me to him, pressed me against his chest, and kissed me. After the kiss ended, he asked me another question: Did I want to marry him? The vibration on my wrist stopped for a second. The owner said, “That’s an odd way to put it. Shouldn’t he have asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend?” I laughed, too, as if I were telling someone else’s story, watching it with the detached calm of a bystander. “I said yes. And that same day, we secured our very first round of investment.” “Riding the high wave of artificial intelligence, Advanced Tech soared, making a name for itself in the industry within just one short year.” “The day Advanced Tech’s core team was established, I was appointed Chief Operating Officer, and Silas took me home to meet his family.” “That was when I found out that the ‘Thorne’ in his name was that Thorne family—the shipping magnates.” The Thorne family made their fortune in shipping, and with three generations of accumulated wealth, they were a deeply entrenched, top-tier dynasty in the city. Naturally, the marriage was met with opposition, but since Silas had the courage to break away from the family and start his own business, he wasn’t about to be controlled regarding his marriage. “Silas fought them for two years. He was so stubborn his father beat him bad enough to put him in the hospital, and he didn’t cave even under immense pressure from countless relatives.” The ash fell silently from my cigarette. I watched it for a long moment before whispering, “When Advanced Tech got its first major round of financing, we got married.” “The wedding was simple, held on a small island that Silas later bought and put in my name, calling it ‘Haven Isle’.” The owner completely stopped outlining the tattoo. I nodded. “The very island we’re on now.” “Before the wedding, Silas signed an agreement. Putting aside the founding shares I had in Advanced Tech, he transferred every bit of liquid cash he could move into a trust for me.” “He said he wanted Advanced Tech to be my biggest support system.” “Back then, everyone marveled at how deeply Silas loved me. The financial entanglement was so deep that it left absolutely no room for a clean divorce.” “I used to think so, too.” My cigarette had mostly burned down. I extinguished it in the ashtray. “Until the first year of our marriage, when he personally selected Maya Sterling to be the face of Advanced Tech.” I had once asked Silas why he had chosen a completely obscure actress. “Don’t you think,” Silas had said back then, pointing at Maya’s massive billboard, “that she looks exactly like you did back in college?” “She captures eighty percent of your essence,” Silas had said, laughing before I could answer, “but her head is empty—a total airhead.” “Maya shot to fame very quickly.” The owner’s voice pulled me from my memories. “If I recall correctly, she became famous at nineteen.” “Yes.” I remembered something. “Less than a year after becoming the spokesperson, she was famous across the country.” “The day she won the Best Newcomer Award was Silas’s twenty-fifth birthday. We had plans for dinner.” “But I waited two hours, and he never came back. His phone was off, and I couldn’t reach Mr. Miller either.” “Until 8:00 PM, when a trending topic exploded out of nowhere: Maya Sterling caught in a passionate kiss with a mystery man.” “I clicked on it.” I looked up at the owner and smiled. “The mystery man was my husband.” They were kissing so passionately, pressing Maya up against the car front, making the car shake. Silas, usually so calm and arrogant, his first instinct upon spotting the camera was to press the slender Maya into his embrace. The video froze on the moment Silas stared at the camera with chillingly cold eyes. I masochistically watched it over and over again, my tears dripping onto the screen, landing right on Maya’s profile as she buried her face in Silas’s chest. It was almost identical to me in my college days. I found out the whole story. Maya had been harassed at a dinner party, and Silas had stepped in to help. From then on, Maya’s career skyrocketed, with countless top-tier industry resources being handed to her. When I slammed the documentation down in front of Silas, he didn’t offer an explanation, nor did he panic. He lit a cigarette and asked me, “What do you want to do?” “Shares, or a new project?” Silas had said. “We can negotiate anything, as long as we keep Maya out of it. It wasn’t easy for her to get to where she is today.” Silas’s calm attitude turned me into a lunatic. I had grown up without a father figure, so Silas represented a father figure substitute for me. He was my mentor first, and only later became my husband. During those years Advanced Tech was expanding, I was stretched thin and lacked experience; it was Silas who was behind me, teaching me step-by-step. To ensure I was secure in marrying him, he had built a solid wall around me using the most practical financial interests. I never imagined this wall would come crashing down, and in such a repulsive manner. “So you used all the connections you had to get Maya blacklisted,” the owner said. “But you failed.” “And the failure was particularly devastating,” I said, laughing at myself. “Back then, I actually still held onto a shred of hope, thinking it was just a fling, or that Silas had temporarily lost his mind.” “Don’t look at me like that.” I looked at the owner. “I was too young back then.” But Silas’s subsequent counterattack slapped me in the face. He used the most aggressive stance to suppress the trending topic and saved Maya’s career. A week later, the blacklisted Maya was spectacularly announced as the lead actress in a major director’s film. The first pink scar became the outline of the butterfly’s lower wing—so blue. The sharp pain in my wrist turned numb. I watched it for a long moment. “That’s how the first scar came about.” “Maya came to find me, using the exact same face I had in college, begging me to let her and Silas be together.” “You see, being loved can make someone stupid.” I sighed. “She actually said the one who isn’t loved is the real interloper.” So I launched a second wave of retaliation against Maya, hiring countless marketing accounts to expose her true colors as a home-wrecker. The atmosphere grew silent, with only the vibration of the tattoo gun. It had already been five years. All the love and hate had been worn down by the river of time, but this one thing— “Silas used Advanced Tech to threaten me.” My voice went rigid. “He used the blood and sweat we had poured into building it together to control me.” When Advanced Tech was first established, it was because of Silas’s inherent arrogance; he wasn’t willing to rely on his family’s support for everything. Advanced Tech went from nothing to something, and only he and I truly knew the hardships involved. I controlled the core product technical team, yet for Maya, Silas was willing to let Advanced Tech fall apart. “You only have Advanced Tech. But I still have the Thorne family empire.” Silas was still calm even during the ugliest parts of the fight. “Chloe, everything you’ve achieved today was given to you by me. Including Advanced Tech.” “I really was too young back then.” I don’t know how many times I had marveled at this. “When the trending topic about Silas and Maya checking into a hotel exploded, it was exactly on our first wedding anniversary.” “I saw that red lip tattoo on Silas’s inner thigh, and that’s when I got the first scar on my wrist.” When I woke up in the hospital, Silas was at my side, holding me in his arms with red eyes. For the first time, I chose to compromise. Because I was pregnant—three months along. “If that child had been able to be born back then, they would probably be about the same age as that boy just now.” I felt a slight trace of melancholy, laughing at myself, controlling the urge to take out another cigarette. I paused for a small moment before gathering the courage to continue. “Because of the pregnancy, I gave up on the divorce. This child could not only inherit Advanced Tech but would also have the Thorne empire.” “The marriage was already a total mess. Silas had destroyed all my fantasies about love, but this was indeed a safe bet with no chance of loss.” Silas had perfectly achieved a balance between the two women. I became magnanimous, swallowing the grievances and swallowing blood, handling my husband’s scandals with the popular female star over and over again. Maya’s career was going from strength to strength, and a group of crazy ‘shippers’ for her and Silas had even been born. Until the seventh month. On my way home from Advanced Tech, I was rear-ended by a car driven by a fanatical Maya Sterling ‘shipper’. “…The child was born prematurely. When I woke up,” I went silent for a long moment before producing a sound, “only I survived.”

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Chloe sat on the hard plastic chair in the hospital corridor, her fingers white-knuckling a diagnostic report. A few cold, clinical words jumped off the page, piercing her eyes like needles. “Primary Infertility.” The doctor’s voice still echoed in her ears. “With your specific condition, natural conception is highly unlikely. Essentially… you cannot have children.” Her boyfriend of five years, Mark Jenkins, sat right beside her. He hadn’t said a word. From the moment she was handed the report, he had been completely silent. Chloe’s heart sank, inch by inch, as if she were plunging into a frozen lake. She reached out, wanting to hold his hand. Mark recoiled violently, snatching his hand away as if she had burned him. His eyes darted away, refusing to look at her. “Mark…” Chloe’s voice was dry and raspy. “I… I need some space.” Mark stood up, dropped those words, and walked away without looking back. Watching his retreating figure, Chloe felt every ounce of strength drain from her body. For the next three days, Mark didn’t call. He didn’t text. Chloe locked herself in her apartment, feeling like a ghost abandoned by the entire world. Five years. From their college campus to entering the workforce, they had survived being broke together and built dreams for their future together. They had even put a deposit down on a wedding dress and were planning to go to the courthouse to get their marriage license next month. But a single piece of paper had shattered everything. On the fourth day, the doorbell rang. Chloe thought it was Mark. She forced her exhausted body up to open the door. Standing on the porch was Mark’s mother, Susan Jenkins. Her face was made of ice. The way she looked at Chloe was like inspecting a defective piece of merchandise. “Mrs. Jenkins,” Chloe said, her voice barely a whisper. Susan ignored her, marched straight into the living room, and slapped a cashier’s check down on the coffee table. “There’s ten thousand dollars here.” “My Mark cannot marry a hen that won’t lay eggs.” A loud ringing filled Chloe’s head. Everything went blank. “Mrs. Jenkins, Mark and I have been together for five years…” “Can five years of feelings put food on the table? Can feelings give the Jenkins family a grandson?” Susan’s voice was shrill and biting. “Chloe, I suggest you look in the mirror and know your place. Stop holding my son back.” “The Jenkins family line has been passed down from father to son for three generations. It is not ending with him!” Looking at Susan’s face, twisted with agitation, the last sliver of hope in Chloe’s heart died. She smiled, but it looked worse than crying. “So, this is what Mark wants?” Susan let out a huff, essentially confirming it. “He’s a man, he feels bad saying it to your face. As his mother, I have to be the bad guy.” “The engagement is off.” “Don’t ever contact Mark again.” Having completed her mission, Susan turned on her heel to leave. At the door, she paused and looked back at Chloe. Her eyes were filled with a sickening mix of pity and absolute disdain. “Oh, by the way. My son is getting married next month. The bride is the daughter of the City Planning Director. She’s already pregnant.” The door slammed shut. Chloe stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed. So, he didn’t “need some space.” He was using his silence to force her to let go. He was using her diagnosis as a convenient, righteous excuse to seamlessly transition to his new, wealthy, pregnant fiancée. Five years. It was all just a sick joke. Chloe slowly sank to the floor, buried her face in her knees, and finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Six months is enough time for a city to change its skyline. It’s also enough time for a person’s heart to turn to ash. Chloe chopped off her long hair, transferred to a different department at work, and tried her hardest to look nothing like her past self. But the gaping hole in her chest refused to close. She still heard about Mark’s wedding through office gossip. Word was, it was an incredibly lavish affair. The bride had a visible baby bump and looked radiant. When Chloe heard this, she just kept typing at her keyboard, expressionless, as if listening to a story about strangers. Only she knew that she drank an entire bottle of Cabernet that night. Life became stagnant, like a dead pool of water—no ripples, no expectations. Until the newly appointed Department Director, Barbara Hayes, sought her out. Barbara was a woman in her late fifties, sharp, capable, and rarely smiled. Yet, that afternoon, she did something unprecedented. She called Chloe into her office and personally poured her a cup of coffee. “Chloe, you’ve been in this department for almost six months now. How are you settling in?” “It’s going well. Thank you for asking, Director,” Chloe replied respectfully. Barbara nodded, her eyes assessing Chloe, calculating something. “And… your personal life? Have you given that any thought?” Chloe’s chest tightened. Why was she suddenly asking about this? “I… haven’t really thought about it.” Barbara smiled, her tone suddenly turning conspiratorial. “I’ve heard about your situation.” All the color drained from Chloe’s face. Her infertility was a brand of shame. She never spoke of it to anyone. “Director…” “Don’t panic.” Barbara waved a hand, leaning forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Actually, the reason I called you in is because I want to set you up with someone.” Chloe was stunned. “My son, Arthur.” For the first time, a look of helplessness and embarrassment crossed Barbara’s usually stoic face. “He… he’s a great guy, really. It’s just… physically, he has a minor issue.” She paused, seemingly weighing her words. “Just like you, he can’t have children.” Chloe felt like a sledgehammer had slammed into her chest. She stared at Barbara, completely unsure how to react. “I know this reality is cruel for you young folks.” “But life has to go on, doesn’t it?” “You two are in the same unique boat. You understand each other’s pain. Neither of you has any right to judge the other.” “Just make do. Partner up and build a life together. It’s better than growing old alone.” Make do. Partner up. Those words stung Chloe’s nerves like needles. Had her life really been reduced to a state where she just had to “make do”? She wanted to refuse. But looking at Barbara’s eyes, filled with expectation and a hint of pleading, the word “no” got stuck in her throat. Maybe Barbara was right. What right did a barren woman have to demand romance or look forward to the future? Finding another defective person, forming a broken family, keeping each other warm, and licking each other’s wounds. Perhaps, this was the best ending she could hope for. “Director,” Chloe looked up, her eyes dead. “I… I’m willing to meet him.” Barbara let out a long sigh of relief, a heavy weight lifting from her shoulders. “Good, good girl. I knew you were sensible.” A week later, Chloe and Arthur met at a local coffee shop. He was taller and leaner than in his photo, wearing a crisp white button-down and jeans. He had a clean, sharp look. But there was an unshakable melancholy between his brows. Throughout the meeting, he barely spoke. Chloe did most of the talking; he just listened. At the very end, he looked at Chloe and asked one serious question. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” Chloe offered a self-deprecating smile. “Do people like us really have a choice?” Arthur fell silent. After a long moment, he nodded. “Alright. Then let’s… get married.” No proposal. No ring. Not even an “I like you.” From the very beginning, their union was nothing more than an unspoken agreement to “make do.” A month later, they went to the courthouse. The reception was painfully simple—just a dinner at a restaurant with close relatives from both sides. At the dinner table, Chloe spotted Susan Jenkins. Susan had tagged along with a distant relative of Arthur’s, staring at Chloe with undisguised schadenfreude. “Well, if it isn’t Chloe! Married again so soon? I hear this one… is firing blanks too? Oh my, you two really are a match made in heaven!” Her shrill, vicious words plunged the entire table into a suffocating, awkward silence. Chloe’s hand, gripping her fork, trembled violently. Just then, a large, warm hand covered hers. It was Arthur. He looked calmly at Susan, his tone flat. “Whether we can have kids or not is none of your concern.” “Instead of worrying about us, you should spend that energy figuring out if the baby in your daughter-in-law’s belly actually belongs to the Jenkins family.” Susan’s face instantly turned the color of bruised plum. Married life was as placid as still water. Arthur was a quiet man. When he was home, he was either reading or tending to his houseplants. He didn’t say much, but he was incredibly considerate. He remembered that Chloe hated cilantro. He quietly handled all the household chores. When she worked late, he always left a porch light on and a bowl of hot soup on the stove. They lived like polite roommates—respectful, courteous, but emotionally distant. Neither dared to touch the other’s deepest scar. The word “child” was never spoken. Barbara, however, visited frequently, always bringing expensive vitamins and supplements. “Chloe, you need to take care of your health. It’s pitiful enough that you can’t have kids; you can’t let your body break down on top of it.” She muttered variations of this every time. Chloe just listened silently, her emotions a tangled mess. Sometimes, she thought this life wasn’t so bad. No arguments, no expectations, which meant no crushing disappointments. Until that day. For several weeks, she had been feeling nauseous, incredibly lethargic, and completely drained of energy. At first, she thought she was just overworked and had caught a stomach bug. But when the smell of Arthur’s cooking made her sprint to the bathroom to dry heave, an absurd, impossible thought popped into her head. Trembling, she drove to Walgreens and bought a pregnancy test. When she saw those two distinct pink lines, Chloe felt her entire world collapse. She didn’t believe it. She drove to the hospital like a madwoman, demanded a walk-in appointment, and underwent a battery of tests. When the OB-GYN looked at the ultrasound and smiled, saying, “Congratulations, it’s twins. Looks like a boy and a girl,” Chloe only heard a deafening roar in her ears. How was this possible? Wasn’t she diagnosed with “Primary Infertility”? Wasn’t she told she would never be a mother? Clutching the ultrasound printout, she stumbled back home in a daze. Arthur wasn’t home from work yet. Barbara wasn’t there either. The living room was empty. She was entirely alone. She sat on the sofa, her hands shaking violently. That thin piece of photo paper felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Twins. A boy and a girl. For any normal family, this would be the greatest news in the world. But for her, it was the ultimate mockery. A massive, suffocating lie had trapped her in its net. The doctor told her she couldn’t conceive. Barbara told her Arthur couldn’t conceive. That was the only reason they had “made do” and gotten married. But now, she was pregnant. With Arthur’s children. So, who exactly was lying? Did the original doctor misdiagnose her? Or was it… Barbara? Did she invent a lie about her son to make her “defective” daughter-in-law feel secure in the marriage? Or maybe… A far more terrifying thought slithered into Chloe’s mind like a venomous snake. Mark and Susan! Was it them? To cleanly break the engagement and latch onto the City Planner’s wealthy daughter, did they bribe the doctor to forge that diagnostic report?! Once the thought surfaced, she couldn’t suppress it. A bone-chilling cold started in Chloe’s fingertips and crept straight to her heart. If that were true… Then what was the point of the agony, humiliation, and despair she had suffered for the past six months? She had been discarded like garbage, treated as a running joke. Her entire life trajectory had been maliciously rewritten. Just then, the front door clicked open. Arthur was home. He saw Chloe sitting on the sofa, pale as a ghost, staring blankly ahead with a piece of paper clutched in her hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked, walking over with genuine concern. Chloe slowly looked up and handed the ultrasound to him. “I’m pregnant.” Her voice was as light as a feather, but in the quiet living room, it hit like a tidal wave. Arthur’s pupils contracted sharply. He stared at the ultrasound, his expression an incredibly complex mix of emotions. Shock. Confusion. And a tiny, barely perceptible flash of… joy. He was silent for a long time before he finally looked up at Chloe. “Is this real?” Chloe nodded, her eyes swimming in confusion and pain. “Arthur, tell me the truth. Did you know all along that you… that you could have kids?” That was the least horrifying scenario she could think of right now. Arthur looked at her, his gaze deep and searching. He shook his head. “I didn’t know.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “My mother always told me that a severe fever when I was a toddler caused permanent damage, making me sterile.” “All these years, I believed her.” Chloe’s heart plummeted again. If Arthur was telling the truth, there was only one possibility left. That original diagnostic report was a fake. “Where… which hospital did you get tested at originally?” Arthur asked, his tone turning analytical. “City General. The Head of Obstetrics, Dr. Wallace.” Chloe spat out the name she would never forget as long as she lived. Arthur frowned. “Dr. Wallace?” “You know him?” Chloe asked instantly. Arthur nodded. “He was the mentor to a senior colleague of mine at the law firm. He has a stellar reputation in the medical community. It doesn’t seem like something he would do.” “But the proof is right here!” Chloe’s voice rose, bordering on hysterical. “If it wasn’t him, who else could it be?” Arthur walked over and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t panic yet. Something isn’t right here.” “We can’t just guess.” His hands were steady. His voice was steady. It carried a grounding, reassuring power. Chloe slowly forced herself to breathe.

My boyfriend’s adopted sister claimed to be the ultimate advocate for “loving herself.” During working hours, she flipped the main breaker for the entire office floor, causing everyone to lose half a day’s worth of unsaved work. She just giggled and said, “I was sooo sleepy, but it wasn’t time to clock out yet. So I listened to my body and flipped the breaker for my own mental health!” “Treat yourself! See you guys tomorrow!” To reduce her own workload, she took it upon herself to reply to a VIP client I had been courting for six months: “The price is non-negotiable. Take it or leave it.” The client was so furious they blocked us entirely. The multi-million dollar deal evaporated. When I confronted her, she acted cute and innocent. “I didn’t mean to mess it up!” “I just saw myself getting stressed, so I set my boundaries and went into boss mode! Hehe, I’m so good at prioritizing my peace!” I expressed my frustration to my boyfriend. But he just brushed it off, saying there was nothing wrong with a girl treating herself better, and told me to stop being so petty. That is, until the night of the company’s annual gala. A fire suddenly broke out in the hotel corridor while I was out there checking the venue decorations. His adopted sister blocked the only fire exit door from the other side, looking incredibly smug. “I realized I hadn’t taken any good pictures today, and the lighting right here is absolutely perfect!” “Watch me snap a flawless selfie set!” By the time she finished taking her photos, I had been burned alive in that hallway. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day she flipped the office breaker. This lifetime, her whole brand is “loving herself,” right? Fine. I’ll let her love herself straight to hell. “I really wanted a matcha latte but I didn’t want to spend my own money, so I listened to my inner child, manifested it, and ordered one as a gift to myself!” “Treat yourself! See you guys tomorrow!” A sickeningly familiar voice suddenly rang in my ears. I snapped my eyes open to find Chloe Brooks swiping on her phone, giggling and muttering to herself. After finishing her little monologue, she leaned in close to my face, pretending to be earnest. “Stella, you really need to prioritize your self-care more. Otherwise, you wouldn’t look like this in your twenties…” She pointed to the corner of her own eye. “You’re already getting crow’s feet! Watch out, or my brother might dump you~” Hearing the exact same dialogue from my past life, I finally dared to confirm it: I had been reborn! After saying her piece, Chloe tilted her head, waiting for my reaction. In my last life, I was shaking with anger but forced a polite smile. This lifetime, I just touched the corner of my eye and smiled warmly at her. “You’re absolutely right.” “I really do need to treat myself better.” Chloe let out a satisfied hum and turned her attention back to her phone. “Exactly! Oh, that new viral boba shop downstairs is doing a buy-one-get-one for the first hundred customers! I’m making a run for it!” She bounced up, grabbed her purse, and dashed toward the door. At the entrance, she turned back and shouted into the bullpen: “Anyone want to jump on a group order? If you order now, you get it instantly!” Nobody answered her. Everyone was glued to their screens, keyboards clattering frantically. Proposals had to be submitted before 3:00 PM. Chloe pouted. “You guys are so boring.” She pulled the door open and skipped out, humming a tune. I sat back in my chair and looked at my computer. The time on the bottom right corner of the screen read: 1:55 PM. There were exactly five minutes left before she flipped the breaker. I turned back to my keyboard, typed a quick command, and hit Enter. The screen flashed: [Cloud Backup Initiated.] Then, I reached down and unplugged my computer’s power cord from the wall. Clean and decisive. Mia, the intern in the next cubicle, peeked over and whispered, “Stella, what are you doing?” I looked at the 3D model rendering halfway on her screen and said, “Save your work. Right now.” Mia blinked, muttered an “okay,” and quickly hit Ctrl+S. But for everyone else, it was too late. Click. A sharp, mechanical snap echoed through the floor. The overhead lights, the glowing monitors, the hum of the servers—everything was instantly severed. Pitch black. Followed by a dead, eerie silence. And then, the entire office lost its mind. “MY DOCUMENT!!!” “I DIDN’T SAVE!!!” “THE CLIENT FILES! I SPENT THREE DAYS ON THIS PITCH!” “THE SERVERS! DID THE SERVERS JUST CRASH?!” “MY RENDER! IT’S BEEN RUNNING FOR EIGHT HOURS!” In the darkness, desperate wails and furious curses exploded simultaneously. By the electrical panel, Chloe’s cheerful voice rang out: “Huh? Why did it go dark?” She held up her phone, using the flashlight to illuminate her own face. “This is great! Since the power is out, does that mean we can clock out early?” Brenda from Accounting was shaking, her voice trembling. “Clock out? Chloe! Did you touch the breaker?! I just lost three hours of financial modeling! Corporate needs this before five o’clock!” Chloe strolled over, shining her phone flashlight right into Brenda’s fury-twisted face. “Brenda, if the spreadsheet is gone, just make it again.” “Treat yourself better. Don’t get so angry, anger gives you wrinkles.” Brenda nearly choked on her own breath, clutching her chest. Mark, the Project Lead, shot up from his desk. “Chlo. E. Brooks.” Every word sounded like it was being ground out between his teeth. “I was on a Zoom call with our European headquarters! Right! Now! Flip that breaker back ON!” Chloe acted startled by his anger, taking a step back and pouting. “Mark, why are you being so toxic… It’s not my fault the power went out, I’m not an electrician.” “YOU FLIPPED IT!!” Mark roared. “I just wanted to see what would happen,” Chloe’s voice took on a layer of grievance. “I was just manifesting clocking out early, and my hand just moved on its own… How can you blame me for that?” She turned, her flashlight sweeping over to me like she’d found her savior. “Stella! Look at them! They’re all blaming me! I was just prioritizing my peace, what did I do wrong?!” Every eye in the room turned to me. I picked up the cup of lukewarm coffee on my desk and took a sip. I smiled and said, “Prioritizing your peace? Nothing wrong with that at all.” Right as I spoke, the office doors were violently pushed open. The executive assistant, holding a heavy-duty emergency lantern, stepped aside. Liam Sterling walked in. His tailored suit was immaculate, but his face was darker than the powerless office. “Who did this.” Those three words suffocated all other noise in the room. Everyone’s gaze immediately shot to Chloe. Her hand trembled, and she shrank toward my direction. “Liam… I-I didn’t mean to… The breaker just…” Liam cut her off, his eyes locking onto my face. “Who is the manager in charge here.” In my last life, this was the moment I stood up, took the blame, said “It was my failure in oversight,” and pulled an all-nighter cleaning up her mess. This lifetime, I met Liam’s gaze and smiled. “Liam,” I said softly. “We really need to thank Chloe for this.” Chloe’s eyes lit up. I raised my lukewarm coffee. “Chloe was just teaching us a valuable lesson. A person needs to prioritize their own peace.” “Look at her. The moment she prioritized her peace and wanted to clock out, her hand just moved on its own and the breaker flipped itself.” “So efficient.” “I think this is a fantastic mindset. So I’m going to learn from her and treat myself better too.” “For example, right now.” I checked my phone. “It’s officially clock-out time. All my work for the day was just wiped out anyway. So I’ve decided…” “I. Am. Not. Working. Overtime.” The entire room fell into a deathly silence. Everyone was absolutely floored by my declaration. Mark was the first to shout: “Mr. Sterling! What kind of attitude is this from Stella?! My international conference call! The damages to the company!” Brenda burst into tears: “The financials… Corporate is breathing down my neck…” Mia the intern gritted her teeth: “Mr. Sterling, I lost an eight-hour render…” Liam stared at me. “Stella, do you have any idea what you’re saying right now?” “I do.” I set my cup down. “I’m just putting the company’s ’employee wellness’ initiatives into practice. Chloe led by example, and I think the whole company should learn from her.” Chloe nodded frantically. “Yes, exactly! Liam, I just wanted everyone to get off work early and decompress! Good vibes only!” A vein throbbed on Liam’s temple. He looked at Chloe. “Chloe, no matter what, you cannot touch the main breaker. The company is taking a massive loss.” Chloe’s lip quivered, and her eyes instantly rimmed with red. “Liam… you’re yelling at me…” “I just had a little slip of the hand…” “They were all attacking me, and Stella was making fun of me… and now even you’re blaming me…” Tears materialized on cue, rolling down her cheeks. “I said I was sorry… stop being mad at me…” “You never used to yell at me…” Liam stood rigidly, looking down at her. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and raised a hand to pat her back. “Enough. Just don’t do it again.” Then, he looked up at me, and the room full of shell-shocked employees. “The incident has already happened.” “The priority now is damage control.” “Everyone, stay back. Mandatory overtime. We recover whatever we can.” “As for accountability…” He paused. “Stella, as the department director, your lack of oversight is unacceptable. Your salary and annual bonus for this month are docked.” “Chloe, a fifty-dollar fine as a formal warning.” Hiding behind Liam’s back, Chloe secretly stuck her tongue out at me. Liam turned to leave. “Mr. Sterling.” I called out to him, grabbing my purse and standing up. “As for overtime, I won’t be participating. Chloe is right, we need to treat ourselves better. If you want to penalize me, go ahead.” I walked to the door and paused. “From now on, whoever wants to clock out early, just go flip the breaker yourself. It saves time and it’s highly efficient.” I pulled the door open and walked out. Behind me, I could faintly hear Liam’s suppressed, furious roar, and Chloe’s tearful, victimized defensive whining. This was just the beginning. Chloe. Your true “rewards” are still on the way. Over the next two weeks, Chloe’s “rewards” began to cash in. On Tuesday, she “felt” the marketing department’s report formatting was ugly, so she “casually” dragged the master files into the recycling bin and emptied it. She blinked at the sobbing marketing coordinator. “Treat yourself better. Stop making such ugly spreadsheets.” On Wednesday, she was “thirsty” but too lazy to walk to the breakroom, so she used the adjacent team’s freshly printed bidding proposal as a coaster. The coffee stain bled through, completely obscuring the crucial pricing figures. “Oh wow, this paper is super absorbent!” she told the livid team lead in feigned surprise. “You guys should totally use this brand next time! Self-care!” On Thursday, she used the administrative department’s commercial color printer to print three hundred high-res selfies. She drained every single color ink cartridge and used up all the premium glossy paper. That afternoon, the finance team desperately needed to print and stamp color audit reports for the bank, but the printer was dead. Chloe munched on potato chips. “Can’t you just use black and white? I think black and white is super aesthetic. People need to break out of the box. Treat yourself.” I walked by during all of this, nodding and smiling. “Chloe makes a great point.” “Very unique aesthetic.” “She’s a visionary.” Chloe’s ego was practically orbiting the moon. She even started actively seeking me out to share her “insights.” “Stella, look at this client. His emails are just endless blocks of text, but the core issue is he just wants to lowball us.” She pointed at my monitor. It was a Fortune 500 tech giant I had been courting for six months. We were supposed to sign the contract next week. “Yeah, it’s pretty annoying,” I said, picking up my tea. “Exactly!” Chloe cheered excitedly. “If I were you, I’d just reply: ‘No money, no talk!’” I smiled. “Why don’t you reply for me, then?” “Really?” Chloe’s eyes sparkled. “Really.” I stood up. “I’m going to the restroom. Treat yourself, don’t hold back.” Five minutes later, I returned. Chloe was humming a pop song, scrolling on her phone at my desk. In my outbox, there was a newly sent email. Recipient: CFO of the Fortune 500 company. Content: [The price is non-negotiable. Take it or leave it. 😊] Word for word, identical to my memory before I died. The project team’s phone lines exploded ten minutes later. The client’s roaring could be heard through the receiver: “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! ARE YOU PLAYING GAMES WITH US?! THE DEAL IS OFF! DO NOT EVER CONTACT US AGAIN!” Mark slammed his phone down and charged over, his eyes bloodshot. “CHLOE! BROOKS! Did you touch the Director’s computer?!” Chloe flinched in fear, but quickly puffed up her chest. “Stella asked me to help her! She said that client was annoying! I was just helping her set boundaries! Is it a crime to practice self-love?!” Everyone looked at me. I organized the files on my desk, not even looking up. “Yeah, I told her to reply.” Mark pointed a trembling finger at me, completely speechless. Liam stormed in at that exact moment, his face thunderous. “Stella. Chloe. My office. Now.” Liam slammed a thick stack of formal complaints onto his desk. “How many times is this going to happen this month?! Marketing! Admin! Finance! And now the Fortune 500 deal is dead!” His glare cut like a knife. “Chloe, explain yourself right now!” Chloe instantly turned on the waterworks, rushing over to hug his arm. “Liam… I just wanted to help Stella, and help everyone else… All that corporate grinding is so meaningless… Why do we have to compromise our mental health…” Liam shook her off. For the first time, he didn’t immediately soften. “Help?! You’re tearing this company apart! Do you have any idea how much that contract was worth?!” Chloe flinched at his yelling, sobbing even harder. “Money, money, money! That’s all you care about! What’s more important, me or the money?! I just wanted to practice self-love, and I wanted you all to love yourselves too! What did I do wrong?!” She gasped for air, crying hysterically. “You’re all bullying me… Even you’re yelling at me…” “I just want to die…” The anger in Liam’s chest visibly heaved up and down. He looked at her tear-streaked, mascara-ruined face for a full minute. And then, once again, his shoulders slumped. “…Stop crying.” His voice had already softened significantly. “Do not let this happen again.” He rubbed his temples and looked at me. “Stella, as a Director, indulging a subordinate makes you even more culpable. Your entire quarterly bonus is revoked. Write a formal incident report.” Chloe peeked at me through her fingers, a smug, victorious smirk flashing across her face. I nodded, maintaining a perfectly professional attitude. Laugh all you want. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when the hammer finally drops. The day of the annual company gala arrived. In the grand ballroom of the luxury hotel, over half of the city’s elite and industry titans were present. At the center of the crowd was Mr. Henderson, a legendary investor. Getting a single word in with him was enough to brag about for three years. Chloe stood next to Liam, offering a toast to Mr. Henderson with surprising elegance. “Mr. Henderson, my brother tells me stories about your early career all the time. I admire you so much. I’ll finish my glass; please, drink at your own pace!” I thought she would embarrass herself again, but her behavior and speech were impeccably appropriate. There was absolutely no trace of the reckless, selfish girl she played at the office. Mr. Henderson smiled approvingly, patting Liam on the shoulder. “Liam, your sister is very bright. She knows how to navigate a room.” Chloe turned around and accurately locked eyes with me. “Stella, why are you standing all by yourself?” “Oh, right,” she tapped her forehead lightly, as if suddenly remembering something. “Silly me, I got so caught up in hosting. Mr. Henderson mentioned that our company’s showcase corridor this year looks very innovative, and he wants to take a tour of it shortly.” “Sister, why don’t you go check the hallway and make sure everything is absolutely perfect? We can’t afford any mistakes in front of Mr. Henderson.” “After all… you are the Director in charge of it.” I looked at the fleeting gleam of triumph in her eyes. In my past life, it was this exact sentence that led me to that burning corridor. I finally understood. She was never stupid. She was venomous. All that “self-care” and “treating herself” nonsense was just an act to cover up her sociopathic, malicious nature. Her goal, from the very beginning, was to get me killed. I swirled the champagne in my glass and smiled at her. “Of course.” “You’re so thoughtful, Chloe. I’ll go right now.” I set my glass down, turned, and walked straight toward the corridor from my memories. Less than ten minutes later, a deafening explosion echoed from the electrical room at the far end of the hallway. BOOM! Immediately, red flames surged outward, and thick, choking smoke instantly swallowed the corridor! “FIRE!!!” Screams erupted from the direction of the ballroom. But the only exit leading back to the banquet hall was firmly blocked by a single figure. Chloe pressed her back against the heavy fire door, holding up her phone, the camera aimed right at her own smiling face. “I realized I hadn’t taken any good pictures today, and the lighting right here is absolutely perfect!” “Watch me snap a flawless selfie set!” Her lines were exactly the same as in my previous life. She giggled, shifting her angles for the camera. Outside the corridor, the terrified screams of my colleagues bled through the door: “Chloe! Why are you blocking the door! Open it!” “Director Stella is still inside!” “Move out of the way! We have to save her!” Chloe rolled her eyes in exaggerated annoyance. “Why is everyone so loud?” “She’s always preaching about self-care, she’ll definitely manifest a way out. Just trust the universe~” “Stop worrying about her~” Mark’s roar was so loud his voice cracked: “CHLOE! THIS IS A FIRE! PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DIE!!” Chloe clicked another photo, speaking with chilling nonchalance: “If they die, they die.” “The life of the person inside…” “Isn’t really worth anything anyway.” The flames had already licked at my heels, but I just smiled. I turned around and looked at the group I had specifically invited into the corridor with me: Mr. Henderson, Mr. Davis, Mr. Patel, Mr. Cohen… Every single one of the ultra-elite VIPs who had been laughing in the center of the ballroom just moments ago. None of them were missing. The face of every single man was frozen in a mask of sheer, unadulterated disbelief and towering fury. I smiled, repeating clearly and calmly: “Did you hear that? Mr. Henderson, Mr. Davis, Mr. Patel, Mr. Cohen.” “She said…” “Your lives… aren’t worth anything.” As the words hung in the air, the expressions of the VIPs darkened until they were practically dripping with malice. Behind the door, Chloe paused for a second. Then, as if she had just heard the funniest joke in the world, she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Hahahaha! Stella, are you insane?! Has the fear fried your brain?!” Leaning against the heavy fire door, her voice drifted through the cracks. “Mr. Henderson, Mr. Davis… please. They’re all in the ballroom drinking champagne. Who has the time to come watch your pathetic little show?” “You think making up a few names is going to scare me into opening the door?” She leaned closer to the crack, dropping her voice to a low, venomous hiss, ensuring only I could hear her: “Stop dreaming.” “I know exactly what you want. You want to steal my brother? You want to be my sister-in-law?” “Let me tell you: Maybe in your next life!” “Wait, no. You don’t get a next life.” She tilted her head, flashing a smile that was both innocent and deeply sadistic: “In your next life, remember to prioritize your peace, and stop being a desperate bitch trying to steal someone else’s man.” “This lifetime ends right here.” The flames crackled and popped. The smoke grew thicker. Outside the corridor, hurried footsteps and shouts echoed loudly. “Miss Brooks! Please open the door immediately! Mr. Henderson’s tracker shows he is in this sector! He might be inside!” It was the voice of Mr. Henderson’s personal security detail. Chloe didn’t even turn her head, waving her hand dismissively. “Stop yelling! The tracker is glitching! Or she’s spoofing it! You think you can trick me into opening this door? Not a chance!” She pressed her back even harder against the heavy door. “I’ll say it one more time. Nobody is opening this door for that bitch!” “Just ten more minutes! Give it ten minutes!” She stared in my direction, her eyes burning with the undisguised, euphoric thrill of waiting for me to burn to death. Her voice was shrill: “In ten minutes, I promise I’ll open the door!” “I promise I’ll show everyone exactly what happens to a Director who doesn’t practice enough self-love!” “Just wait and see!” Time slipped away in the inferno. The smoke was blinding; the heat was scorching. Outside the door, the sound of bodies slamming against the metal, furious arguments, and Liam’s panicked, furious screaming all blurred together. Chloe acted like she was deaf, guarding the door with her life, humming off-key. Every so often, she raised her phone, trying to capture a few more aesthetic selfies. Nine minutes and thirty seconds later. BANG! A tremendous crash, far more violent than before, shattered the locks! The heavy fire door was violently kicked open from the outside! The immense kinetic force sent Chloe flying. She hit the floor hard. “Oww!” she yelped, but ignoring the pain, she frantically scrambled to her feet. “I told you guys, your precious Mr. Henderson isn’t in here, why won’t you just believe me?” “But fine, whatever. Nine and a half minutes is more than enough…” Wearing a triumphant, radiant, and utterly wicked smile, she eagerly peered into the smoke-filled corridor… “Stella, how does the smell of burning flesh—” Her voice, and her smile, died instantly.

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The day I was released from the correctional facility, my wife, Serena, was there to meet me. She stood by her sleek black Porsche, lighting a cigarette. Through the swirling grey smoke, her expression was a mask of cold indifference. “Miles,” she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “While you were away, I started sponsoring an underprivileged student.” She paused, watching a hawk circle the perimeter of the prison. “He’s an orphan. All his life, all he ever wanted was a family. In the three years you were gone, we… we had a child together.” The world seemed to tilt on its axis. I stood there, my duffel bag heavy in my hand, my heart hammering against my ribs. “And what about me? I’m your husband, Serena. What am I supposed to be in this little fantasy?” She flicked her ash onto the pavement, her eyes never meeting mine. “It doesn’t matter if you agree or not. Everyone in our circle—the investors, the board, the press—thinks he’s my husband.” She stepped closer, the scent of her expensive perfume clashing with the sterile smell of the prison gates. “You have nowhere to go. Your family’s name is mud, and your bank accounts are frozen. You can stay at the house as a live-in helper—a housekeeper. But if you try to make a scene, if you breathe a word of the truth, I’ll have you back behind bars before sunset. Don’t think for a second I won’t.” I looked at her and felt a slow, jagged smile spread across my face. Serena didn’t realize one simple thing. If I was capable of throwing away three years of my life in a cell for her, I was just as capable of burning her entire world to the ground. 1 Seeing me tremble, Serena stepped forward and pulled me into a hollow embrace. “There, there. I know your ‘golden boy’ pride can’t take this right now,” she whispered against my ear. “But you’ll get used to it once we’re home. My son, Milo… he’s beautiful. You’ll learn to love him.” The drive to our estate was silent and fast. The rolling hills of the Westchester suburbs hadn’t changed, but the man waiting at the front door of our mansion certainly had. A man in his early twenties stood there, cradling a toddler. He watched me with the guarded suspicion of a stray dog protecting its territory. Serena climbed out of the car and naturally took the child from him, kissing his forehead. “This is the new help,” she told him, her voice casual. “He’ll be taking over the heavy lifting around the house. You need to focus on your health, Theo. Just rest.” Theo scanned me from head to toe, a smirk playing on his lips. “He looks a bit rough, Serena. Like he crawled out of a refugee camp. Where on earth did you find him?” I stood in the grand foyer, watching their domestic intimacy with a cold, detached gaze. Serena glanced at me, a sharp warning in her eyes. She remembered the old Miles—the hot-headed heir to a real estate empire who never took an insult lying down. But I didn’t snap. I simply bent down and straightened her discarded heels by the door. “Where is my room, Ms. Victor?” I asked quietly. Serena blinked, clearly caught off guard by my sudden docility. An flicker of annoyance crossed her face. She pointed toward a small, cramped door near the back of the kitchen. “Theo likes his privacy. You’ll stay in the utility room. It’s closer to the kitchen anyway; you’ll need to be up early to start breakfast.” Theo stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Serena’s waist. “Make sure you scrub your hands, old man. The baby has a sensitive stomach. We can’t have any… prison germs near him.” Suddenly, the little boy threw a heavy wooden block directly at my face. “Bad man! Get out of my house!” The sharp edge of the block caught me right above the eye. I felt the hot sting of blood beginning to trickle down my forehead. Theo gasped, but not for me. “Oh, Milo! Did you hurt your hand? Don’t throw your toys, baby. If you break them, Mommy has to work even harder to buy new ones.” Serena looked at the cut on my head and then pushed me toward the utility room. “Miles, don’t look at me like that. We never even had a formal wedding before you went away. As far as the world is concerned, Theo is the father of my child. My grandfather adores Milo; he’s already planning to name me the sole heir of the Victor Group. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to outshine the other illegitimate cousins?” Hard? If I hadn’t taken the fall for her embezzlement three years ago, she would have been the one in a jumpsuit, cast out of the family long ago. That would have been hard. But as I opened my mouth to demand a divorce, Serena reached out and touched the wound on my forehead. Her voice softened, manipulative as ever. “Theo has been through a lot to be with me. Just… stay out of his way. He and Milo are everything to me now.” She patted my shoulder, and when I flinched, her voice turned to ice. “The house of your father is bankrupt, Miles. Everyone you know has turned their back on you. Without me, you’re a vagrant. Stay in your place, and you’ll at least have a roof over your head.” I looked at my shoes and said nothing. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the marble. I slid down the wall of the utility room until I hit the floor. Serena thought I was broken. She thought I was a stray she could keep on a leash. She was wrong. Three years in a cage teaches you one thing: when you finally strike, you make sure it’s fatal. 2 The utility room was packed with Theo’s Amazon boxes and discarded gym equipment. I cleared a small space and lay down on a thin folding cot. Through the door, I could hear the sounds of a happy family. The muffled laughter from a sitcom on the TV, the sound of Theo feeding Serena fruit, their voices hushed and intimate. That used to be my life. When Serena’s first startup failed and she was facing a decade of fraud charges, I stepped in. I told the investigators the offshore accounts were mine. “Miles,” she had sobbed the night before I turned myself in. “Trust me. I’ll get you out in a month. I just need time to move the money.” One month turned into thirty-six. “Miles! Are you done moping? Get out here and make dinner!” Serena’s voice barked from the hallway. When I emerged, Theo was splayed out on the velvet sofa, buffing his nails. He pointedly stretched his legs out as I passed. “Ugh, this rug is filthy. Serena, I can feel the dust on my feet.” Serena didn’t look up from her phone. “Miles, scrub the rug.” I didn’t argue. I filled a bucket, grabbed a brush, and knelt on the floor. Theo’s foot intentionally nudged my shoulder as I worked. “So, what did you do before the ‘big house,’ anyway? You’re so… rugged,” he mocked. I kept my head down, my movements mechanical. “I was a guest of the state.” Theo jumped up with exaggerated horror. “Oh my god, like a murderer? Serena, having someone like this in the house…” Serena pulled him into her lap, giving me a smirk. “White-collar crime. He’d do anything for a quick buck. But don’t worry, Theo. If he steps out of line, I have the warden on speed dial.” My hand tightened on the brush. Three years ago, Serena was the “poor relation,” the illegitimate daughter the Victors ignored. My family was at the top of the social ladder. My father was alive. I was the heir apparent. Back then, Serena looked at me like I was the sun. She used to cry at the thought of me being uncomfortable. I wondered when, exactly, her heart had rotted through. My thoughts were shattered by Theo’s voice. “Oh, Serena, this jade pendant you gave me is so tacky. It looks so old. Can I just toss it? Buy me a Chrome Hearts one instead?” I looked up, my blood turning to ice. The pendant around his neck—it was my father’s. The only thing left of my family’s legacy after the bankruptcy. I lunged forward, a roar building in my chest. I snatched the pendant from his neck, my hand shaking. I raised my other hand to strike Serena, but she was faster. She grabbed my wrist, her grip like a vice. She slammed me against the wall, whispering harshly. “It’s just a piece of jewelry. Theo liked it, so I gave it to him. Miles, I know I owe you, and I’ll take care of you, but don’t you ever touch Theo’s things again.” Theo scoffed, muttering that the “junk” wasn’t worth the drama anyway, and led Serena upstairs. The next morning, while I was prepping breakfast, Theo leaned against the kitchen doorway wearing my old silk robe. It was too big for him, slipping off his shoulders to reveal dark, fresh bruises on his neck. He wanted me to see them. “Miles, right? Serena told me about you. The great fallen prince of Manhattan. She says you were always so… stiff. Boring. A ‘wooden’ lover, she called you. Doesn’t matter how long you were together; you never really satisfied her.” He smirked, stepping closer. “Unlike me. I barely have to try, and she’s obsessed.” My knife moved rhythmically against the cutting board. My hands were steady. “Is that so? Her taste must have shifted. She used to tell me she hated needy, parasitic little boys. She called them ‘nuisances.’” Theo’s face distorted with rage. “You don’t know anything! She loves me! I’m the father of her child. I’m the one she actually married.” I plated the ham and turned to look him in the eye. “Really? Did you get a marriage certificate, or just a promise?” 3 Theo’s facade cracked instantly. “A piece of paper doesn’t matter! I’m the one in her bed! I’m the one she loves!” He lunged at me, trying to shove me. I stepped aside with the grace of someone who had learned to fight in a concrete yard. He stumbled, knocking a stack of porcelain plates to the floor. The crash echoed through the house, bringing Serena running. She saw the mess and immediately shoved me back. “Miles! What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you attacking him?” My back hit the marble counter, a sharp pain radiating through my spine—an old prison injury acting up. Theo collapsed against her, sobbing theatrically. “Serena, I know I’m just an orphan… I know I’m not ‘high society’ like him. but I’m not some piece of trash! Our son isn’t a mistake!” Serena’s face darkened. She stepped toward me and delivered a stinging slap across my face. “You ungrateful prick,” she hissed. “Theo and Milo are the most important people in my world. Who gave you the right to talk to them like that? Apologize. Now.” I wiped a trail of blood from my lip with the back of my hand. “And if I don’t?” Serena laughed coldly, pulling out her phone. “No apology? Fine. Then I’ll stop the payments for your mother’s care facility. I heard her condition is worsening. Without those specialized meds, she won’t last through the winter.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. Before I went to prison, I had entrusted my dying mother to Serena. She was the only reason I had come back to this house. Serena waved the phone in front of my face. “Get on your knees and beg Theo for forgiveness. Otherwise, you’ll never see your mother again.” I looked at the woman I once loved more than life itself. I took a deep breath and slowly lowered my knees to the cold floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Victor,” I said, the words tasting like ash. Theo smiled triumphantly. He walked over and used the toe of his slipper to lift my chin. “Remember this. In this house, you’re the dog. I’m the master.” He leaned down, whispering so only I could hear: “Since you were so polite, I’ll let you in on a secret. Your mother? That old bitch died a year ago. Guess where her ashes are? Probably in a landfill by now.” The world went white. I surged upward, grabbing the chef’s knife from the counter, and drove it toward his chest. 4 The blade didn’t hit Theo. It sank into Serena’s shoulder. She had thrown herself in front of him, shielding him with her own body. Serena turned to me, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and profound disappointment. “Miles… I thought three years would have knocked the violence out of you. I see you haven’t learned a thing. It’s time you learned how to behave.” She barked an order, and two heavy-set security guards burst into the kitchen. I fought, screaming her name. “Serena! Where is my mother? Tell me where she is!” Her expression flickered with something strange, but her voice remained cold. “Throw him in the basement. No food, no water for three days. Let him rot until he remembers who owns him.” The basement was a damp, windowless void. My back throbbed, and the hunger began to gnaw at me within hours. I lost track of time. I hallucinated my mother’s voice, her gentle hand on my hair. But I couldn’t die here. Not yet. I felt along the walls in the dark until I found a rusted ventilation grate. I used every ounce of my remaining strength to pry it open, the jagged metal slicing my palms. I crawled through the narrow, dusty shaft and out into the cold night air. I spent the next twenty-four hours walking. I visited every high-end care facility in the tri-state area until I found the last one on my list. The nurse at the front desk looked at me with pity as she checked the records. “I’m so sorry, sir. Your mother passed away a year ago due to complications after her medication was discontinued for non-payment. We contacted the family representative, a Ms. Serena Victor. She requested immediate cremation and handed the remains over to a Mr. Theo Victor.” I stood frozen, a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I had suffered in that hellhole for her. I had let men beat me and break me, all to keep my mother safe. And Serena had let her die like a discarded bill. The phone on the desk rang. The nurse looked startled, then handed it to me. “It’s for you. A woman.” Serena’s voice came through the line, sharp and commanding. “Miles, how dare you run away? I’ll explain everything about your mother when you get back. Now, stop being dramatic. I’m not even charging you for the stabbing. I’m taking Theo to my grandfather’s heir-apparent ceremony. Get back here right now and watch the baby.” I listened until my vision blurred with tears. Then, I wiped them away and looked toward the city skyline. “Serena,” I whispered to the empty air. “I am going to take everything from you.”

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I Converted My $1.2 Million Dowry Into Solid Gold. My Grifter In-Laws Lost Their Minds. The night before my wedding, my father quietly wired $1.2 million into my personal account. “Tuck this away, sweetheart,” he had told me over the phone, his voice thick with emotion. “This is your safety net. Just for you.” My heart squeezed. First thing the next morning, I walked into the bank. The teller smiled politely. “Looking to set up a high-yield savings account or a mutual fund today, ma’am?” I shook my head. “Convert it all to gold bullion, please. And I’ll need a safe deposit box.” On the day of the wedding, my mother-in-law, Martha, smiled brighter than the venue’s chandeliers. As she hugged me, her fingers digging slightly into my lace sleeves, she whispered, “You brought the nest egg your father promised, right?” I gave a vague nod. A sharp, calculating gleam flashed in her eyes. It took exactly one day for the facade to crack. The afternoon after we returned from our brief honeymoon, my husband asked for my debit card. “Brittany’s looking to buy a car for her new business,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easier if she just uses your card. We’re all family now, right?” I handed him my everyday checking card. An hour later, he came storming back into the apartment, his face flushed with a terrifying, unfamiliar rage. “Why are there only three hundred bucks in your account?” he shouted. “Where is the 1.2 million?!” I looked at him calmly from the sofa. “What 1.2 million?” 01 Bradley’s face contorted into something ugly and unrecognizable. The man standing before me—the man I had proudly thought of as ambitious, hardworking, and kind—suddenly looked like a stranger. “Naomi, drop the act.” His voice was a shrill, grating sound that scraped against my eardrums. “My mother heard everything. Your dad gave you over a million dollars!” I leaned back into the cushions. I didn’t move. I didn’t even blink. My gaze drifted up to the framed wedding portrait we had so carefully hung on the wall just weeks ago. In the photo, his smile was soft, his eyes brimming with a love that looked like it could swallow the world. How painfully ironic. Overnight, my entire life had morphed into a punchline. “Have you been going through my things, Bradley?” My tone was entirely flat, stripped of any emotion. The question choked him for a second, but he quickly rebounded, his entitlement roaring back to life. “Your things? We’re married! Your money is our money!” “Our money?” I finally lifted my eyes to meet his bloodshot stare. The word tasted vile in my mouth. “Your family, or mine?” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on, he exploded. He spun around and began tearing through the room like a rabid animal. He ripped open my luggage. Clothes I had meticulously folded were yanked out and hurled across the hardwood floor. He was frantic, entirely devoid of reason, a man possessed by greed. The bedroom door flew open, and Martha practically threw herself into the room, her face tight with anxiety. She took one look at the chaotic mess of my belongings on the floor and didn’t offer a single word of reprimand to her son. Instead, she dropped to her knees and joined the hunt. She was much more methodical than Bradley. She aggressively squeezed the linings of my coats. She even checked the padding of my bras. Her cloudy eyes shone with a desperate, feverish hunger, like a pirate digging for buried treasure. I watched them. I watched my carefully packed life reduced to a pile of scattered rags. The last remaining shred of warmth I held for this family tore right down the middle, dissolving into nothing. The room smelled of sweat, panic, and something deeply pathetic. Eventually, they came up empty-handed, save for a few low-limit credit cards and a couple hundred dollars in cash from my wallet. Martha gripped the cash in her fist like a lifeline. She whipped around, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger right at my nose. “Where is it? Tell me! Where did you hide that money?!” She was screaming so loud I could feel the spray of her spit. “You thief! Did you secretly transfer it back to your father? Let me tell you something, Naomi. You married into this family, which means you belong to us now! Hand it over!” Bradley stood right behind her, playing the loyal foot soldier. “Mom’s right! We just got married, and you’re already hiding things from me? Do you even respect me as a husband? Do you even care about this family?” He kept saying this family, but every time the words left his lips, it sounded like a butcher sharpening a knife. Watching the two of them feed off each other’s hysteria made my stomach churn with nausea. I didn’t yell back. Getting into a barking match with a rabid dog only leaves you covered in fleas. Instead, I calmly picked up my phone, unlocked it, and opened the calculator app. The sharp, synthetic clicks of the keypad cut through the heavy breathing in the room. Bradley and Martha froze, exchanging confused glances. I ignored them and began tallying out loud. “The catering for the reception, one hundred and fifty guests. Eighteen thousand dollars.” “The florist and the DJ. Seven thousand.” “That custom Italian suit you’re wearing in that photo. Two thousand, five hundred.” “The favors, the transportation, the miscellaneous fees. Four thousand.” “Grand total: Thirty-one thousand, five hundred dollars.” I turned the screen around to face them. The glowing green numbers were cold and indisputable. “Now, the wedding gifts. Your extended family contributed exactly three thousand dollars. My family gave twenty-five thousand. My friends and coworkers gave another four thousand.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “When you do the math, I essentially subsidized this entire wedding out of my own pocket, saving your family thousands. Should we settle that tab first?” Bradley’s face instantly turned the color of bruised plum. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t form a single word. Martha looked like she had been slapped. She clearly hadn’t expected me to have the receipts loaded and ready. “So… so what!” she finally stammered, though her voice lacked its earlier venom. “Your dad gave you over a million dollars! What’s a few thousand for a wedding? That million is the real prize!” “Yes, my father gave me money.” I lowered my phone, my voice remaining an absolute deadpan. “It’s my safety net. It’s for my future. Why would I tell you about it? And more importantly, why on earth would I give it to you?” “You—!” I had backed him into a corner, and the humiliation snapped whatever restraint Bradley had left. With a guttural sound, he lunged forward, raising his hand high, aiming a hard slap right at my face. I knew he would snap. I had been waiting for it. The second his arm went up, my body reacted faster than my brain. I took a swift step back, simultaneously raising my phone. I had already switched it to the camera. I hit record. The cold, unblinking lens acted like a mirror, capturing his contorted, violent expression and his hand suspended mid-air. His momentum died instantly. He froze, caught in the digital crosshairs. The room went dead silent. 02 Bradley’s arm hung stiffly in the space between us, trapped. The violent rage on his face evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sickening panic. Martha gasped, pointing a shaking finger at my phone. “What… what are you doing? Are you recording him? Delete that right now!” I didn’t spare her a glance. I kept my eyes locked on Bradley’s. “Were you going to hit me?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it was an ice pick driving straight into his skull. “You really need to think about the consequences of letting that hand drop, Bradley.” The muscles in his forearm twitched. Slowly, pathetically, he lowered his arm to his side. “I… I didn’t mean it, Naomi. I was just stressed.” He tried to force a placating smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “Please don’t be mad. Let’s just sit down and talk about this.” I hit stop, slipped the phone into my pocket, and turned my back on him. I walked out to the living room, leaving them behind. From the bedroom, I could hear Martha’s hushed, venomous cursing and Bradley’s frantic whispering. I had won the battle for tonight. But I knew this was only the opening act. Once the floodgates of greed are opened, they can never be forced shut. The next morning, I was pulled from sleep by a cacophony of voices in the living room. I threw on a robe and opened my door to a bizarre tableau. Our modest apartment was packed. The sofa was crammed with middle-aged women I barely recognized—Bradley’s various aunts and cousins. They all turned to look at me, their eyes sweeping over me with blatant judgment. Martha sat dead center, her eyes rimmed red. She was dabbing at completely dry eyes with a crumpled tissue. The Family Tribunal had commenced. Before I could even speak, a woman with a tight perm and a mole near her mouth—Aunt Susan, I recalled—spoke up. Her tone was dripping with patronizing condescension. “So this is the new bride. Look, Naomi, honey, I’m not trying to lecture you, but you can’t be this selfish.” She sighed heavily. “Bradley and Brittany are blood. Brittany is trying to get her boutique off the ground and she’s desperate for capital. You’re her sister-in-law. You’re sitting on a mountain of cash. How can you just watch her drown?” Another wiry aunt chimed in immediately. “Exactly! When you marry, two families become one. Your money is Bradley’s money. What’s the harm in a little bridge loan? When Brittany’s business takes off, she’ll take good care of you both!” They buzzed around me like a swarm of angry flies. Every word was a calculated strike at my character, painting me as a cold, heartless villain. Right on cue, the guest room door opened. Brittany walked out, fully dressed in a brand-new designer dress, her makeup flawlessly applied. She hardly looked like a struggling entrepreneur on the brink of ruin. She made a beeline for her mother and buried her face in Martha’s shoulder, sobbing theatrically. “Mom, it’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, Bradley and Naomi wouldn’t be fighting.” Through her fake tears, I saw her throwing sidelong glances at me. “I’ve poured my heart and soul into this clothing line. I’m so close to making it work. I just need this one little injection of cash…” She sniffled loudly. “I drained my own savings to help pay for Bradley’s wedding ring because I thought, hey, once Naomi’s in the family, things will be easier. We’ll support each other. I never imagined… she would despise me this much.” It was an Academy Award-winning performance. The aunts ate it up, their righteous indignation flaring. “It’s a sin, I tell you! Marrying a girl with a heart made of stone!” “Refusing to help her own sister-in-law. It’s just cruel.” Martha stroked Brittany’s hair, wailing about how cursed their family was. Bradley sat next to them, looking painfully conflicted. His brows were furrowed in a perfect display of manufactured distress. He reached out, gently tugging at the sleeve of my robe. His voice was soft, pleading. “Naomi, look at her. Brittany really needs this. Just do me a solid, okay? Be the bigger person. Let’s just transfer some funds to tide her over.” “We’re family. Let’s not make this ugly.” Every word he spoke was another nail in the coffin of our marriage. Be the bigger person. Tide her over. Family. The audacity was staggering. I looked around the living room at these strangers, these hostile faces staring at me as if I were a criminal on trial. They were waiting for me to break. They wanted my submission. I took a deep, slow breath. And then, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. Without a word, I turned the screen toward the room, cranked the volume to the maximum, and hit play. The video from last night lit up the screen. Bradley’s violently contorted face. His hand raised, ready to strike me. “Naomi, drop the act!” “You thief! Did you secretly transfer it back to your father?” “Were you going to hit me? You really need to think about the consequences of letting that hand drop, Bradley.” The audio rang through the living room like a series of gunshots. The room went instantly, horrifyingly silent. You could have heard a pin drop on the rug. The self-righteous aunts were paralyzed, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open. Brittany’s theatrical sobbing cut off abruptly. She stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Martha’s complexion cycled through a fascinating spectrum: red, to bone-white, to a sickly, ashen gray. And Bradley—Bradley was a statue. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse. I locked my phone and let my gaze sweep over the room, meeting each of their eyes one by one. “Now,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Who else wants to tell me to be the bigger person?” 03 The great Family Tribunal ended in a spectacular, suffocating awkwardness. The aunts couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough. They mumbled excuses, avoiding my gaze entirely, scattering like cockroaches when the kitchen light is flipped on. Soon, it was just the three of them left. The silence in the apartment was so thick you could choke on it. Martha and Brittany retreated to their room and didn’t make a sound. Bradley remained on the sofa, his head in his hands, looking like a beaten dog. From that day forward, Bradley’s entire personality shifted. He morphed into the perfect, doting husband, but the performance was so aggressively transparent it made my skin crawl. He took over every household chore. Before my alarm even went off, he was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. When I got home from work, dinner was steaming on the table. One evening, while I was reading on the couch, he actually came over, sat on the floor, and tried to aggressively massage my feet. “Naomi, I was so wrong,” he murmured, working his thumbs into my arches, looking up at me with wide, remorseful eyes. “I’m a monster. I can’t believe I lost my temper like that.” He sighed, shifting the blame with practiced ease. “It was my mother. She was in my ear, winding me up, and I just lost my head. You know how she gets.” He traced a circle on my ankle. “I swear to you, you’re the only thing that matters to me. I married you because I love you. It never had anything to do with the money.” It was a masterclass in manipulation. The honeyed words just kept flowing, painting a picture of our bright, beautiful future. “Just think about it, babe,” he said softly. “That money is just sitting there. We could use it to upgrade. Get a beautiful house in a prime school district. Give our future kids the best life possible.” “Or we could put it into a mutual fund. Let the money work for us. We’d never have to stress about a mortgage again.” He watched my face closely, hunting for any sign that my armor was cracking. His eyes were wide with ‘dreams for our future,’ but all I saw was a desperate, ravenous hunger for my bank account. He honestly thought he could love-bomb me into submission. He thought a foot rub and some scrambled eggs would make me forget who he really was. It was laughable. I pulled my feet away from him and tucked them beneath me. Watching his pathetic acting felt like watching a bad off-Broadway play. I didn’t even have the energy to call him out on it anymore. I knew exactly where this was going. “Naomi, trust me. If you just let me manage the finances, I promise, you can call the shots on everything else.” There it was. The hook. “I’ll make sure you have a generous allowance every month. You can buy whatever you want.” An allowance. He wanted to give me an allowance with my own money. He saw me as a naive, helpless little girl who could be placated with a shiny credit card. I looked down at his eager, desperate face and felt a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. Trying to reason with a grown man blinded by greed was draining the life out of me. I stood up, towering over him. He swallowed hard. “Naomi, where… where actually is the money? Just tell me so I have peace of mind. I won’t touch it, I swear.” I looked down at him and offered a smile. A perfectly cold, hollow smile. “It’s exactly where it belongs.” Without another word, I walked into the master bedroom and locked the door behind me. Through the wood, I could hear Bradley’s breathing turn heavy and ragged. I knew his patience was running out. Mine was already gone. 04 When Bradley’s love-bombing failed to yield a payout, Martha finally decided to take off the gloves. She lacked her son’s subtle manipulation; her malice was entirely blunt force. She launched a campaign of domestic psychological warfare against me. Mornings in our apartment were no longer peaceful. Every day, right at 5:00 AM, the rhythmic, aggressive thwack-thwack-thwack of a meat cleaver hitting a wooden cutting board would echo from the kitchen. It sounded like she was trying to chop right through the granite counter, or maybe right through my skull. I started sleeping with industrial-grade earplugs. Then came the grocery sabotage. I occasionally bought expensive, imported fruit—organic blueberries, Rainier cherries. But the moment I put them in the fridge, they vanished. I knew exactly where they went. One afternoon, I caught Brittany lounging in front of the TV, mindlessly shoveling a handful of my twenty-dollar cherries into her mouth. When she saw me, she didn’t even flinch. She just chewed loudly and lifted her chin in a silent dare. But Martha’s true revenge was served at the dinner table. Whenever I cooked, it was never right.

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The first night I moved into the Garrison estate, I woke up in a daze, my vision blurred by sleep, only to find myself staring directly into a pair of smoldering eyes. A man was looming over me, his chest bare, his expression lethal. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my bed?” My heart hammered against my ribs. I could barely get the words out. “I… I’m your wife.” The man stared at me, dead silent. “…” 1 He let out a sharp, cold laugh, as if I’d just told the most ridiculous joke he’d ever heard. His dark eyes narrowed, scouring my face like he was dissecting a specimen. Even in the shadows of the room, the intensity of his gaze was suffocating. He reached over and slammed his hand onto the light switch. The sudden overhead glare blinded me, and I winced, shielding my eyes. When I finally managed to look up, he was smirking, but his eyes were fixed on my collarbone. It was then I realized the top buttons of my silk pajamas had slipped loose. I gasped, crossing my arms over my chest in a panicked reflex. He let out a derisive snort. “Oh, give me a break. Don’t play the innocent now. Tell me, what kind of hustle are you running to get inside this house?” I looked at him properly for the first time. I knew who he was. This was Evelyn’s son—Nate Garrison. He was exactly as the tabloids described him: rugged, reckless, and devastatingly handsome. Dark hair fell over a sharp brow; his nose was straight, his lips thin and cruel. His eyes—a deep, stormy hazel—were framed by long lashes, the corners slightly upturned in a way that felt both flirtatious and dangerous. He wore a half-unbuttoned white shirt, revealing the hard lines of his throat and collarbone. He radiated an aura of untamed, upper-class rebellion. I frowned, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m serious. Ask your mother. Evelyn told me we were married.” A flash of genuine confusion crossed Nate’s face, followed by a dark, mocking grin. He released my wrist and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. He strode toward the door and yanked it open, his voice thundering through the hallway. “Arthur! Evelyn! Get out here and explain this right now!” I scrambled to button my shirt, my fingers trembling. I stood by the edge of the bed, feeling small and out of place, barely daring to breathe. After what felt like an eternity, Evelyn emerged from her room, wrapped in a silk robe and yawning. She looked at Nate with pure, unadulterated annoyance. “Nate, for God’s sake, it’s the middle of the night. Stop howling like a wounded animal.” Nate gestured wildly toward me, his voice tight with suppressed rage. “What is this? Explain. Now.” Evelyn didn’t even blink. “I sent you the email, Nate. I told you this was happening.” Nate’s jaw tightened. “You weren’t joking? You actually went through with it?” Evelyn offered him a triumphant, cat-like smile. “When have I ever been a woman of idle threats?” Nate ran a hand through his hair, his voice rising in desperation. “I thought it was a move to get me to come home! I didn’t think you’d actually find a…” He stopped, glancing at me as if I were a piece of furniture he hadn’t ordered. Evelyn walked over and patted Nate’s cheek. “Nate, you made a deal. I have the recording to prove it. Riley is your responsibility now. And tomorrow morning, the two of you are going to City Hall to make it official.” She turned to go back to her room, pausing at the door with a playful, sharp glint in her eyes. “Oh, and Nate? Riley is staying in your room. If I find out you’ve been anything less than a gentleman, there will be consequences.” “Mom—” Nate started to protest, but the heavy thud of her bedroom door cut him off. I stood there, a ghost in a stranger’s bedroom, watching the wreck of a man in front of me. Nate sighed, a long, ragged sound, and turned his gaze back to me. His eyes were cold again. “You,” he said flatly. “Go sleep in the guest room.” My lower lip trembled. “Evelyn said… she said I have to stay here. With you.” Nate let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “And you just do everything she says?” I gripped the hem of my shirt and nodded, looking down at my toes. The shame felt like a physical weight in my chest. “Fine,” Nate snapped. “Stay here then. Sleep in the damn bed. I’m out.” He turned to leave, but Evelyn’s voice drifted through the walls, clear as a bell: “If you walk out that door, Nate, I’m calling the manager of the track. I’ll have your entire car collection under lock and key by breakfast.” Nate froze. His shoulders slumped, and he stood there for a long time, defeated by the one person he couldn’t outrun. 2 After a chaotic hour of tension, we ended up back in the same bed. Nate was clearly seething. He lay on the far edge of the mattress, his back to me, a wall of cold muscle and silence. Eventually, his breathing leveled out into the slow rhythm of sleep, and the iron band of tension around my chest finally loosened. I lay there in the dark, my mind racing through the blur of the last few months. My mother and Evelyn had been best friends when they were young. They both married for love, but that’s where the similarities ended. Evelyn married Arthur Garrison and found a life of security and enduring affection. My mother… my mother’s “love story” shattered the year I turned five, the night the first bruise appeared. The abuse had been a slow, agonizing crawl. My mother endured it for years, even after she suffered two broken ribs. She stayed until the night my father turned his rage on me. I had tried to protect her, clinging to his leg to keep him from hitting her again, and he had backhanded me across the room. In that moment, the fragility in my mother’s eyes vanished. She pushed him back with a strength she didn’t know she had and scooped me up. We ran. We called the police. My father, Richard, was sentenced to eighteen years for domestic battery and aggravated assault. For a decade, we were happy, just the two of us. Until the cancer came. When the diagnosis hit, Evelyn stepped back into our lives. She moved my mother into the best facility in the city and covered every cent of the astronomical bills. I was drowning in debt and grief, and Evelyn became my life raft. A week ago, Evelyn had taken my hand, her eyes full of a strange, determined kind of love. “Riley, I’ve always adored you. I want you to be part of this family. Properly.” I had been stunned, but she just patted my arm. “Don’t worry. My son isn’t a monster. He’s just… lost. He needs someone grounded. Someone like you to pull him back to earth.” How could I say no? How could I refuse the woman who was literally keeping my mother alive? The room was silent now, save for the hum of the AC. I tried to shift my weight, my body aching from the stress. Nate must have felt the movement because he suddenly yanked the duvet toward him. The sudden rush of cold air hit my skin, making me shiver. The AC was cranked down to sixty degrees. I knew I’d be sick by morning if I didn’t cover up, so I reached out, gingerly trying to pull a corner of the blanket back. In a heartbeat, Nate spun around. He was over me in an instant, his arms bracing him on either side of my head, his eyes burning with accusation. “What? Can’t wait for your ‘wifely duties’ to start?” The shock paralyzed me. “I… I…” Nate’s lip curled. “You what?” “I wasn’t… I just wanted the blanket.” 3 Nate laughed, a low, husky sound that should have been beautiful but felt like a serrated blade. “Sure you did. The second you agreed to move into my bedroom, we both knew what you were after.” I didn’t know how to defend myself. I’ve always been the kind of person whose emotions leak out of their eyes before they can find the words. Tears began to blur my vision. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t have a choice!” Nate clicked his tongue, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Oh, for God’s sake. Don’t start crying. You’re the one who moved into a stranger’s bed.” I shook my head, a sob escaping despite my best efforts. “I… I can’t help it. It’s a reflex.” Nate stared at me, something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “If you keep crying,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly register, “I might actually give you something to cry about.” The threat hung heavy in the air. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my lips together, trying to force the sobs back down. My body was still trembling, and Nate’s expression shifted from irritation to something sharper, more intense. “Just… stay on your side,” he muttered, finally pushing himself off me. He flopped back down, creating a literal “no-man’s-land” in the middle of the California King. He seemed to fall asleep almost instantly, but I remained wide-eyed and terrified, my nerves frayed to the point of snapping. I didn’t drift off until the sky began to turn a bruised, pre-dawn purple. I was jolted awake by the sound of a door slamming. I blinked, seeing Nate standing by the vanity, his chest bare and his skin glowing like burnished bronze in the morning light. He was drying his damp hair with a towel, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He caught me staring. His eyes were cool, assessing. I was too sleep-deprived to hide my reaction. He was breathtaking, in a way that felt unfair. Nate’s eyes narrowed slightly. “See something you like?” I looked away immediately, my face heating up. “No. Nothing.” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Good. Keep it that way.” He disappeared into the walk-in closet and emerged minutes later wearing a crisp white tee, a varsity jacket, and relaxed-fit dark denim. It was a simple outfit, but on him, it looked like a million dollars. He walked out without a second glance. I got up and pulled on the most decent thing I owned—a simple, white linen dress. It was modest and clean, the armor I chose for the day I’d officially become a Garrison. Downstairs, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Nate was slumped on the sofa, staring at his phone with a dark scowl, while Arthur and Evelyn sat across from him, looking like they were presiding over a court-martial. Evelyn spotted me and her face instantly softened into a maternal smile. “Riley, sweetheart. You look so pale. I’ll have to get you some brighter dresses. After breakfast, you and Nate are heading to City Hall.” Nate let out a sharp, irritated sound. “Evelyn,” I said softly, “isn’t this… a bit fast?” “Fast?” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “You two spent the night in the same bed. We need to make this legal before the rumors start.” Nate looked up, his eyes flashing. “Oh, so now we care about rumors? After you practically held a gun to my head to stay in that room?” Evelyn’s expression flipped in a heartbeat. The warmth vanished, replaced by a gaze of pure steel. “Watch your tone, Nathan.” Nate looked like he’d been slapped. He went silent, a look of utter defeat on his handsome face. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. It was the first time I’d seen someone actually manage to handle him. But then Nate caught my eye. His gaze was icy, a silent warning that if I laughed, I’d regret it. I immediately wiped the expression from my face and stood there, waiting to be told what to do. Nate stood up, grabbing his keys. “Let’s go,” he snapped at me. “I have things to do today.” 4 I grabbed my bag and hurried after him, but Evelyn called out, “Breakfast first! What’s the rush?” Nate didn’t even slow down. He marched out the door, and I gave Evelyn a quick, apologetic smile before running to catch up. His car was a low-slung, matte black sports car that looked like it belonged on a track. I went for the back seat, knowing he didn’t want me near him, but the door wouldn’t budge. “Do I look like your Uber driver, Princess?” Nate’s voice was like a whip. “Sorry. I… I didn’t mean…” I climbed into the passenger seat, and Nate took his revenge out on the gas pedal. He tore out of the driveway, the engine roaring. The world outside became a blur of speed and noise. I felt my stomach drop; I was terrified we were going to crash. I gripped the seatbelt, my knuckles white, and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t see the way Nate was looking at me—a strange, dark smirk playing on his lips. Watching me tremble like a frightened rabbit seemed to have improved his mood. At City Hall, Nate stayed sullen. He was the picture of a man being led to his execution, but he signed every paper and followed every instruction. When it came time for the photo, the photographer looked at Nate’s stony expression and hesitated. “Sir… maybe a smile? You look like you’re being forced into this.” Nate didn’t say a word. The silence was deafening. The photographer gave a nervous laugh. “Haha, just a joke! Anyway, the bride is stunning. You’re a lucky man.” Nate looked at me then, his eyes dragging over my face with a chilling intensity. “Lucky,” he echoed, a bitter edge to his voice. “Yeah. So lucky.” Outside, the sun was bright, mocking the coldness between us. Nate headed for the car, and I stayed on the sidewalk. “Mr. Garrison… Nate. I can catch a cab from here. You don’t have to—” “Get in the car,” he said, his tone mocking. “I’m taking you somewhere.” “I don’t want to be a bother—” He arched an eyebrow. “My mother’s orders. She said I need to ‘bond’ with my new bride. So, let’s bond.” I bit my lip and got in. “Bonding,” it turned out, meant being dragged to a private racetrack where Nate and a group of his wealthy, bored friends were tearing up the asphalt. He forced me into the passenger seat for a high-speed lap. “Please,” I whispered, my face turning ashen. “I’ll wait at the finish line.” Nate grinned, a reckless, predatory light in his eyes. “No way. You’re my wife now. You go where I go.” The next few minutes were a nightmare of screeching tires and G-force. The moment the car screeched to a halt, I fumbled for the door, stumbled out, and collapsed by the side of the track, heaving. Nate leaned against the car, watching me. For a split second, I thought I saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, but it was gone before I could be sure. One of his friends, a guy with blonde hair and a mischievous grin named Logan, walked over. He looked at me, then at Nate. “Where’d you find this one? She looks like she’s about to break.” “My mother’s choice,” Nate said flatly. “The new Mrs. Garrison.” “What?” Logan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He looked back at me, then back to Nate. “Damn, man. Your mom has excellent taste. She’s gorgeous.” Nate shot him a murderous look. “If you like her so much, I’ll tell my mom to find one for you, too.” “Whoa, easy! My girl would literally skin me alive.” 5 The “bonding” session was cut short by a call from Arthur, summoning Nate to the office. Nate was clearly pissed about the interruption. He looked at me, and I quickly waved him off. “I can get home on my own. Really.” Logan watched us with a smirk. “So, you’re already at the ‘I can’t stand to be in the same car as you’ stage of the marriage? That was fast.” Nate glared at him. “Do you want to keep your teeth, Logan?” Logan raised his hands in a mock surrender. “Kidding! Just kidding.” Nate peeled out, leaving Logan and me in a cloud of exhaust. I started walking toward the exit, hoping I could find a spot to call a rideshare. “Hey, Mrs. G!” Logan called out, jogging to catch up. “Where are you going?” I looked at him, confused. “To find a cab?” “You’re gonna walk? It’s three miles to the main road.” He checked his phone as it started ringing. “Hold on.” He answered, and I caught bits of the conversation. “Yeah… I know… I’m not gonna leave her in the middle of nowhere… Since when did you care so much?” He hung up and jerked his thumb toward his SUV. “C’mon. Your husband told me to make sure you got home safe.” “Nate did?” “Look, Nate’s a prick sometimes, but he’s not a monster. He wouldn’t leave a girl stranded out here. Neither would I.” I managed a small, tired smile. “Thank you, Logan.” He dropped me off in the city, and I immediately headed to the hospital. My mother was sleeping when I arrived, her face pale against the white pillows. The nurse told me she’d responded well to the new round of treatment. I sat by her bed for hours. She thought I was just working a high-paying tutoring job to cover the bills. When she woke up, she squeezed my hand, her eyes full of worry. “Riley, don’t work too hard. I just want time with you. If it’s my time to go, it’s my time.” “Don’t say that, Mom,” I whispered, my throat tight. “I’ve got a great job now. Everything is going to be fine.” “My little girl is all grown up,” she sighed, looking at me with so much pride it made my heart ache with the weight of the lie. Later that evening, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. It was Logan. “Hey, Riley? You need to come pick up Nate. He’s… had a few.” “Can’t you just drive him?” “Uh, I’ve got a situation here I can’t leave. Please? He’s at the club on 5th.” When I arrived at the VIP lounge, I found Nate slumped on a velvet sofa, rubbing his temples. A woman in a dangerously short dress was hovering over him, her voice a forced, breathy coo. “Come on, Nate. Let me take you home.” Nate pushed her arm away, his voice a low growl. “Get lost.” “But Nate—” I stood a few feet away, watching the scene. Nate looked up, his eyes bleary, and spotted me. “Come here,” he commanded. The woman shot me a look of pure venom before stalking off. I walked over to him, feeling a strange mix of pity and frustration. “Ready to go?” “Get me some water first.” He tugged at his tie, looking genuinely miserable. I grabbed a fresh bottle from the table and handed it to him. He drank the whole thing in one go, which seemed to clear his head slightly. He stood up, gave a curt nod to the room, and walked out. I followed him to the parking lot, where he handed me the keys to a black SUV he must have driven to work earlier. The drive home was silent. Nate was passed out in the back seat. When we pulled into the driveway, I reached back to wake him, but as my hand brushed his shoulder, I jumped. He was burning up. Sweat was pouring down his face, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. “Nate? Nate, are you okay? You’re freezing—no, you’re boiling.”

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Today was supposed to be the sixth time my girlfriend, Claire, met my parents. My parents and I sat in the booth of an upscale downtown bistro, waiting for four grueling hours. I’d called her dozens of times. No answer. Just the steady, rhythmic torture of the voicemail greeting. As I reached for my phone to try one last time, a notification popped up. Sebastian, Claire’s “childhood best friend,” had just posted on Instagram. The location was tagged at a boutique hotel in the suburbs. “From eighteen to eighty. Always us,” the caption read. The photo was of a woman’s bare, elegant back. On her shoulder blade sat a stark, crimson tattoo of a spider lily—a piece of art I knew by heart. A mutual friend had already commented: “The OG couple. Some things never change.” I didn’t feel the usual surge of white-hot jealousy. Instead, I felt a strange, cold clarity. I tapped the ‘like’ button and left a comment: “Make sure you’re buried together, too. That way, you won’t have to ruin anyone else’s life in the next one.” … 1 The waiter had just finished setting our appetizers on the table when Claire’s name finally flashed on my screen. I declined the call without a second thought. A second later, a text came through. “Don’t start with the jealousy again, Leo. I grew up with him. What’s wrong with wanting to be in each other’s lives until we’re eighty? People with dirty minds see dirt everywhere.” Then, another: “Sebastian had an emergency out here. I came to help him handle it. It started pouring rain, and he’s been feeling sick lately. I didn’t want anything to happen to him, so I booked a room to wait out the storm. That’s it.” The messages kept coming—justifications, deflections, insults. The one thing she didn’t mention was the dinner. The promise. The fact that my parents were sitting three feet away from me. I stopped reading. I couldn’t look at the screen anymore; I could only look at my parents, and the guilt was a heavy stone in my chest. They weren’t young anymore. They had flown halfway across the country just to meet the woman I told them I wanted to marry. And Claire hadn’t shown up. Not once. Not in six tries. They had endured her “emergencies” and “last-minute depositions” for years because they knew I loved her. But even their patience had a breaking point. “Mom, Dad… I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’ve wasted your trip again.” My mother reached across the table, her eyes softening with that maternal pity that hurts worse than anger. My father, however, just set his fork down. “We aren’t going to tell you how to live your life, Leo,” he said quietly. “But we’re here for you, not for her. We’ll just enjoy the visit with our son.” My eyes stung. In the five years I’d been with Claire, she had never once accompanied me home for the holidays. She was a high-profile corporate litigator; she always said her time was “billed by the minute.” Her time was too precious for my family. But for Sebastian? For him, she’d cross the city in a heartbeat. She’d find the time for a weekend getaway. She’d find the time to miss my life. Love isn’t a mystery. It’s a choice of where you spend your minutes. I had been lying to myself for half a decade, and it only took one Instagram post for the scales to fall from my eyes. I didn’t get home until eleven after dropping my parents at their hotel. Claire was sitting on the velvet sofa, her face a mask of cold fury. The moment I stepped inside, she pounced. “Where have you been? You weren’t answering your phone. You have no right to just go dark on me.” I stood there, watching her play the victim. It was a masterful performance. “Do you even remember what today was?” I asked, my voice flat. “What was it? Just another Tuesday? Or were you planning on—” She stopped mid-sentence, the realization finally flickering in her eyes. “Oh. Right. Leo, I’m sorry. Are they still at the restaurant? Tomorrow—tomorrow I’ll make it up to them. I promise.” “Don’t bother,” I said. I walked past her toward the bedroom. I needed a shower to scrub the smell of the day off my skin. When I came out, the lights were off, and Claire had already climbed into bed. She was wearing a black silk slip, smelling of expensive perfume and something else—something masculine. “Are you still sulking?” she asked. I stayed silent, facing away from her. She reached out, her arm sliding around my waist, pulling her body flush against mine. Her breath was warm against my ear. “Leo, I’m sorry. I messed up. But Sebastian’s car was totaled. He called me in a panic. I just… I forgot everything else.” When I didn’t respond, she sighed and forced me to turn over to face her. In the pale moonlight filtering through the blinds, I saw the spider lily on her shoulder. My mind flashed back to the hotel photo, to Sebastian’s smug caption. A wave of nausea hit me. “What’s the matter?” I asked, my voice dripping with an edge I’d never used with her. “Wasn’t Sebastian enough for one night?” Claire bolted upright, her eyes flashing. “Leo! Are you serious? I explained it to you! I’ve apologized, I’ve practically begged. What else do you want from me?” She tossed her hair back, her tone shifting to that of a generous benefactor. “Fine. I was even going to take the day off tomorrow to spend it with your parents. But if you’re going to be like this…” “You don’t have to do me any favors, Claire,” I said, looking her dead in the eye. “It’s over. We’re done.” The silence that followed was heavy. I grabbed my pillow and walked out, heading for the guest room. Behind me, I heard the bedroom door slam so hard the frames on the wall rattled. The next morning, I reached for my phone to call my boss and ask for the day off to take my parents sightseeing. Instead, I saw a text from my mom. “Your father and I decided to catch an earlier flight. Go to work, honey. Don’t worry about us. Come home and visit when you can.” I called her immediately, my heart sinking. “Mom? Why are you leaving so early? I was coming to get you.” “Oh, you know your father,” she said, her voice forced and bright. “He’s itching to get back to his garden and his fishing buddies. It’s fine, Leo. Really. We’re at the gate now. Talk soon.” The dial tone echoed in my ear. The shame was suffocating. My parents lived only a short flight away, but for five years, I had been an orbit around Planet Claire, rarely making the time to go home. I went straight to the office. I didn’t go to my desk; I went to my manager’s door. “Marcus, is that Austin transfer still open?” Marcus looked up, surprised. “The lead developer role? Yeah, but you turned it down three times. You said your life was here.” I leaned against the doorframe. “I changed my mind. I realized there’s nothing keeping me here but a ghost.” He smiled, satisfied, and pulled a form from his drawer. “Sign this. You’re exactly what that branch needs.” As I walked back to my desk, my phone buzzed. It was Claire. Her voice was sharp, entitled. “Leo, why didn’t you wake me up? There’s no breakfast, no coffee, and I have a huge client meeting this morning.” I listened to her list of demands—the expectations of a woman who thought I was her permanent fixture. I started to laugh, a dry, hollow sound. “Claire, I’m not your concierge. I’m not your maid. And I’m definitely not yours anymore.” “Leo, don’t you dare—” I hung up. For five years, I had curated her life. I cooked, I cleaned, I even picked out her clothes for court. I had turned myself into a supporting character in her biopic. But the moment the service stopped, she didn’t feel loss—she felt inconvenience. I had never felt more awake. Work became my sanctuary. Without the constant anxiety of Claire’s moods, I finished a week’s worth of coding in two days. But as I stepped out of the building that evening, the sky opened up. A classic Midwestern downpour. My phone rang. Claire. “You’re off work, right? I didn’t drive today. Come pick me and Sebastian up and take us back to the city.” The sheer audacity of it. She wanted me to drive through a storm to pick up the man she’d cheated with. “No,” I said, and ended the call. I took an Uber home and ordered a massive bowl of spicy ramen—the kind Claire banned from the house because she hated the smell and thought it was “low-class.” I remembered a photo Sebastian had posted months ago. Claire, in her Dior suit, sitting on a plastic stool at a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop with him, laughing. Her “standards” were always flexible for him. I was the only one she forced to follow the rules. I was halfway through a beer when the front door swung open. Claire and Sebastian marched in, soaking wet and shivering. Claire’s eyes landed on me, sitting comfortably on the couch with my “smelly” food. She looked like she wanted to set the room on fire. “Leo? Is this what ‘busy’ looks like?” she screamed. “So I missed one dinner with your parents. Big deal! It’s not like they’re dead! You’re being so incredibly petty!” 2 I didn’t want to engage. I really didn’t. But her words felt like a physical slap to my parents’ dignity. I stood up so abruptly the beer bottle on the coffee table tipped over, shattering on the hardwood. “Enough, Claire. Get out.” A shard of glass must have grazed Sebastian’s ankle. He hissed in pain, and Claire’s protective instincts—the ones I never got to see—kicked in instantly. She lunged forward and shoved me. Hard. I stumbled back, my hand landing right in the middle of the broken glass. Pain flared, sharp and hot. Blood began to pool in my palm, dark and thick. Claire froze, her anger momentarily replaced by a flicker of panic. She stepped toward me to look at the wound. As she got close, I caught the scent. Not her perfume. It was Sebastian’s cologne—that heavy, woody scent he always wore. It was all over her. I could almost see them in that hotel room, her hands on him, her whispers meant for someone else. I shoved her away with my uninjured hand. My eyes caught a faint, reddish mark on the side of her neck. Claire noticed my gaze and reflexively pulled her collar up. “It’s a bug bite. The office has been terrible lately, you know how sensitive my skin is.” Sebastian stood behind her, his eyes meeting mine with a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. “Yeah,” he smirked. “Her skin is incredibly delicate.” In that moment, the hierarchy was clear. Sebastian got the truth of her. I got the lies. “Fine,” Claire snapped, trying to regain control of the room. “Stop being dramatic about a few scratches. I’ll take you to the ER.” She grabbed my injured arm, her grip tight and clinical. She wasn’t being a worried girlfriend; she was being a lawyer managing a liability. I wrenched my arm away. “Don’t touch me. You’ll kill me before we even get to the car.” “Can’t you speak like a normal person for once?” she huffed. “Do you have to be so damn bitter?” I didn’t answer. I just grabbed my jacket. Claire insisted on driving, and the moment we reached her car, Sebastian slid into the front passenger seat. He looked at me through the window, a mocking glint in his eyes. “I get motion sickness in the back,” he said. “You don’t mind, right, Leo?” I climbed into the back seat without a word. As she pulled out of the driveway, I looked around the interior of her car. It was filled with things that didn’t belong to me. A pair of high-end sneakers in the footwell. A men’s leather jacket draped over the headrest. A polaroid of the two of them tucked into the sun visor. When we first started dating, I had left a small plush keychain on her dashboard. She threw it away the next day. She told me she had “OCD about clutter” and didn’t want “other people’s junk” in her space. Apparently, Sebastian wasn’t “other people.” By the time the doctors finished cleaning and stitching my hand, it was 2:00 AM. I walked into the waiting room, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t call her. I walked out into the rain and tried to hail a cab. But at that hour, in a storm, the apps were showing forty-minute wait times. Cold and exhausted, I finally dialed her number. Sebastian answered. He gave a low, mocking “Tsk” before I heard the phone being snatched away. “I’m going to jump in the shower,” Sebastian’s voice echoed in the background. “Hurry up.” Claire came on the line, her voice hushed. “What?” “I’m at the hospital entrance,” I said. “I can’t get a ride. Can you come back?” There was a long pause. She had genuinely forgotten I was there. “Oh. Right. Give me five minutes. I’m on my way.” Five minutes became ten. Ten became twenty. An hour passed. I stood under the hospital awning, shivering, watching the rain bounce off the pavement. I laughed at myself. I was the fool who kept expecting a different ending to the same story. Finally, a car pulled up—an actual taxi. I got in and went home. I had just sat down on the guest bed when I heard Claire’s car pull into the driveway. She walked into the house, looking irritated. “Why didn’t you wait? I told you I was coming.” I didn’t look at her. “I’m starving,” she continued, heading for the kitchen. “Make me something. And make a pot of that seafood bisque Sebastian likes. I promised I’d drop some off at his place.” The room felt like it was spinning. “Are you actually insane?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “We broke up. I’m not making you or your lover a damn thing.” Claire stopped and looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. “What did you say? You’re breaking up with me?” “I said it yesterday. I said it today. Maybe your ears are as broken as your moral compass.” Claire started to laugh. It wasn’t a happy sound; it was condescending. “Leo, please. How many times have we done this? You’ll be at my feet in twenty-four hours, begging for a second chance because you can’t handle being alone. Try to hold out for a full day this time, okay? It might actually be impressive.” She walked into the master bedroom and slammed the door. I pulled out my phone and started searching for short-term rentals near the office. Marcus had told me the transfer wouldn’t be official for a month. I couldn’t stay here. Not for another night. I began making a list of what was mine. When we moved in, I had treated this place like a home. I’d bought the furniture, the art, the soul of the house. But looking at it now, I realized I didn’t want any of it. It was all stained. I’d take my clothes, my laptop, and my pride. That was enough. 3 When I finally emerged from the guest room the next morning, Claire was watching me with a strange, unreadable expression. I ignored her and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Suddenly, a loud shatter echoed from the living room. I walked out to find my favorite ceramic mug—the one I’d made myself in a pottery class years ago—smashed into pieces on the floor. I looked at the shards and smiled. It felt like a metaphor. I’d given that mug to Claire when I was still starry-eyed, telling her my love for her was like that clay—hand-molded and one-of-a-kind. She’d laughed at how “ugly” it was back then. “Oops,” she said, her voice devoid of regret. I didn’t argue. I didn’t even clean it up. I just grabbed my keys and walked out. Claire stared at my back, her confidence finally beginning to waver. By that afternoon, I’d signed a lease on a furnished studio. It was a five-minute walk from work. For years, I’d spent forty minutes commuting just so Claire could be closer to her firm. I’d sacrificed my sleep, my time, my energy—all for a woman who wouldn’t even wait five minutes in a car for me. I moved my things out while she was at work. It only took one large suitcase. It was startling how little of “us” was actually “me.” That evening, as I sat in my quiet, new apartment, my phone rang.

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Miles and I were the “it” couple of the child-free-by-choice movement. We had the high-rise condo, the freedom to fly to Tuscany on a whim, and a mutual agreement that our lives were full enough without diapers and PTA meetings. Instead, we poured all that leftover love into his younger sister, Lexi. We treated her like our own daughter. But as the holidays approached, eighteen-year-old Lexi showed up at our door with a thirty-eight-year-old man in tow. Miles and I didn’t even try to hide our disgust. We told her flat out: end it. That afternoon, I was scrolling through a local community forum—one of those anonymous “confessions” sites—when a trending post caught my eye. “Brought my boyfriend home today, and my sister-in-law literally ordered me to break up with him. Who does she think she is? Honestly, I’m over her acting like she’s the queen of the family. To me, she’s nothing but a human ATM with a pulse.” The comments were a mix of shock and skepticism. The original poster’s replies were dripping with arrogance. “My brother and his wife are DINKs. I’m the only kid in the entire family. In other words, I’m their retirement plan. They’re going to rely on me to take care of them when they’re old!” “Someday, her real estate portfolio, her two businesses, and her seven-figure savings will all be mine. So what if I take a little now to help my boyfriend start his company? I haven’t even complained about how much of MY future money they’re spending right now!” “In this house, I call the shots.” My blood boiled as I read the “ungrateful brat” comments. Then I looked closer at the details. The phrasing, the specific mention of the businesses… a cold realization settled in my gut. This wasn’t just some random teenager. This was Lexi. … I was about to dive deeper into her post history when a crash echoed from the dining room. Lexi had flipped the table. Dinner was a catastrophe—red wine soaking into the white rug, porcelain shards scattered like snow. My in-laws stood there, looking small and helpless, while Miles gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white with suppressed rage. Lexi was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown. “Why did you kick him out? Just because you’re older doesn’t give you the right to dictate my life! You have zero say in my decisions!” “If you don’t accept him, you don’t accept me! And if that’s the case, why are you even here? This is my family’s home. Get out!” She looked at me, her eyes darting with venom. “Don’t you feel pathetic? All that fake ‘love’ you give me? You say it’s for my own good, but you just don’t want to spend the money. You’re terrified of me being happy if it costs you a dime!” Miles stepped in, his voice strained. “Lexi, enough. Stop this. Do you have any idea how much we’ve done for you? We’ve spent fifteen years giving you everything. We’re allowed to have an opinion when you’re dating a man twice your age.” “An opinion?” Lexi wrenched her arm away from him. “You’re insulting me! You’re trying to control me!” She turned her gaze back to me, her chin lifted defiantly. “And besides, why can’t I have what’s already mine? Why should I listen to an outsider and break up with the man I love?” Outsider. The word clicked into place, mirroring the post I’d just read. I couldn’t stay silent anymore. “What exactly belongs to you, Lexi? And who, specifically, is the outsider?” I’ve lived thirty-six years; I know subtext when it hits me in the face. Lexi glared at me, the air in the room turning brittle. My in-laws instinctively reached out to quiet her, but she stayed stubborn, her voice ringing out with terrifying entitlement. “First of all,” she said, ticking points off her fingers, “this house belongs to my parents, which makes it my home. Second, since it’s my home, I’m the woman of the house. Anyone who isn’t a blood relative is an outsider. Am I wrong?” She took a step toward me. “And finally, someone promised that their entire estate would go to me eventually. I’m just asking for my inheritance a little early to help my boyfriend. What’s the problem with that?” I stood frozen, the pulse in my temple thrumming. A dark, cold calm washed over me. “Lexi,” I said, my voice dangerously level. “You’re an adult now. It’s time you learned that words have consequences.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Since you’ve decided to lay your cards on the table, let me be very clear. One: I own this house. The deed is in my name. You’re the guest. Two: As long as I’m breathing, I can change my will whenever I want. As of this second, you aren’t getting a single cent of my money. Not now, and not when I’m dead.” I pointed toward the door. “Pack your things and get out of my house. Now. Or I call the police.” The room went silent for exactly three seconds. Then, Lexi burst into hysterical sobs. My in-laws rushed to her, wrapping her in their arms as if she were the victim. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” her mother cooed. “She’ll stop seeing that man, I promise! Don’t listen to your sister-in-law, Lexi, she’s just angry. You know she has a sharp tongue but a heart of gold. She’s doing this because she loves you!” “Lexi, please stop crying,” her father added, his voice breaking. “It hurts my heart to see you like this.” It was the same old routine. One tear, and she had them on a leash. She was the “miracle” baby, born when they were nearly fifty, the only girl in the family. They had spent her entire life buying her silence and her affection. Lexi caught my eye over her mother’s shoulder. The tears were still falling, but the look in her eyes was pure triumph. “I’ll forgive her,” Lexi sniffled, “but I have conditions.” “Anything,” her father promised. “Miles, tell her you’ll make it right.” “I want the new iPhone and that LV bag I showed you,” Lexi said, her voice recovering remarkably fast. “And since I’m starting college, I want my allowance bumped to fifteen hundred a month. No—two thousand.” She paused, looking at Miles. “And you have to stay out of my relationship. I’m an adult. I get to choose who I love.” “Lexi… the guy is older than I am,” Miles muttered, looking defeated. Lexi started to wail again. “See? You’re doing it again!” My in-laws turned to Miles with pleading eyes. Miles looked at me, his expression begging for a compromise. I was done. I had zero patience left for this theater. “I don’t need your forgiveness, Lexi. Do whatever you want.” I grabbed Miles’s hand, pulling him toward the door. As we reached the hallway, Lexi shouted after us. “Fine! Forget the boyfriend thing for now! But you’re taking me to buy the bag and the phone tomorrow! And the allowance starts now!” She said it with such casual certainty, as if she were ordering a coffee. Miles sighed and let go of my hand. He was softening. He had raised her, after all; she was more like a daughter to him than a sister. I didn’t stop him, but I didn’t follow. At the end of the day, she was just his sister. That night, Miles took her out and bought the phone and the bag. When we got home, I checked the forum. The thread had been updated. “So what if an outsider objects? I still get whatever I want. She really doesn’t get it. I’m a Miller. My brother and I share the same blood. She’s just a temporary companion he’s doing life with. She actually thinks she can compete with me?” There was a photo attached: a shot of a luxury dinner, a designer watch, the new phone, and the LV bag. It was her. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Some users in the comments weren’t having it. “Your brother bought those? With his wife’s money? Your brother sounds like a saint, and you sound like a nightmare.” “You keep calling her an outsider, but they’re legally married, honey.” Lexi had replied: “Who cares about marital assets? My brother makes plenty. And who cares if they’re married? She isn’t having kids. Her money has nowhere else to go but to me. Stay mad.” I couldn’t help myself. I created a burner account and commented: “Your sister-in-law isn’t that old. She has decades left. What if she changes her mind about the kids? I wouldn’t count that inheritance just yet.” Ten minutes later, she replied. “That’s not guaranteed. Honestly, she could drop dead tomorrow for all we know.” I felt a physical jolt. My hands started to shake. The sheer, unadulterated malice in those words—from the girl I had nurtured for over a decade. I had treated her like my own child. Beyond the heartbreak, there was a cold, sharp fear. And then, rage. I wanted to call Miles immediately. I wanted to shove the phone in his face and show him exactly what his “sweet little sister” really was. But I forced myself to be still. I clicked on her profile and scrolled through her past posts. Three months ago: “Heard my SIL was in the hospital today. I thought it was finally happening, but it was just a flu. What a letdown.” Four months ago: “Someone actually suggested SIL start prenatal vitamins. Please. Is she even capable of producing anything at her age?” Six months ago: “SIL just spent thirty grand on a custom bed. So disgusting. She’s clearly trying to spend down my inheritance so there’s less for me. What a bitch.” My head was spinning. It was a nightmare, but the voice was unmistakably Lexi’s. I sat in the dark, taking screenshots of every single post until my thumb ached. I met Miles when I was twenty-one. I told him then: I’m child-free. I don’t want them. He didn’t accept it at first, but eventually, he came around. He said he loved me, and a life with me was more important than a life with a nursery. We’d been married thirteen years. But not every “child-free” person stays that way. After losing my grandfather and my uncle last year, something in me had shifted. The idea of motherhood didn’t feel like a cage anymore. I hadn’t been sure—until this moment. Why should I hand over everything I’ve built to a vulture? Why shouldn’t I experience that part of life? I’m thirty-six, not dead. I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and threw every single condom we owned into the trash. At 11 PM, I walked out of the shower, drying my hair. Miles walked in with Lexi trailing behind him. He looked at me, his expression stern. “We need to talk,” he said. “Both of you were wrong today. Lauren, you’re the adult here—you shouldn’t have said those things just to hurt her. And Lexi, you’re eighteen; you need to stop acting like a toddler. I want you both to apologize. Lauren, you first.” I stopped drying my hair. I stared at him, wondering if I’d suddenly suffered a stroke and lost the ability to understand English. “I need to apologize? Because I won’t let her walk all over me in my own home?” Lexi rolled her eyes before I could even finish. “See? I told you. She’ll never do it. She hates me!” She stomped off into the guest room and slammed the door. My heart was hammering against my ribs. In the past, I would have brushed this off as her being spoiled. But with those forum posts burned into my mind, every word felt like a knife. Miles started lecturing me. “I finally got her calmed down. She promised me in the car she’d apologize to you. All you had to do was say sorry back. It wouldn’t have killed you. You know how she is.” His attitude made the last bit of warmth in my chest go cold. I looked at the man I’d spent thirteen years with and realized I didn’t recognize him. “If you love apologies so much, go give her another one. Leave me out of it.” I flipped the hairdryer back on, drowning out whatever he said next. Once he left the room, I sat on the edge of the tub. I opened my banking app and revoked Lexi’s access to my secondary card. Then I called and canceled her private piano lessons, the catering for her upcoming birthday bash, and the VIP tickets to the concert in Tokyo she’d been bragging about. I gave her those things out of love. I didn’t owe them to her. A few days later, Lexi came home screaming. She’d been turned away from her piano lesson. She kicked my bedroom door open, her face distorted. “How dare you cancel my lessons! Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was? My teacher told me the payment was declined in front of everyone!” I didn’t even look up from the TV. “You’re doing this on purpose!” she shrieked. “You’re trying to humiliate me! You don’t respect me at all!” Miles came running in, his face full of pity for her. He turned on me instantly. “What are you doing? Is this still about the other day? Lexi is at a sensitive age. You’re an adult—do you really need to be this petty with a child?” “The lessons aren’t even that expensive,” he continued. “If she wants to learn, let her learn. Reactivate the account, apologize to her, and let’s move on. This constant fighting is exhausting.” Lexi chimed in, “An apology isn’t enough. I want compensation.” “Fine, fine,” Miles said, looking at me. “Tell your sister-in-law what you want. We’ll make it happen today!” I couldn’t listen to another word. I was her sister-in-law, not her patron saint of entitlement. “If you want to ‘make it happen,’ do it yourself,” I snapped. “Stop volunteering my time and my money.” Miles pulled me aside, his voice a frantic whisper. “What is wrong with you lately? Why are you being so mean to her? I know she can be a brat, but we raised her. She’s the closest thing to a child we’ll ever have.” I looked at Lexi, who was glaring at me with smug defiance. Then I looked at Miles. I remembered all the years he’d stayed with me, accepting a child-free life. I felt a sudden flicker of guilt. Maybe he only obsessed over Lexi because he was mourning the children we never had. If we had our own, maybe he’d finally see Lexi for what she was. “If we had a child of our own,” I said quietly, “we’d have to change our lifestyle. We’d have to cut out the unnecessary expenses.” Miles looked at me, completely blank. “A child? You want to have a baby?” “I’m saying we should try. No more late nights, no more drinking. We should focus on our own family.” Lexi heard us. She charged into the room, screaming. “I don’t agree! You are not allowed to have a baby!” “You’re almost forty! You can’t even keep your pants zipped? It’s disgusting! If you actually have a kid, don’t expect me to help. If you guys die, I’m not raising it. I’ll dump it at an orphanage!” “Lexi!” Miles shouted. “That’s enough!” “Will my kid even need you?” I said, my anger finally boiling over. I stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “You hit me?” Lexi gasped, clutching her cheek. “Miles, she hit me!” Miles grabbed my arm. “Lauren! How could you lay a hand on her?” I shook him off. “No one ever taught her how to speak to people. Consider it a life lesson.” Lexi’s eyes were brimming with tears, but her voice was pure ice. “You have no right. And I’m telling you now—as long as I’m around, you aren’t having that baby. It’s either me or the kid. Choose.”

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