Category: English

On New Year’s Day, I had this sudden urge to jump on a trend and post a “Year in Review” video of us—the ultimate power couple summary. The moment I brought it up, Preston’s face darkened. “Are you serious? How childish can you get? I don’t have time for this nonsense.” The words were out before I could think, and I immediately regretted it. I spent the next ten minutes apologizing, remembering too late how much Preston hated being on camera. In five years of marriage, the only photo we had together was the one on our marriage license. Knowing I was in the wrong, I put on my favorite new lingerie that night and waited for him in bed. He never came home. Instead, a few hours later, I was scrolling through TikTok and stopped on a video just posted by a generic couple’s account. “Celebrating 1 million followers! Here’s a little gift for you guys~” the caption read. In the video, a man in a soaking wet, white button-down was sitting in a bathtub, the water clinging to his ripped abs. The influencer was straddling his lap, teasingly running her fingers along his Adam’s apple. The man let out a low groan, gripping her waist tightly, his voice choked with suppressed need. “You little temptress. Stop torturing me.” His face was never shown. But the sound of that man, lost in the heat of the moment… I knew it better than I knew myself. It was my husband. Preston Sinclair. Chapter 1 I went rigid, the blood in my veins turning to ice. In complete disbelief, I kept replaying the clip, dragging the progress bar back over and over again, listening to the rasp of his breath, the muffled groan as he succumbed to his urges. I forgot how to breathe. I clicked through to their profile, but my gaze was instantly captured by their avatar. The woman’s slender waist was locked in a massive hand, while the man’s other hand held her chin with terrifying possessiveness. He was crushing his lips against hers, her cheeks flushed red. My fingers froze against the screen. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was Preston. Because the luxury watch on the wrist in that photo was the exact one I bought him the year we got married. I went back to the video. The comments section was full of fans gushing about how real their chemistry was. “Mr. P’s voice is so sexy, I can’t stop listening. This girl is eating SO good.” “I am officially deceased!” “Total stranger here, but is this what they mean by insane sexual tension? Damn.” I stared at the man in the video. My mind was a blank void. In five years of marriage, forget about getting him to do a TikTok trend with me—we barely had a handful of snapshots together. Yet my phone was filled with thousands of photos of him. All of them were candid, taken when he wasn’t looking. I had been naive enough to believe he actually hated being photographed. I didn’t realize I was gripping my phone so hard my knuckles had turned white. And right then… The woman’s cloyingly sweet, giggling voice blasted through the room, the volume so loud it vibrated against the walls. I had accidentally hit the volume rocker. Before I could turn it down, she spoke: “So, I wanted to do a normal year-end summary, but Mr. P told me that was boring. Hmph.” “So, I decided to punish him a little.” The woman in the video grinned at the camera. “For our year-end summary, let’s tally up how many times we had sex this year!” The scene cut abruptly. Inside a dimly lit car, a woman in a lace bra was straddling a man’s lap, her eyes hazy with pleasure as she moved above him. Her moans drowned out the man’s low growl. Simultaneously, her smug voiceover returned: “Our first time last year: New Year’s Day. P was so impatient, he insisted on doing it in the car.” My face drained of all color. Last New Year’s, Preston had said he had an emergency at the office. He left halfway through our family dinner. My in-laws had spent the rest of the night lecturing me. The lecture was always the same: it was my fault I couldn’t keep Preston interested, that I needed to try harder in the bedroom. But Preston rarely slept with me. Watching this hour-long video compilation, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I dragged the slider directly to the end to see the final tally— 160 times. Average of three times a week. A cold chuckle escaped my throat. Then, I noticed she had posted a new status update. [Teaser: Mr. P is proposing to me tonight at midnight.] The geotag was set at the city’s largest Ferris wheel at the Navy Pier. I checked my watch. Half an hour until midnight. I grabbed my keys and drove there immediately. When I arrived, I was just in time to see Preston and the woman kissing sweetly amidst a cheering crowd. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. I dialed his number. I watched him glance at his phone and decline the call. I called again. Until, finally, he picked up, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Preston, is the other woman a good kisser?” Chapter 2 Preston’s expression shifted instantly. He snapped his head up, his gaze landing squarely on me, standing just outside the cheering crowd. I sneered coldly. “Surprised?” “I never imagined my husband would be here proposing to another woman. A New Year’s Eve proposal. How romantic.” “Should I take off my wedding ring right now and offer it as a gift to the happy couple?” The sarcasm in my voice turned Preston’s face ashen. He lowered his voice, irritation bleeding through: “That’s enough, Audrey! Go home right now—” “Who is this on the phone, baby?” Before he could finish, the woman next to him smiled and leaned in. Catching him off guard, she snatched the phone from his hand. She pouted, her voice ringing out angrily: “I don’t care who you are, but tonight, he belongs entirely to Mia!” With that, she hung up the phone. The freezing night wind whipped against my face, stinging my skin. I felt nauseous. A sharp, piercing pain began to spread from the very center of my chest. I clenched my fists tight, refused to give them another glance, turned on my heel, and walked away. Because I knew Preston would follow. Less than ten minutes later, he caught up to me. And the very first thing out of his mouth was: “Audrey, Mia is young, and it hasn’t been easy for her to get where she is. Don’t go looking for trouble with her. If you’re mad, take it out on me.” “As long as you don’t make a scene, the title of Mrs. Sinclair will always be yours.” Preston frowned, looking down at me with an air of absolute superiority. His tone sounded like he was offering charity to a beggar. I actually laughed. Not a single word of explanation. He thought he could just brush me off by letting me “keep” the title of his wife? I curled my lips into a cold smile and mocked him: “You cheat on me, and you say it with such undeniable righteousness. You really are a master businessman, Preston. Your thick skin and your silver tongue are truly unmatched.” “She hasn’t had it easy? So that gives her the right to be a cheap homewrecker?” “Audrey, that is enough!” Preston lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. His grip was brutal, like he was trying to crush the bone. His voice was lethal: “Could you stop being so incredibly toxic?” “Mia is innocent. She doesn’t know anything about us. I arranged the entire proposal myself. I am warning you, do not lay a finger on her, or I will make you pay a thousand times over!” His words ignited a blazing fire in my chest. “Since you’re so terrified I’ll hurt her, fine. Divorce me.” “Absolutely not!” Preston shot back without a second’s hesitation. Ours was a corporate marriage. The assets of the Sinclair Group and my family’s company, Davis Corp, were deeply intertwined. The financial fallout of a divorce would be catastrophic. He knew this. He thought it was his ultimate leverage. I stared dead into his eyes, my voice freezing: “You have two choices. Either we get a divorce, or I expose both of you to the media. Because frankly…” “I have zero interest in logging onto the internet and watching my husband’s homemade pornos with another woman.” With that, I ripped my hand out of his grip and walked away. That night, Preston didn’t come home, and I stayed awake until dawn, staring at the ceiling. When I got to the office the next morning, my head was still pounding. A few minutes later, my secretary rushed into my office, her face paper-white. “Ms. Davis, it’s a disaster!” “Someone secretly photographed you and Mr. Sinclair last night and posted it online. A major influencer is claiming you’re the other woman, and it’s already trending at number one on Twitter and TikTok!” “Davis Corp’s stock is plummeting as we speak. The board of directors is demanding an immediate explanation.” My secretary frantically handed me her tablet. My brows slammed together. I clicked on the trending hashtag and saw that the internet was flooded with photos of Preston and me from our confrontation last night. Preston’s face was blurred out. The only face clearly visible in every single photo was mine. The paparazzi had chosen their angles perfectly. Even though we were practically screaming at each other last night, the photos made the scene look incredibly intimate and scandalous. Scrolling up, I saw that familiar avatar—Mia. Her latest post read: [I expect certain people to have some self-respect. Stop trying to seduce other people’s fiancés!] [Mr. P and I are very much in love. I trust that he would never betray me, so please, stop degrading yourself with these pathetic attempts to steal my man.] Chapter 3 The attached photo was a close-up of their intertwined hands. My eyes locked onto the matching engagement rings resting on their ring fingers. It felt like a knife had been driven straight through my heart. My face turned to stone. Without a second thought, I pulled off my wedding ring and dropped it directly into the trash can next to my desk. The comment section under Mia’s post was a warzone of insults and death threats aimed at me. [What a desperate, home-wrecking bitch! Go die!] [Don’t worry, Mia! We’ve got your back! No one is going to ruin your relationship!] [Shameless tramp. I’m doxxing her right now!] [Everyone, let’s boycott Davis Corp! She’s the heiress to the company. Does she think having money means she can just steal whoever she wants?] The further I scrolled, the worse it got. Her fans were Photoshopping my face onto grotesque, violent images. I was dominating the top ten trending spots across all platforms. …If Preston didn’t have a hand in fueling this algorithm, I’d eat my own shoe. A wave of blind fury surged through me. I immediately dialed his number. As soon as he answered, I demanded: “Did you pay to push this trending topic?” Preston’s voice was icy and detached: “Mia saw me go after you last night. She cried the entire night. This PR push today was just to pacify her. Do not respond to any of it, and do not issue a statement.” “Once she’s in a better mood, the trending tags will naturally drop.” I was so furious I actually laughed out loud. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. Before I could even respond, he added: “Also, do not call my phone randomly from now on. It upsets Mia.” Click. He hung up on me. An unprecedented wave of absurdity and freezing betrayal washed over me. I took a deep breath, looking at my secretary. “Post our marriage certificate on the company’s official accounts.” Facts speak louder than words. Within half an hour, the narrative online violently reversed course. Seeing Davis Corp’s stock finally stop its freefall, I breathed a sigh of relief. The massive weight on my chest lifted. Just then, my secretary’s voice trembled: “Ms. Davis…” She looked at me, her face completely drained of blood. “Sinclair Industries… they just issued an official statement. They claim Mr. Sinclair is not married, and that the marriage certificate we posted is a forgery!” “What did you just say?!” My head snapped up. I felt like I had been struck by lightning. I scrambled to open the official Sinclair Industries Twitter account. [I am not married. The documents circulating are completely fabricated. Cease and desist letters have been issued to all offending parties. — Preston Sinclair] My secretary’s voice shook violently: “R-Right now, Mia’s fans are crashing our corporate website! The entire internet is boycotting us!” “Ms. Davis, what do we do?” My fingers froze over the screen. My mind went completely blank. …Preston was actually willing to go this far for Mia. He was willing to burn the reputations of both our families to the ground. [LMAO so it was just Photoshop all along!] [Wow, look at Ms. Innocent now! Give us another performance, why don’t you?] [What a psychotic, desperate woman! I feel so bad for Mia and Mr. P. Imagine being targeted by this crazy stalker.] My face turned deathly pale. Instinctively, I went to text Preston, demanding to know why he would do something so destructive. But when I hit send, a giant red exclamation mark appeared next to my message. Message failed to send. …He had blocked me. I ground my teeth together, forcing myself to remain calm. I issued my orders: “Contact the Sinclair executives. Ask them what the hell this means, and if they’ve completely lost their minds.” “Have the operations department compile every single active contract and joint venture we have with Sinclair Industries. Tell the legal department to draft lawsuits against the accounts spreading defamation immediately.” “We convene in the boardroom in thirty minutes.” My secretary practically sprinted out to execute the orders. Everything was moving methodically. Everything except Sinclair Industries. There was absolute radio silence from their end. I said coldly: “If they don’t respond in one hour, terminate one of our joint ventures. Let’s see how long they can afford to play dead.” One of the executives in the room looked shocked. “But if we breach the contracts…” “I’ve already secured new replacement partners.” Chapter 4 I cut off their objections immediately. My eyes were ice. “This incident will not drag Davis Corp down.” My secretary distributed the new partnership agreements to the board. The shareholders exchanged looks, but seeing the new contracts, they finally relaxed. The very minute our first termination notice was sent to Sinclair Industries, Preston called me. He was absolutely furious: “Audrey, do you really have to burn us both to the ground to be satisfied?!” “I told you Mia wouldn’t affect your status! Do you absolutely have to drive her insane before you stop?!” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion: “Preston, I gave you a choice.” “This is the path you chose.” Preston sneered, “Fine! Let’s see how long you can keep that stubborn mouth of yours shut!” I looked up at my secretary. “Send the next termination notice.” This corporate standoff lasted deep into the night. When I finally took the elevator down to the executive parking garage, I hadn’t even pulled out my car keys when suddenly, over a dozen people rushed out from the shadows and surrounded me! My heart dropped. “Who are you—” Smack! Before I could finish, a woman lunged out of the crowd, raised her hand, and slapped me hard across the face! The sharp sound echoed through the concrete parking garage. “You filthy bitch!” “Spit on her! This is what you get for being a homewrecker and trying to steal another woman’s man! We’re delivering divine justice tonight!” The slap made my vision swim with black spots. I instinctively frowned, stepping back. “I’m not a homewrecker. You have the wrong person—” Before the words were fully out, someone spit a wad of phlegm directly onto my face. “Still trying to lie, you little slut?” The woman grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanked my head back, and slapped me again! I looked up in shock, my entire body shaking with rage. “You—!” “You what?! Apologize to our Mia right now!” The next second, someone from behind kicked me hard in the back of the knees. The blinding pain drained the color from my face, and my legs buckled uncontrollably, forcing me to my knees. Then, a hand shoved my head down, slamming my forehead violently against the concrete floor! The sickening thud echoed in the garage. Followed by their mocking laughter. An overwhelming sense of humiliation surged into my throat. My eyes went bloodshot. Right then, a designer heel stepped forward, lifting my chin. Mia looked down at me from her pedestal, her eyes filled with contempt. “Ms. Davis, this is the price you pay for trying to destroy someone else’s family.” “Preston is mine. Next time you try something, it won’t be this easy.” I was forced to look up at her, my face scratched and bleeding from their fingernails. I wasn’t surprised to see her at all. I laughed through the pain, gritting my teeth: “If you’re so brave, why don’t you drag Preston to City Hall right now and see if he gets arrested for bigamy?” “Also, there are security cameras all over this garage. You’re all going to prison.” Mia’s face shifted slightly at the mention of bigamy. But then, a flash of pure malice crossed her eyes, and she raised an eyebrow. “With Preston backing me, what’s a security camera? But you know, you just gave me a great idea.” She pressed the sole of her shoe into my cheek, grinding it into the concrete. She smiled down at me: “Strip her clothes off. Then make her crawl to the front of every car in this garage, screaming ‘I’m a homewrecker and a filthy whore.’ If we post that online, it’ll definitely go viral.” “You wanted to seduce a man for attention, right? Consider your wish granted.” The fans’ eyes lit up. They cracked their knuckles and closed in on me. My eyes felt like they were going to burst from my skull. I thrashed wildly, my teeth chattering in fear and rage: “Don’t touch me!” “This is a felony… the Davis family will destroy every single one of you!” They pinned me down from all sides, excitedly ripping my dress, tearing it until I was stripped bare! The freezing night air bit into my exposed skin. I was shivering violently, screaming until my voice was hoarse: “You are going to regret this!” “Spit on her! You think you can act arrogant when you’re the side piece?” “Our Mia is the undisputed future daughter-in-law of the Sinclair family! With Mr. Sinclair protecting us, you think we’re scared of you?” Mia stood there, looking at me with absolute triumph. She was just about to say something else when a piercing, deafening alarm suddenly blared through the parking garage. Her face paled. The next second, a commanding, authoritative male voice roared through the concrete pillars. “Stop right there!”

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After a company janitor found an abandoned infant in the restroom, she took me and my daughter to court. In court, she beat her chest and screamed herself hoarse: “Evelyn Hayes’s daughter is a total slut!” “She played my son like a backup plan, got pregnant, refused to admit it, and just tossed the baby in the toilet! That was a human life!” “This mother and daughter are cold-blooded, heartless monsters!!” Her son’s eyes were also red, playing the part of the deeply devoted but betrayed lover: “Lily was always sleeping around, and I turned a blind eye, thinking she would eventually settle down.” “Who knew she could be so ruthless as to kill her own flesh and blood? She’s barely human!” The live stream of the trial instantly exploded: [These wealthy elites are absolutely disgusting! Giving birth and throwing the baby in a toilet!] [This is criminal abandonment. I fully support a heavy sentence!] Curses flooded the screen like a tidal wave. The next second, I pulled out my daughter’s medical examination certificate. Everyone was completely dumbfounded. Right after the New Year holidays, my car had just pulled into the underground garage when I received a call from my assistant: “Ms. Hayes, the janitor found an abandoned infant in the women’s restroom. It’s already… gone.” My heart sank. I hung up and rushed up to the office. When I arrived at the scene, the police told me: “The security cameras on this floor are all broken. It’s going to be very difficult to find the person who dumped the baby.” “We can only take the body back first and run a DNA database comparison.” I nodded, indicating we would fully cooperate with the investigation. But I felt a lingering unease: Who would give birth in a company restroom? I had barely sat down in my office when the janitor, Martha Jenkins, pushed the door open and walked in. Her face was pale, but her eyes were gleaming with an eerie light. I thought she was traumatized and offered proactively: “Take two days off to rest and recover. You’ll be fully paid.” She didn’t react to that. Instead, she stared straight at me: “Ms. Hayes, I know where that baby came from.” I looked up, gesturing for her to continue. She took a deep breath and enunciated every word: “It’s my premature grandson…” She added: “And your grandson, too.” I froze for a second, a sense of absurdity rising in my chest: “If you’ve been traumatized into a mental breakdown, the company can pay for you to see a therapist.” She didn’t get angry. Instead, she stepped closer and lowered her voice: “Don’t worry, I don’t want to blow this out of proportion either.” “But your daughter, Lily, strung my son Caleb along for two years. This time she got pregnant, secretly gave birth, and tossed the baby in the toilet to freeze to death!” Her eyes grew red, but her tone became increasingly vicious: “My son gave her his whole heart, and she played our family like animals! A human life, just snuffed out by her!” I stood there, listening to her curse my daughter word by word, feeling it was utterly ridiculous. Martha saw that I wasn’t speaking and assumed I was feeling guilty. She caught her breath and shifted her tone: “Let’s not beat around the bush. Two million dollars, and we write this off.” She took another step closer, her spit almost flying into my face: “If I expose this and let the whole internet see what kind of trash a wealthy heiress really is!” “How do you think the netizens will curse you? How much will your company’s stock be worth then?” “You’re a businesswoman. You know how to do the math, right?” It was too absurd. So absurd I almost wanted to laugh. I slowly stood up, walked to the door, and pulled it open: “If you want money, I have none. If you want to sue, go ahead.” “Now, please get out!” Martha’s face turned ashen. She glared at me fiercely, bumped past my shoulder, and stormed out. I had anticipated that Martha would resort to anything for money, but I didn’t expect her to move so fast. That afternoon, Martha brought her son, Caleb, and stormed into the company lobby. “You black-hearted boss! Condoning your daughter’s murder! Give me back my grandson’s life—!” She sat on the floor of the office area, slapping her thighs, emotionally recounting her tale: “My son is such a fool! He was tricked out of his feelings and his body by that little slut Lily!” “After Lily got pregnant, he catered to her every whim. Who knew this venomous snake would just give birth and throw the baby in the toilet!” Her son, Caleb, stood beside her, his head hanging low, looking exactly like the picture of a devoted man who had been terribly wronged. Hearing the commotion, I walked out and caught snippets of the employees’ gossip: “So the dead baby in the restroom was born to Ms. Hayes’s daughter!” “She always looks so elegant and educated; how did she raise a daughter like that?” Seeing me, Martha pointed right at me: “Look, everyone, the murderer’s mother is out!” I didn’t bother engaging with her. I turned directly to the security guards who had rushed over: “These two are disrupting the workplace. Please escort them out.” The security guards stepped forward, forcefully dragged Martha off the floor, and shoved them both out of the building. I thought that would be the end of it, but that evening, my assistant called again: “Ms. Hayes, the video of Martha and her son causing a scene at the office this afternoon was posted online, and it’s gone viral!” I quickly logged onto the social media platform. The incident was already trending at number one in local news. The headline was glaring: [Exposed: Executive of Horizon Group Condones Daughter Giving Birth in Restroom and Abandoning Infant!] Overnight, my daughter and I became the internet’s public enemies. Abandoning an infant is a crime to begin with, let alone throwing a baby in a restroom to freeze to death. The social backlash was catastrophic. Because of the extreme public attention, a criminal case was swiftly opened. The court decided to hold a public trial and live-stream the entire process. When I walked into the courtroom, the viewer count in the live stream was skyrocketing. The live chat was scrolling frantically: [So heartless. She carried the baby for nine months just to throw it in a toilet!] [Even leaving it at an orphanage would have been better! Throwing a baby directly into a toilet is purely evil. She must be severely punished!] The judge banged his gavel, and the trial began. The plaintiff’s lawyer was the first to stand up: “First, I would like my client to state the course of events.” Martha put on a look of utter heartbreak: “Lily relied on her mother’s money to treat my son like a dog. She tricked him, played with him, and when she got bored, she wanted to kick him to the curb!” “Later, when we found out she was pregnant, we thought she would finally settle down and live a proper life.” “Who knew this snake of a woman was wicked to the core? She gave birth to the baby, threw it in the toilet, and let it freeze to death!” At this point, her tears fell uncontrollably: “That was my Jenkins family’s flesh and blood! A living, breathing human life!” In the live chat, curses rained down on my daughter: [Listen to that! Is she even human?! Lily belongs in the deepest circle of hell!] [Even a tiger doesn’t eat its cubs. This Lily is worse than an animal!] [Her mother is no saint either. To raise a daughter like that, she must be trash herself!] Seeing this, Caleb also joined in with low sobs: “I always treated Lily with true sincerity. No matter how spoiled and promiscuous she was, I put up with it.” “She could treat me however she wanted, but how could she… how could she kill our child!” He raised his teary eyes, looking like a deeply devoted but betrayed man: “She can treat me however she wants, but the baby was innocent!” I stood at the defense stand, my ears ringing. Watching this mother and son put on a duet, dumping buckets of dirty water onto my daughter’s head, I felt it was both absurd and chilling to the bone: “This is blatant slander!” “My daughter could never do such a thing.” The plaintiff’s lawyer, seeing my tough stance, gave a dismissive smirk: “Your Honor, please allow us to present our first piece of evidence!” After receiving permission, he cast a surveillance video onto the large screen. It was a recording from the elevator on the morning the abandoned infant was found at the company, featuring Martha and a young woman. In the video, Martha looked at the girl with a concerned tone: “Lily, why didn’t you tell me beforehand that you were coming to the office?” The girl, heavily pregnant, had an arrogant attitude: “I’m coming to my mother’s company. Do I need to report to a janitor like you?” Martha gave an awkward laugh: “That’s not what I meant. You’re far along in your pregnancy now. If you told me in advance, I could have Caleb accompany you, right?” The girl didn’t bother responding. She just stepped out of the elevator on her own. The video ended there. The live chat instantly felt they knew what was going on, and the cursing intensified: [Like mother, like daughter. What kind of attitude is that towards an elder?!] [She dresses like a decent human but acts worse than a pig or a dog!] [This is rock-solid proof. Let’s see how this venomous mother and daughter try to talk their way out of this!] Martha spoke up right on cue: “That day, I just thought she was stopping by for a walk. After she got out of the elevator, I went to do my own chores.” “If I had known she was there to throw away my grandson, I would have followed her no matter what!” Looking at the screen full of curses, I clenched my fists: “On what grounds are you certain that is my daughter, based on a video whose authenticity hasn’t even been verified?” The plaintiff’s lawyer seemed to be waiting for this exact sentence: “Of course, it’s not just this!” “Through facial recognition technology, the woman in the video has an 80% similarity match with Lily!” A comparison photo was displayed on the screen. That face… at first glance, it really did look like my daughter. But I knew my daughter too well. “Impossible! This person is absolutely not my daughter!” “Furthermore, it’s completely impossible for my daughter to be pregnant with Caleb’s child!” The plaintiff’s lawyer furrowed his brows: “It seems you won’t shed a tear until you see the coffin!” He turned to the judge: “Please allow us to present our second piece of evidence.” On the large screen, a PowerPoint presentation slid through its pages. It contained videos and photos of Caleb accompanying a young woman to prenatal checkups over the past eight or nine months. On the medical reports, the patient’s name was glaringly printed: Lily Hayes. When the presentation reached the end, Martha was in tears: “As everyone can see, every time Lily went for a checkup, my son accompanied her, catering to her every need, more attentive to her than to his own mother!” “And the result? The baby was born and thrown into a toilet to freeze to death!” She pointed her finger at my nose, spit flying: “Yet Evelyn Hayes still denies it! This wicked old woman has a heart of stone, and the daughter she raised is even more venomous!” Her son Caleb wiped his tears alongside her: “Ms. Hayes, I know you look down on me, think I’m poor and a failure.” “But the baby was innocent! How could you be so cruel…” The live chat launched a new round of bombardment: [Are this mother and daughter even human?! Lily should be locked up and have the key thrown away!] [A tiger doesn’t eat its cubs. This woman is ten times worse than an animal! I suggest the death penalty!] [Evelyn, how do you even have the nerve to stand there? Raising a murderer like that, you should be sentenced right alongside her!] The filthy insults stabbed at me like knives. I stood at the defense stand, my ears ringing, my chest feeling like a red-hot iron was pressing down on it. My daughter, a kind-hearted girl who would squat down to feed stray cats since she was a little kid, was currently being subjected to a death by a thousand cuts with the most vicious words from millions of people. “You all keep saying my daughter toyed with feelings and treated human life like dirt. I want to ask, have any of you actually met my daughter in person?” “If you had really met her, you would absolutely not be saying these things!” Martha stiffened her neck: “She was pregnant with my son’s seed. How could we not have met her?!” The live chat unleashed another barrage: [What, is her daughter a man or something? Saying ‘if you met her you wouldn’t say this’, she really has no defense left!] [What good can come from a bad seed’s mother? She’s just another bad seed!] I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white: “I said, it’s impossible for my daughter to abandon an infant!” Martha raised her volume: “Fine! Since you still won’t admit it, I’ll show you the third piece of evidence!” “I want to see how long you can keep up this stubborn act!” The lawyer immediately presented the third piece of evidence. “This is the DNA test report between the infant, Lily, and Caleb!” The plaintiff’s lawyer’s voice rang loud and clear: “The report shows that a biological parent-child relationship exists between the fetus and both individuals.” This single report was like a thunderclap. The live chat went completely insane: [The DNA is rock-solid proof. Let’s see how you keep pretending now!] Martha looked at me, her eyes red: “Evelyn! What do you have to say for yourself now?!” “The evidence is irrefutable. You still want to deny it?!” I took a deep breath, my voice so calm it surprised even myself: “I do not recognize this DNA report either!” “There is absolutely no possibility of a parent-child relationship between my daughter and that dead infant!” The chat scrolled wildly: [Is this woman crazy? Denying DNA?] [She’s still putting up a dying struggle. It’s so disgusting!] [What touching mother-daughter bond. I suggest they spend the rest of their lives together in prison!] Martha shrieked and lunged forward, but was held back by the bailiffs: “You bitch! This is scientific proof in black and white! You still want to deny it?!” “The hair sample sent for testing was personally plucked from your daughter’s head by my son!” Her son Caleb immediately nodded: “Yes! The baby Lily was carrying was mine! Even when she went out and got hotel rooms with other men, I endured it, thinking she would settle down once she had the baby…” “Who knew she was a venomous snake, throwing it in the toilet right after birth! I must make her pay the price!” “This test report was done with the police accompanying us. There cannot be any issues with it!” Seeing this, the live chat boiled over: [Did the pregnancy hormones go to her mother’s brain? Pretending when the evidence is ironclad, this mother and daughter are beyond saving!] [This old woman won’t shed a tear until she sees the coffin. I suggest charging her with harboring a criminal and locking her up with her daughter!] The tide of public opinion was completely one-sided. Martha looked at me, a hint of smugness creeping into her bloodshot eyes. She probably felt that victory was already in her grasp, so she simply let her lawyer continue. The plaintiff’s lawyer cleared his throat: “The defendant’s crimes of infant abandonment and harboring a criminal are obvious facts and should be punished by law!” “At the same time, my clients also demand that the defendant pay two million dollars as compensation for emotional distress.” The chat was in full agreement: [The auntie and her son are still too kind, only asking for two million.] [If you ask me, a life for a life. Sending these two women to hell to apologize to the little baby is the only fair thing!] The corners of Martha’s mouth curled up imperceptibly as she looked at me: “Evelyn, do you see? The eyes of the masses are clear. You venomous mother and daughter will eventually be punished!” I ignored her and just looked firmly at the judge: “Your Honor, regarding all the accusations made by the plaintiffs against me and my daughter, I deny them all!” “It is impossible for my daughter to have been with Caleb, and even more impossible for her to have gotten pregnant and abandoned an infant!” The courtroom was in an uproar. Martha was so angry she tried to charge at me. After being restrained, she screamed hoarsely: “The evidence is right in your face! Your daughter was pregnant with my son’s seed!” “How much longer are you going to keep making excuses?!” I didn’t answer. I just shot a look at my lawyer, who had just rushed in. He nodded and subsequently pulled a document from his folder and handed it to me. I looked at the judge: “With the court’s permission, I would like to make my daughter’s medical examination certificate public.” The judge nodded. I held the medical certificate up to the camera. When the entire internet saw the results of the medical checkup. Everyone gasped collectively. On that medical report, it clearly stated in bold letters: [Lily Hayes, Female, Age 9. No history of menarche.] The live chat exploded: [How old? 9 years old?! Are my eyes deceiving me?!] [She hasn’t even had her first period, so getting pregnant and giving birth is biologically impossible!] [Does that mean Martha and her son have been making false accusations from the very beginning?!] Martha’s face twisted, her eyes glued to the medical report: “Impossible! That’s impossible!” “It’s a fake! This medical report must be a fake!” She then turned to me: “Evelyn, you have such a malicious heart! To get your daughter off the hook, you’d even forge a medical report!” “You are showing contempt for the court!” Caleb also hastily yelled: “Right! This is a fake! How could Lily possibly be only 9 years old?!” “They definitely bought off the hospital to make this report!” I gave the mother and son a cold, sweeping glance, then said to the judge: “Your Honor, this medical report is from the City General Hospital.” “All examination procedures were legal and compliant. I also have the complete medical records and hospital surveillance footage.” “I am willing to undergo any verification. If it is fake, I am willing to bear all legal consequences!” The live chat was almost entirely one-sided now: [That kind of confidence doesn’t look like a fake.] [Right, a report from a top-tier public hospital isn’t that easy to forge.] [I always thought it was weird. What mother would be so calm and strongly deny it after her daughter abandoned a baby? This is the root of it all!] The plaintiff’s lawyer clearly hadn’t anticipated this either. He stood up, his momentum noticeably weakened: “Your Honor, the evidence presented by the defense fundamentally contradicts all evidence previously presented by my clients.” “We request a temporary recess to verify its authenticity.” The judge pondered for a moment, then struck the gavel: “The court grants the plaintiff’s request. We will temporarily recess.” The gavel fell, and the trial live stream was interrupted. But the storm on the internet was just beginning. During the two-day recess, public opinion underwent an earth-shattering shift. More and more people began to look for loopholes in the evidence provided by Martha’s side. Various speculations and deductions emerged endlessly. When the court reconvened, the number of viewers in the live stream reached a new high. Everyone was curious about the truth. The judge first announced: “After court verification, the medical report of Lily Hayes submitted by the defendant, Evelyn Hayes, is authentic and valid.” A final, decisive conclusion. The plaintiff’s lawyer still bit the bullet and stood up: “Your Honor, we believe this does not directly overturn the connection between the abandoned infant and the defendants.” “The abandoned infant appearing at the defendant’s company is exactly what proves this is related to the defendant!” At this point, he raised his volume: “Our new evidence shows that the woman romantically involved with Caleb, while not Lily Hayes herself, has a very close relationship with the defendant, Ms. Evelyn Hayes!” As his words fell, he looked down, operated his laptop, and played a surveillance video. The footage showed Caleb walking in and out of a hotel lobby with his arm around a young woman. He infinitely zoomed in on the woman’s face and froze the frame. “This woman’s name is Harper Collins, currently 21 years old, a student at Southern State University.” “According to our investigation, she is an underprivileged student who has been sponsored long-term by the defendant!” [A sponsored student? Oh my god, the plot thickens!] [So they got the wrong person? They mistook the girl she sponsors for her daughter?] [Even so, why would she use Lily’s name to get prenatal checkups? That doesn’t make sense!] The judge looked at me: “Defendant, what is your explanation for this?” I remained calm: “Harper Collins is indeed a student I sponsor.” “But during the sponsorship period, aside from sending money, my interactions with her have been extremely rare.” “As for the matters between her and Caleb, I am even more completely unaware.” Just then, Harper Collins, escorted by bailiffs, walked in. As soon as she took her seat, her tears instantly flowed. The look she gave me was filled with deep resentment. A few seconds later, she pointed at me and cried out with a sobbing voice: “My child was killed by Evelyn!” “She sponsored me just to use me as a social tool, to send me to the beds of those old men she knows!” “When I refused, she suppressed me in every way, threatened me, and caused me to develop severe depression!” I looked at her and slightly raised an eyebrow. They were ganging up to scheme against me. She continued: “After finding out Caleb and I were dating, she constantly tried to break us up!” “I originally wanted to keep this child and live an ordinary, quiet life.” “But Evelyn forced me to drink a potion and murdered my child!” She looked at the camera, her voice hoarse from screaming: “I hate her! I hate her for ruining my life, ruining my love, and killing my baby!” “Just because she had a few dirty bucks and gave me a little sponsorship!” “I’m going to ruin her reputation!” This accusation was filled with genuine emotion and directed all the spears at me. The live chat turned into a chaotic mess: [This girl is crying so pitifully. If what she says is true, Evelyn is terrifying!] [This is terrifying to think about. Sponsoring poor female students and then giving them away to others, isn’t this just a modern version of grooming girls for trafficking?] [My brain is a mess. Who exactly is lying?] Martha and her son finally showed a look of relief on their faces. The judge looked serious and turned to me:

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My husband, a man who had never known a sick day in his life, was suddenly dying. His grip on my hand was iron-tight, desperate. “When Lila goes, I go too. She’s my soulmate, Nora. You know that. She’s the only thing that ever mattered.” The realization hit me like a physical blow. He wasn’t just dying; he was giving up. He was choosing to follow his dead ex-girlfriend—his “one that got away”—into the grave. Our children were still young. His company’s finances were in shambles. Yet, to him, none of that held a candle to the memory of Lila recent passing. ” In the next life,” he rasped, his eyes losing focus, “I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry. I failed you.” Cole Prescott took his last breath before his assistant even dared to step into the room. The report, when it came, was the final insult. Cole had liquidated his personal assets. Everything—every cent—had been placed in a trust for Lila’s children. There was nothing left for us. I stared at Cole’s lifeless body on the hospital bed. I looked at the legs under the sheet—legs that had been crushed and paralyzed saving my life years ago—and I couldn’t find a single word to say. His assistant shifted uncomfortably, clutching a file. “Mrs. Prescott… there’s something else. For a long time, your biological parents were looking for you.” My head snapped up. “Ms. Lila intercepted the communications. Mr. Prescott… well, he knew. He let her hide the letters. When your parents passed away, we handled the arrangements. Their house was filled with nothing but photos of you and missing person flyers.” I stared at him, the room spinning. A coppery taste of blood flooded my mouth. The betrayal wasn’t just financial; it was existential. When I opened my eyes again, the sterile white of the hospital was gone. I was back in the smell of bleach and boiled cabbage. The group home. A handsome teenage boy walked in, practically dragging his wealthy parents behind him. He pointed a finger straight at me, his face glowing with excitement. “Her,” he said. “We have to adopt her.” I looked at his familiar, youthful face, and felt nothing but a glacial cold spreading through my chest. Cole Prescott. I didn’t care if this was a second chance. In this life, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. 1 “Mom, Dad, if you’re going to give me a sister, it has to be her!” The moment I heard the desperation in his voice, I knew. Cole had come back, too. I thought about his dying promise—I’ll make it up to you. I arched a brow. Well, give the devil his due; he was trying to keep his word. In my past life, I had been ambitious. I was starving, bullied, and desperate to escape the poverty of the state system. I wanted a golden ticket. I had schemed and clawed my way into the Prescotts’ line of sight. I had been so close. But the day before the papers were signed, Cole had walked in holding Lila’s hand. Lila had cried crocodile tears, accusing me of bullying her. She told them I was manipulative, that I seduced the male staff, that I was a pathological liar. And Cole? He believed every word. That day, my American Dream shattered. As Cole led Lila away to her new life of luxury, he turned to the other kids and staff, his voice dripping with disdain: “Nora Bennett is bad news. She’s a curse. Do yourselves a favor and stay away from her.” From that moment on, I fell from purgatory into hell. I endured five more years of abuse in that system. Meanwhile, Lila became the Prescott princess, adored and spoiled. But now, here was Cole, standing in front of me, his eyes pleading. “This time,” he whispered, low enough that only I could hear, “you’re going to be my sister. I’m going to take care of you. You won’t ever have to be jealous of anyone again.” I understood. He was grieving the Nora of the past. Somewhere down the line, in our previous life, he must have found out Lila had lied. He had spent decades regretting that he left me to rot in this place for five years. Mr. and Mrs. Prescott smiled at me. Just like before, there was an instant connection. They liked me. But I didn’t want his charity. I didn’t want his guilt. I opened my mouth to tell them to go to hell. Suddenly, a young girl burst into the room, sobbing hysterically. Her dress was torn, and blood trickled from a shallow cut on her arm. “Lila!” Cole gasped. “Are you… are you okay?” Lila glanced at me, eyes sharp with suspicion, before throwing herself at the Prescotts’ feet. “Please! Are you here to save me? Please take me! I don’t want to die! I’m scared!” She was copying me. In the old timeline, the Director of the home was a monster. I had staged a scene like this to save myself. But Lila? She had never been his target. She was always safe. In the past, seeing her act this way broke me. I had screamed, grabbed her, demanded the truth—which only made the Prescotts think I was unhinged. But now? Cole knew she was lying. He knew she was acting. Yet, looking at her small, trembling form, he couldn’t help it. The old instinct to protect her kicked in. “Who hurt you?” Cole demanded. “I won’t let them get away with it.” Lila couldn’t risk the truth. If she didn’t get adopted, she’d be stuck here with a Director she had just falsely accused. I blinked, stepping forward with a calm I didn’t feel. “It was the Director,” I said, my voice steady. “He likes the pretty ones. And Lila is the prettiest girl here.” “What?” Mr. Prescott’s hands curled into fists. “That animal.” “Oh, you poor thing.” Mrs. Prescott looked heartbroken. Cole stood there, lips pressed into a thin line. I knew him better than I knew myself. I could see the gears turning. He was wavering. “Mom, Dad,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “We have to take Lila.” “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, you should adopt Lila.” We spoke at the exact same time. 2 “Nora…?” Cole looked at me, stunned. He remembered the old Nora—the one who would have begged, screamed, and fought to get out of this hellhole. But I ignored his complicated, guilt-ridden gaze. I turned to his parents, projecting the image of a mature, thoughtful child. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, honestly? I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to be an only child. I don’t think I’d do well sharing parents. So, thank you, but please take her.” The Prescotts looked surprised, a shadow of regret crossing their faces, but they nodded. When Lila realized she had won, she sidled up to me while the adults were signing papers. She tilted her chin up, a smirk playing on her lips. “I told you, Nora. You can never beat me. I’m going to be a rich girl now.” She leaned closer. “And you? You can rot here. Blame yourself for being too stupid to call out my lie.” She skipped away, triumphant. From the shadows, Cole emerged. He looked like he’d been slapped. He hadn’t realized that even back then, Lila wasn’t the innocent angel he thought she was. Hearing her cruelty firsthand had shaken him. He looked at me, eyes wet, silently begging for comfort. He wanted me to tell him it was okay. I looked right through him and turned to walk away. “Nora, wait,” he stammered, grabbing my arm. “I… Lila is just young. She’s scared. She’ll change.” “Sure,” I said, forcing a smile. “Whatever you say.” “Nora!” Panic edged into his voice. He started digging through his pockets, pulling out a wad of cash. “Take this. Please. I owe you this. Listen, give me two weeks… no, five days. Three days! I’ll come back for you. I’ll find a way to get you out.” “I don’t need it.” “Nora, I promise! Just wait for me!” He didn’t leave because I rejected him; he left because Lila tripped and scraped her knee near the car, screaming in pain. I watched him run to her. Predictable. Thank God I had killed the part of me that loved him long ago. Lila was smart. Before she left, she must have whispered something to the Director. Because this time, the Director didn’t just ignore me. He came for me. Three days passed. Five days. A month. Cole never came. But I didn’t wait. I let the Director break my arm—a calculated sacrifice—so I could hide a camera in his office. I got the footage. I called the police. I called the press. As the police dragged the Director away in handcuffs, his “favorites”—five older boys who were practically his sons—cornered me in the yard. “It was you, wasn’t it, Nora? You traitor.” “We’re going to starve because of you.” “Get her! Kill the snitch!” I curled into a ball, protecting my already broken arm and my head. I had anticipated this. Pain was just the price of freedom. One of the boys picked up a brick, aiming for my skull. Suddenly, a shadow lunged in front of me. The brick connected with a sickening thud. “Argh!” Cole collapsed onto the dirt, blood pouring from his head. 3 “Cole!” My eyes widened. “Are you okay?” Blood streamed down his face, blinding him in one eye. He wiped it away with a trembling hand, looking fragile but smiling like a maniac. “I did it,” he wheezed. “This time, I saved you. Nora, I made it in time.” In the past, his sacrifice would have melted me. But now? The worry vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold void. I remembered the winter in our past life. Our child—our baby—was sick. Because of one of Lila’s fabricated emergencies, Cole had abandoned us in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm to go to her. He left us without firewood. Without transport. I watched my child freeze to death. I wandered the woods for three days like a zombie carrying a small, cold body. When I was rescued, I broke. I went mad with grief. I tried to destroy Lila. But Cole? He protected her. He always protected her. We spent decades tearing each other apart. Eventually, he lost his legs saving me from a car accident I caused in a blind rage. The proud, golden boy became a cripple. Guilt had forced me to stay. I agreed to call a truce. And how did he use that truce? He sat in his wheelchair, pale and weak, and begged me: “Nora, please. Let Lila go. Do it for my legs.” That was the moment my soul finally left the building. “Fine,” I had said, weeping silently. “I promise.” Now, back in the present, Cole was gripping my hand, desperate for validation. “Nora, I told you I’d protect you.” Before I could answer, I was shoved hard from the side. Smack! Lila slapped me across the face, screaming. “You jinx! Get away from my brother! He’s my brother!” She scrambled to help Cole up. “Lila, stop,” Cole groaned. “Apologize to Nora. Now.” Lila immediately burst into tears. It was her trump card. Cole crumbled. He hated seeing her cry. He softened immediately, shushing her. I dusted off my clothes, ignoring the triumphant glint in Lila’s teary eyes. I turned to leave. “Stop right there!” Lila barked, her spoiled princess persona slipping out. “Who said you could leave? Stay away from us. You’re bad luck.” “Lila!” Cole stepped in front of her as I turned back, shielding her with his body. He always did that. He assumed I was the threat. He always forgot that I was the one standing alone, while she had an army. I looked at him and rattled off a string of names and numbers. Lila looked confused. “What is that? Gibberish?” But Cole went pale. Those were the dates and account numbers marking the beginning of the Prescott family’s financial ruin. In the last life, I had saved his family’s company. It took me years to find the mole and the bad investments. “Nora, you…” “Thanks for taking the brick,” I said flatly. “But we’re even now. I don’t owe you anything, Cole. Stay away from me.” Cole stood there, mouth open, looking like I’d just ripped his heart out. He couldn’t process it. He couldn’t understand why the Nora who had loved him across time and space now looked at him like he was a stranger. 4 The government took over the facility. The living conditions improved overnight. The Director went to prison five years earlier than in the original timeline. I had saved myself—and everyone else—five years of torture. The other kids, sensing the shift in power, started circling me, trying to get on my good side. The Director’s cronies became the pariahs. I watched it happen with satisfaction. I always believed in karma. A month later, Cole rushed to find me. He looked disheveled. He told me Lila had been “sick” and he’d been too busy nursing her to visit. He hung his head, apologizing profusely. It was his signature move: abandon me for her, then offer me crumbs of affection later. Like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. “Nora, good news. I found a private school for you, and a family willing to foster you.” “No thank you,” I said, polite and distant. The state had already arranged for us to attend the local public high school. Unfortunately, fate has a sick sense of humor. I ended up in the same homeroom as Lila. It took less than three days for the rumors to start. The whole grade was whispering that I had “seduced the forty-year-old Director.” Boys snapped my bra straps in the halls. Girls looked at me like I was contagious. They started calling me “The Community Bike.” I knew this was Lila. I checked the calendar. My biological parents—the Westcotts—should be landing soon. Emboldened by the imminent arrival of my cavalry, I didn’t hold back. During a break, Lila smashed a pencil case into the back of my head. “Hey, Community Bike!” she shrieked. “Nice new shirt. Which man did you sleep with to get that one?” Laughter rippled through the classroom. “Yeah, slut.” “Disgusting.” I stood up slowly. I walked over to Lila’s desk. She smirked, waiting for me to cry. Instead, I grabbed a handful of her hair and slammed her face into the mop bucket sitting by the cleaning cart. “Agh! Let go! Let go of me!” “Your mouth is filthy,” I snarled, holding her down. “I figure you need to rinse it out.” “Lila, we both came from the same gutter. The Director wanted you first. I protected you. And this is how you repay me? You ungrateful little parasite.” “No… blub… no!” Every time she opened her mouth to scream, grey water rushed in. I raised my voice, addressing the room. I started listing facts. I listed the specific lies she’d told about the other girls. I revealed how she’d bullied the previous teacher into quitting. The class went silent. The laughter died. People started exchanging looks. The dots were connecting. “Nora! Get your hands off her!” A body slammed into me from behind. I lost my balance and hit the floor hard. My left arm—the one barely healed—cracked. I gasped, white-hot pain blinding me. Cole stood over me, helping a sputtering, wet Lila to her feet. When he saw me clutching my arm, his face crumpled with regret. “Brother!” Lila sobbed, clinging to him. “Make her leave! Get her expelled! She’s crazy!” “Okay,” Cole whispered, stroking her hair. “I promise. I’ll handle it.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “There it is. You never change, Cole. You’re pathetic.” Cole couldn’t meet my eyes. “Nora, you started it. Violence isn’t the answer. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you later.” “You won’t have to,” I said. Suddenly, the homeroom teacher burst in, beaming, completely oblivious to the tension. “Nora! Nora Bennett! Your parents are here! Your biological parents! They’re taking you to Europe!”

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I was just trying to watch a movie. That was it. But the kid behind me wouldn’t quit. He kept kicking the back of my seat, a rhythmic, dull thud that was slowly driving a wedge into my sanity. Then came the smell—stale cheese and sweat—as he propped his bare foot right next to my ear. I snapped. I turned around, my voice tight. “Hey, keep your feet down and sit still.” He didn’t listen. Instead, he grinned, a feral little look in his eyes, and jammed a needle into the side of my neck. It wasn’t a poke. It was a stab. 1 Sharp, white-hot pain flared instantly. I slapped a hand to my neck and pulled it away slick with warm blood. Behind him, his mother just giggled. “Oh, relax,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s just playing with my sewing needle. Boys will be boys. It’s not like it’s poisoned or anything. Don’t be such a drama queen.” That did it. I threw my bucket of popcorn to the floor, ripped out my phone, and blasted the flashlight right into the kid’s face. “Listen to me!” I screamed, my voice tearing through the theater’s darkness. “That kid is holding a high-risk, medical-grade needle! It’s used! It’s filthy! That is HIV-positive blood!” The beam of my flashlight caught the needle in the kid’s hand. A single drop of blood hung from the tip. “Holy sh*t! HIV?” someone yelled. “Run! Don’t let him touch you!” Panic is contagious. In seconds, the theater erupted. People vaulted over seats, screaming, scrambling away from the epicenter of the infection. The room descended into absolute chaos. The woman’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, defensive fury. “What the hell are you saying? HIV?” She stood up, screeching. “You’re cursing my son! I’ll rip your face off!” I took a step back, my phone camera already rolling, locked onto the kid who was now looking confused, still clutching the weapon. “Stay back!” I yelled, addressing the crowd. “Nobody knows if they have more needles! Call 911! Now!” “This is assault with a deadly weapon! They are spreading a biohazard!” “Block the doors! Don’t let them leave!” My hysteria was calculated, and it worked. The fear of contagion is primal. Several large men immediately moved to block the exits, their faces grim. “Yeah, nobody’s going anywhere!” “That is sick! Stabbing people with AIDS needles? You people are monsters!” Suddenly, the house lights flooded on, bathing us all in a harsh, exposing glare. The woman finally realized the gravity of the situation. She saw the rage and terror in the eyes surrounding her and snatched her son into a protective hug. “What are you doing? You’re bullying a mother and child!” she shrieked, though her voice wavered. “It’s not AIDS! It’s… it’s red ink! It’s just red ink!” I stared at her. I looked at her with the cold, dead eyes of someone who has already imagined their own funeral. “Red ink?” I stepped forward. “Okay. Then tell your son to stab himself with it.” The theater went silent. “If he sticks that needle into his own arm right now, I will get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness.” The woman choked. She looked at the jagged, bloody needle, then instinctively shoved her son behind her back. “Why should I? You aren’t touching my son! You’re crazy!” Adrenaline began to crash, replaced by a wave of dizziness. My knees felt weak. Behind the woman’s screeching defenses, the kid finally realized he wasn’t in charge anymore. “Mommy! They’re being mean to me!” he wailed. He threw the needle down. The bloody instrument skittered across the concrete floor, rolling twice before coming to a stop in the middle of the aisle. The crowd recoiled as if the object were radioactive. No one dared to breathe near it. “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry,” the woman cooed, glaring at me with venomous hatred. “You piece of trash! Scaring a child like that? It’s a tiny scratch! You’re blowing this way out of proportion!” “You want to call the cops? Fine! Call them! I’ll sue you for defamation! I’ll sue you for every penny you have!” She was still posturing. Still pretending she held the cards. 2 But against the tidal wave of public panic, her entitlement meant nothing. It only fueled the fire. “Shut up, lady! Your kid stabbed someone!” “That’s a biohazard! That kills people!” “I saw it! He was kicking the seat and then he attacked her. That kid is a psychopath!” The theater manager burst in, flanked by security guards, sweating profusely. “What is going on? Everyone, please, remain calm!” I kept my hand over the wound on my neck and walked straight up to the manager. I pulled my hand away to show him the blood. “That child used that needle to puncture my carotid artery area. I have reason to believe it is medical waste carrying a high-risk virus,” I said, my voice trembling but my logic razor-sharp. “I am demanding you lock down this theater. Detain them.” “Call the police. Call an ambulance. And get the CDC involved.” The manager looked at the needle on the floor, then at the blood on my neck. All color drained from his face. He knew that if this was mishandled, his theater—and his career—was over. “Cover that object! Don’t touch it!” he barked at security. “And keep those two here. Nobody leaves.” Realizing she was trapped, the woman, Vanessa, dropped to the floor in a full-blown tantrum. “Help! Security is assaulting us!” she screamed, kicking her legs. “Is there no law in this country? You’re bullying a woman and a child! Do you know who my husband is?” “My husband is Conrad Hughes! You touch me and he’ll destroy you!” Conrad Hughes. The manager flinched. The name clearly rang a bell. But the crowd didn’t care about local celebrities. “I don’t care if your husband is the President!” someone shouted. “Attempted murder is attempted murder!” “Record her! Put this on TikTok! Expose them!” Dozens of phones were aimed at her like weapons. Flashes popped. Vanessa panicked, trying to shield her face and swat at the cameras. “Stop filming! You don’t have my permission! Put the phones down!” It was anarchy. I stood off to the side, the burning sensation in my neck spreading. The phantom feeling of a virus coursing through my veins made me shudder. But I had to hold it together. I focused on the needle. It wasn’t a sewing needle. It wasn’t even a standard syringe. The gauge was thick, and the barrel had specific blue graduation lines. It looked industrial. Or experimental. I was a bio-major back in college. I knew lab equipment. That device didn’t belong in a sewing kit. It belonged in a bio-waste bin. She was lying. And judging by the sweat on her brow, she was terrified. Ten minutes later, the sirens wailed outside. Police officers pushed through the crowd. An older officer, Detective Miller, took charge. “Who called it in? What’s the situation?” I stepped forward and gave my statement, keeping it clinical. Miller put on gloves and crouched over the needle. He sealed it in an evidence bag, examining the residue inside the barrel. His brow furrowed. “This isn’t a sewing needle,” Miller said, his voice carrying through the quiet room. “This is a large-bore biopsy or aspiration needle. Veterinary or… specialized use.” His words hit Vanessa like a physical blow. Her “sewing needle” defense evaporated instantly. “Veterinary?” She stammered, sweat beading on her forehead. “No! I… I bought it at a flea market! For crafts!” 3 Her eyes darted around the room. She was crumbling. “We’ll check the prints and run a tox screen on the residue,” Miller said dryly. “Ma’am, you’re coming with us.” Two officers hoisted her up. “I’m not going! You can’t arrest me! My son is a minor!” she shrieked. The kid, Jaxon, seeing his mother restrained, finally broke down into genuine, snot-nosed sobbing. The malicious bravado was gone. I followed the police out. As I passed them, I stopped. I leaned in close to Vanessa, my voice a whisper only she could hear. “Pray,” I said. “Pray that it’s just red ink.” “Because if there is anything in that needle, I will make sure your family rots in a cell.” She looked up at me, eyes filled with pure venom. “You just wait. Conrad is coming. When he gets here, you’ll be begging me to settle.” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Settle? Lady, if that needle is clean, I’ll eat it. But if it’s dirty? God himself couldn’t save you.” I walked out into the daylight. The sun was blinding, but I felt freezing cold. Bone deep. The ambulance was waiting. As the paramedics cleaned the wound, the smell of antiseptic cleared my head, but my mind was stuck on the needle. Those blue lines. That dark red residue. And the name. Conrad Hughes. If I remembered correctly, he was the CEO of Mercy Hill Medical Group. The biggest private healthcare conglomerate in the state. A hospital tycoon. His son walks around with a specialized puncture needle. His wife acts like she owns the law. This wasn’t just a bratty kid. What was in that needle? A terrifying thought began to take shape in the back of my mind. Maybe I hadn’t just been exposed to a disease. Maybe I had stumbled into something much darker. Something that went deeper than a prick on the neck. The air in the interrogation room at the precinct was thick enough to choke on. I had a bandage on my neck and a preliminary lab report in my hand. I was on PEP—post-exposure prophylaxis. The doctors said the critical window was 72 hours. These 72 hours were my lifeline. Vanessa was sitting opposite me, legs crossed, checking her nails. The kid, Jaxon, was slurping a juice box the cops had given him, staring at me with that same dead-eyed defiance. “Alright, let’s cut the act,” Vanessa said, dropping her Hermès bag onto the metal table with a heavy thud. “You want money. Just say it. Five grand? Is that enough?” “Take the check, sign the NDA and the waiver, and we’re done.” She pulled out a checkbook, her pen hovering, looking at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. I didn’t blink. I just crinkled the medical report in my fist. “Too low? Fine. Ten grand.” “Don’t be greedy, sweetie. That’s probably more than you make in a year serving coffee or whatever you do.” “Take it, buy yourself some vitamins, and stop pretending you’re dying.” She scribbled a number, ripped the check out, and flicked it across the table. 4 The check fluttered through the air and landed on my shoe. I didn’t move. I just stared at the piece of paper. “I don’t want your money,” I said, my voice raspy. “I want the truth. Where did that needle come from? And what was inside it?” Vanessa’s face twitched, masking fear with aggression. “None of your business! I told you, it’s a toy! We found it!” “The cops haven’t found anything yet, so who do you think you are?” “I’m warning you. Don’t push your luck. When my husband gets here, that ten grand is off the table.” As if on cue, the door swung open. A man in a bespoke suit strode in, bringing a cold gust of air with him. He was flanked by two sharp-eyed lawyers carrying briefcases. Conrad Hughes. He radiated power and arrogance. He had the heavy, fleshy face of a man who hasn’t heard the word “no” in decades. “Honey! You’re finally here!” Vanessa immediately switched into victim mode, crying fake tears. “This person is bullying us! They want to put Jaxon in jail! Do something!” Conrad patted her shoulder, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on me. He looked at me with the detached boredom of a man inspecting a pest. “You must be the victim.” He walked over, towering over me. “Listen, kid. Accidents happen. Boys play rough.” “I’ll cover your medical bills. And I’ll add twenty thousand for your ’emotional distress.’” “This ends now.” It wasn’t an offer. It was a command. One of the lawyers immediately slid a settlement agreement across the table. “Sign here. It’s in everyone’s best interest.” Conrad lit a cigarette, completely ignoring the “No Smoking” sign on the wall. The young officer in the corner opened his mouth to object, but Conrad shot him a look that silenced him instantly. Money talks. And here, it was screaming. I looked at this family. The entitlement. The cruelty. The absolute certainty that they could buy their way out of physical assault. The rage inside me burned hotter than the infection fear. “And if I don’t sign?” I looked up, meeting Conrad’s gaze. He paused, smoke curling from his lips. He seemed genuinely surprised I was speaking. He leaned in, exhaling the smoke right into my face. “You don’t sign?” He smiled. A shark’s smile. “Kid, do you know who I am? I run Mercy Hill. I own half the city council.” “I can make sure you never work in this town again. I can make sure you get evicted by the end of the week.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The police won’t find anything on that needle. Even if they do, it’s just medical waste. A misdemeanor.” “I pay you off, maybe spend an hour in holding. But if you refuse… I promise you, you will regret it for the rest of your miserable life.” A naked threat. He didn’t care if the needle was toxic. He only cared about the inconvenience. To him, my life was a rounding error. My fingernails dug into my palms until they bled. The pain kept me focused. “Big words, Dr. Hughes.” I stood up, picked up the twenty-thousand-dollar check, and ripped it into confetti. I threw the pieces in his face. “Keep the money. Use it to buy your son a conscience. Or a lawyer for the murder trial.” “I don’t believe you own the whole world. And I don’t believe that needle is just trash.” Conrad’s face turned a violent shade of purple. He raised his hand as if to backhand me. “You ungrateful little—” Knock. Knock. The door opened again. A forensic technician in a white coat walked in, holding a report. He looked pale. Terrified, even. “Detective Miller,” the tech said, his voice shaking. “We identified the substance in the needle.”

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I am the daughter of the most feared crime lord in the city. Today, at my wedding, I was supposed to finally step out of the shadows and claim my birthright. Instead, my brother told me there was a hit out on me. He said I couldn’t be exposed. My fiancé, playing the part of the concerned lover, stripped me of my custom Vera Wang gown and draped it over my personal assistant, Ivy. My head of security, the man sworn to take a bullet for me, took the Calloway family signet ring from my finger. I trusted them. God, I trusted them with my life. But when the wedding march began, I watched from the wings. I saw Ivy, wearing my dress, with one arm looped through my fiancé’s, while her other hand lingered intimately against the waist of my brother, then my bodyguard. When I stormed out to demand answers, Ivy just smiled—a toxic, victorious little smirk—and ordered them to break my limbs. They threw me into a basement cage. I died screaming in the jaws of starving dogs. My last thought was a vow: You can have the fiancé. But you are not worthy of the crown. … I snapped back to reality just as Ivy let out a shriek. My fist had already connected with her jaw. My fiancé, Preston, stared at me, eyes wide with shock and rage. He backhanded me across the face. “Serena! Who gave you the right to touch Ivy?” My brother, Harrison, looked at Ivy with tears in his eyes, his face twisted in performative anguish. He lunged at me. “You dare strike the future head of the Dominion at her own wedding? By the Code, you will pay for this!” Roman, my head of security, didn’t hesitate. He moved to grapple me, using the techniques I’d paid for him to learn. But he was sloppy. I sidestepped, kicking him square in the chest. He flew backward, crashing into a table, coughing up blood, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Serena… you… you actually hurt me?” I dusted off my cocktail dress—the plain thing they’d forced me into—and dragged a gold Chiavari chair to the center of the stage. I sat down, crossing my legs, looking down at them like the insects they were. “So, you all remember my name is Serena?” I asked, my voice amplified by the silence of the room. “Then have you forgotten that I, Serena Calloway, am the only daughter of Victoria Calloway? The sole heir to the Dominion?” I leaned forward. “And the actual bride at this wedding.” The crowd erupted. Whispers turned into shouts. “What’s going on? If she’s the bride, who is that on the floor?” The guests looked at Ivy, who was still spitting blood. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. In my past life, I pitied Ivy. She played the orphan card so well. My brother Harrison convinced me to take her in, to give her a job as my assistant. It didn’t take long for her to charm the three men closest to me with her doe-eyed innocence. When my mother was hospitalized after an assassination attempt, I was ready to take the reins. But these three… they played on my fears. They told me the Dominion had too many enemies. They said I’d end up like Mom. They convinced me to let Ivy—renamed ‘Ivy Calloway’ for the day—act as a decoy bride to draw out the assassins. I agreed. And on my wedding night, I found them all in bed together. When I confronted them, they threw me into the fighting pits, letting me serve as a punching bag for Ivy until they fed me to the dogs. The phantom pain of tearing flesh flared in my mind. I didn’t hesitate. I walked over and stomped hard on Ivy’s ribs. Crack. “I’m asking you,” I hissed. “Who are you? And who am I?” Ivy screamed, a high-pitched, wailing sound, reaching out desperately for Preston. “Baby, get this psycho out of here! Harrison, save me!” Preston flinched at my aura—I was radiating pure murder—but Ivy’s cry steeled his resolve. He stepped between us, arms spread wide. “Serena, having the Calloway blood means nothing! I can prove Ivy is the true successor!” Harrison was on his knees, cradling Ivy, glaring at me with a hatred that chilled my blood. “Stop this madness! We did this for your own good! Kneel and apologize to Ivy, and maybe I won’t enforce the full weight of the Code against you!” Roman, my bodyguard, wiped the blood from his mouth and pulled a collapsible baton from his jacket. “Forget going back. Kneel now. You’re just a servant acting out. I’ll discipline you myself right here.” I looked at the three men I had loved, protected, and elevated. My hands clenched until the knuckles turned white. “Since you’ve all decided to pledge allegiance to the help,” I said, my voice deadly calm, “don’t blame me for what happens next.” I grabbed Ivy by the back of her stolen dress, lifted her up, and hurled her off the stage into the crowd. “Apologies for the scene,” I announced to the stunned room. “The wedding is canceled. Consider this my coronation.” The guests were paralyzed. “I heard the Dominion had internal strife, but isn’t Serena the only heir? That’s undisputed, right?” “Yeah, but the invitation said Ivy Calloway. Everyone knows Victoria’s daughter is the heir. Who the hell is Serena to crash this?” “She just assaulted the boss. She’s dead meat.” My ex-fiancé and his cohorts heard the murmurs and seemed to regain their confidence. “Serena! What is wrong with you? Get down here!” Preston shouted. “I am Ivy’s husband, Preston. I can testify that Ivy is the star of this wedding and the heir to the Dominion!” “I am Harrison Calloway, the eldest son,” my brother bellowed. “I watched Ivy grow up. I know who my sister is!” “I’m Roman, head of security,” Roman added, standing shoulder to shoulder with them. “Ivy is the heir. I don’t even know who this Serena woman is.” They stood in a wall of testosterone and suits, protecting Ivy, glaring at me. The crowd laughed. “This Serena girl has lost her mind. The Calloway men are handsome, sure, but you can’t just claim them.” “Exactly. The family keeps a low profile, but we know the lineup: Harrison is the son, Preston is the groom, Roman is the muscle. If they say she’s a nobody, she’s a nobody.” “On your knees, Serena! Apologize!” I lifted my chin, looking past the wall of traitors to the entrance, where a man was rushing in. “Arthur,” I called out. “You’ve been my mother’s right hand for twenty years. Surely you recognize her daughter?” The room turned to look. “That’s Arthur Doyle. Victoria’s… companion. Why is he here?” “With this chaos? Victoria is on her deathbed; someone had to come restore order.” Arthur didn’t say a word. He stormed down the aisle, his hard-soled shoes clacking on the marble. He helped Ivy up first, dusting her off with tender care, before turning his cold eyes to me. “You insolent brat. Who gave a servant the courage to strike Ivy?” He gestured to the security team. “Tie her up. I’m taking her back to the estate. The Boss will deal with her personally.” My heart hammered against my ribs. In my last life, I knew the three men were seduced by Ivy. But I didn’t know Arthur—my mother’s most trusted confidant—was in on it too. At his command, the guards rushed me. I stood my ground. I didn’t need weapons. I used the Calloway Combat Style—a brutal, efficient martial art passed down only through the bloodline. I dismantled the first wave of guards in seconds. As the men groaned on the floor, the crowd shifted. “That fighting style… that’s Calloway CQC. Only the direct line is taught that.” “If she’s just a servant, how does she know the moves?” I stared at the men, waiting for the truth to sink in. But then, Ivy, battered and bruising, pulled herself up onto the stage. She took a breath and performed a sequence of the Calloway form. It was sloppy, breathless, but recognizable. While the crowd went silent, Ivy wiped blood from her lip and shouted, “Serena! I pitied your background. I let you hold my water bottle while I trained. And this is how you repay me? By stealing my moves?” I looked at my brother, Harrison, with pure venom. Aside from Mom, only he and I knew that form. He had taught the family secret to an outsider. It was a violation of everything we stood for. “How dare you,” I whispered, grabbing Harrison by the lapels. Harrison didn’t flinch. He looked at Ivy. Ivy reached into her bodice and pulled out an object, holding it high. A heavy, ancient jade seal. “The Dominion Seal was passed to me by Mother herself,” Ivy declared. “Serena, your little play is over.” The sight of the seal silenced the room. “Victoria really must be gone… she gave up the Seal.” “Serena, they have the witness and the evidence. You’re just the help. Get out!” I ground my teeth so hard I tasted iron. In my past life, I hadn’t fought back. I hadn’t realized they had already hollowed out the empire behind my back while Mom lay dying. Rage, hot and blinding, flooded my veins. I lunged for the seal. Roman moved. The pretense was gone. He signaled his personal elite guard, and they swarmed me. I was good. But I was flesh and bone, and there were too many of them. A baton struck the back of my skull. My vision blurred. The world tilted. Roman sneered, planting a kick in my chest that sent me flying off the stage. I hit the floor hard. Ivy, sensing victory, strutted over and raised her heel, aiming to stomp on my face. I caught her foot. I punched upward, driving my fist into the arch of her foot. Ivy, having no real balance or skill, toppled over screaming. Arthur, my mother’s lover, lost his composure. “You little animal! Still fighting? Break her hands!” Roman pulled a switchblade. He had two men pin my right arm to the floor. “Serena,” Roman said, his voice void of the warmth it used to hold. “Today, I’m not just breaking your hands. I’m severing your tendons. You’re going to the pits, a cripple, to be walked on by Ivy for the rest of your miserable life.” Pain exploded in my arm. I saw guests turning away, unable to watch. I spat blood into Roman’s face. “Kill me if you have the guts! Because when my mother gets here, you’re all dead men!” Harrison looked panicked for a split second, glancing at Arthur. Arthur leaned down, whispering in my ear with a voice like dry leaves. “Let me tell you the truth, little girl. Your mother isn’t waking up.” “Stop dreaming of a savior. The Dominion, the money, even your fiancé… they all belong to Ivy now.” He smiled, a cruel twisting of lips. My stomach dropped. That’s why no one came for me last time. They had already murdered my mother. Seeing the horror on my face, the men laughed. I used their distraction. I bucked my hips, throwing off the guard, and lunged at Arthur. My teeth clamped onto his ear. I ripped my head back, tearing a chunk of flesh free. Arthur shrieked. Ivy screamed in sympathy. Harrison grabbed a wine bottle and smashed it over my head. “Are you crazy?! How dare you hurt him!” My head swam, buzzing with concussive force. But through the haze, a question formed. Harrison had always hated Arthur. He called him a gigolo, a usurper standing in our dead father’s place. Why was he protecting him now? Why was he so desperate? Preston was rushing around, dabbing at Arthur’s bleeding head with a napkin. Roman had the knife at my throat. “I’m sorry, Serena,” Roman said. “I didn’t want to kill you. But you keep hurting the people I care about.” I was broken, bleeding, outnumbered. Up in the VIP balcony, someone covered their eyes, waiting for the execution. “ENOUGH!” The voice cracked through the air like a whip. “How did Serena’s wedding turn into a slaughterhouse? Stand down!” My vision cleared enough to see the figure at the door. Tears pricked my eyes. It was Aunt Jo. Josephine Calloway. My mother’s sister, my martial arts master, the woman who raised me alongside Mom. “Aunt Jo…” She marched toward me. When she saw my mangled arm, her face twisted in fury. “You animals! Who did this to her?” Everyone looked at Roman. Roman swallowed hard, stepping forward to take Aunt Jo’s hand. “Aunt Jo, it’s a misunderstanding. Please, calm down, we can explain—” Jo backhanded him so hard he flew into a waiter’s tray. “You did this?” she roared. “You grew up with her! She treated you like family! How could you?” The men went pale. Preston stepped forward, trembling. “Aunt Jo, please. Serena… she had a psychotic break. She attacked Arthur. We had to restrain her.” At the name Arthur, Jo froze. She turned slowly to look at the man clutching the side of his bleeding head. Arthur glared at her, his eyes full of accusation. “Don’t you see I’m bleeding? What are you waiting for? That little bitch tried to kill me!” I blinked, confused. Aunt Jo was a spinster, married to the martial arts. She had no men in her life. Why did Arthur speak to her with such familiarity? Such entitlement? “Aunt Jo!” I screamed. “It’s a lie! It’s a coup! They’re trying to put Ivy on the throne! You have to help me!” Jo’s face went dark. She didn’t look at me. She looked at Arthur, pain and guilt warring in her eyes. “Fine,” she whispered. “I owe you this.” She turned to me. The warmth was gone. “Serena, you are out of control. Daring to ruin Ivy’s wedding? Trying to confuse the Calloway bloodline? Your crimes are unforgivable.” She waved her hand. “Take her away.” The tension in the room broke. The conspirators sighed in relief. I sat there, frozen, unable to process the betrayal. I could understand the others. They were weak, greedy men. But Aunt Jo? My own flesh and blood? The woman who taught me to throw a punch?

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Seven years with Harrison Cole. Seven years that dissolved into nothingness like sugar in hot tea. After the engagement was broken, a routine trip to the hospital handed me a shock: I was three months pregnant. Harrison slammed the medical report onto my desk, his face a mask of glacial indifference. “Ambitious, aren’t we? Trying to trap me with a baby to secure your spot?” I stared at the paperwork, the black ink blurring slightly. I told him the truth: the child wasn’t his. He didn’t believe me. In his world, everyone wanted a piece of him. He insisted on dragging me to the hospital himself, in front of everyone, to force a termination. In a surge of adrenaline and fury, I slapped him across the face. The sound was sharp, shocking the room into silence. With trembling hands, I reached into my bag and pulled out my marriage license. I set it down calmly, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. “Look closely, Harrison. I’m married.” I met his gaze, my voice steady. “I don’t make the same mistake twice.” 1. My morning sickness was brutal in those early months. The car ride was jerky, Harrison driving with an aggressive, jagged rhythm that made my stomach lurch. By the time he pulled over, I was dry heaving, clutching my chest. When I finally caught my breath and looked up, I searched for a shred of empathy in his eyes. I found none. Just a cold, detached scrutiny. He stared at my abdomen with open hostility, as if he wanted to reach inside and tear the life out of me. Seven years. We had grown up together, loved together, and yet here we were—strangers fueled by mutual resentment. A bitter taste, distinct from the bile, spread through my chest. I exhaled slowly, trying to anchor myself. “The baby belongs to my husband,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I’m married, Harrison. You don’t need to worry about me clinging to you like a ghost.” I had been raised in the Cole estate, a ward of the family, practically his shadow since childhood. When we crossed the line from friends to lovers at eighteen, fueled by whiskey and youth, I stayed by his side as the dutiful fiancée. But six months ago, she arrived. Layla. The new visionary designer at the firm. Harrison stopped coming home. On our anniversary, he stood me up. Fueled by a mix of worry and rage, I stormed into his office only to find them wrapped in each other’s arms. That night, he didn’t even try to lie. “I never loved you, Cecilia,” he said. “Not for a single moment.” The words were surgical, precise. They cut straight to the bone. We had survived so much together. Seven years of history, erased in a sentence. I was pathetic then. I couldn’t accept it. I clung to him, desperate to find proof that he was lying, that somewhere underneath the ice was the boy who used to hold my hand. I waited outside his office building like a stalker. I used his grandfather’s illness as an excuse to lure him back to the estate. I even snuck into his office disguised as a courier. When I first found out I was pregnant, I was delusional enough to be ecstatic. I told him, “I’m pregnant,” thinking it would fix us. He thought I had bribed a doctor, faking a pregnancy to block his happiness with Layla. Heartbroken and distracted, I was knocked down in the street later that day. I lay in the rain for two hours, and the miscarriage that followed washed away the last of my hope. That was the turning point. I woke up. I agreed to annul the engagement. I took the three million dollar settlement, left the Cole estate, and married my current husband. Looking back, throwing myself against a brick wall until I shattered seems humiliating. It was a chaotic, desperate time. But it’s over now. The basement parking garage was colder than the office upstairs. I shivered and offered Harrison a faint, weary smile. “Relax. I’m not lying to you this time.” “I really am married. Grandfather actually introduced us.” The Coles were complicated, but they valued loyalty. Even though Harrison and I were done, his grandfather, Arthur Cole, had always treated me like blood. He knew I had always dreamed of Zurich, that I had only stayed in the States for Harrison. So, he pulled strings, finding suitable matches for me in Switzerland. I sifted through hundreds of profiles until I found him. My husband. Once I finished this final project, I would be on a plane to Zurich to start a quiet, new life with him. 2. The frost in Harrison’s eyes deepened. As the sole heir to the Cole dynasty, cynicism was his default setting. He didn’t trust me. Why would he? For my entire life, my identity had been ‘The Girl Who Loves Harrison.’ In elementary school, he was the golden boy leading the pledge of allegiance. I loved the way the sun caught his hair. In middle school, he led the basketball team to a state championship, shattering the stereotype that prep school kids were soft. By high school, he was untouchable. Athletic, brilliant, devastatingly handsome. He had every girl in the school in his orbit. Including me. I used to wake up in the middle of the night, giggling at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the thought that this spectacular creature was my future husband. I loved him so much that when he crossed the line that drunken night when we were eighteen, I didn’t push him away. For years, I projected my own feelings onto him, assuming the love was reciprocal. I never realized he saw me as an obligation—a burden his family had strapped to his back. The day I caught him with Layla, he finally exploded. “Cecilia, your parents died saving mine. That’s a tragedy. But why does their sacrifice mean I have to sacrifice myhappiness to pay the debt?” He silenced me. He was right. Why should he? I understood him, but God, it hurt. He had resented our arrangement for years but never said a word. I had been so busy loving him, so busy curating a perfect life for him, that I was deaf to his silence. I realized recently that love doesn’t actually conquer all. Layla just gave him the courage to finally rebel. I had built my confidence, my entire personality, on the foundation of being Harrison’s future wife. When that foundation cracked, I crumbled. I wasn’t Cinderella. After the breakup, I packed my life into boxes overnight and vanished from the estate. I avoided every restaurant, every street, every park we had ever shared. The only tether left was this job—his company invested in the design firm, and I couldn’t hand off the project mid-stream. I just had to endure until the launch. Then, Zurich. I knew my place now. Before the breakup, I had the standing to make a scene. Now? We were familiar strangers. I was a married woman. I had no interest in sabotaging his romance with Miss Layla. “Holden Cross. Sounds… plain.” Harrison was reading the name off the marriage certificate. His voice still had that low, magnetic timbre that used to send shivers down my spine. I used to beg him to read to me with that voice. He rarely did. “Yes. He’s a good man. Humble. Gentle.” Holden was a researcher at a university. He was the antithesis of Harrison. But he loved me. He gave me the kind of quiet, steady devotion Harrison was incapable of. 3. Harrison’s laugh was dark, devoid of humor. “Cecilia, you know how this works. In my eyes, your word is worth nothing.” I let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. “I know you don’t love me, Harrison. Why would I waste energy trying to trap you with a baby now? This child belongs to me and my husband. Period.” The air in the garage felt heavy, pressing against my lungs. My lips felt numb. Finally, Harrison spoke. “Tomorrow. We go to the hospital. Amniocentesis. If the DNA proves it’s not mine, I’ll apologize.” It was a concession. The most I would get from him. I nodded and turned toward the elevator. Upstairs, a delivery arrived—ginger tea, ordered by Holden. A sticky note on the cup read: Extra sugar, just how you like it. Warmth bloomed in my chest. I submitted the final project files and walked straight to HR to hand in my resignation. Long-distance marriages are fragile. I needed to be in Zurich. During those three months of madness when I stalked Harrison, I learned everything about him and Layla. They weren’t new. She had been with him during his five years abroad. Back then, their future was hazy. Harrison had a fiancée back home; Layla wasn’t sure about returning to the States. Now, he was blowing up his life to be with her. That’s not a fling. That’s conviction. The next morning at the hospital, Harrison was already there, looking sharp in charcoal wool. Layla stood next to him, a splash of vibrant red in a sterile hallway. I didn’t mind that she had “won.” I just disliked her method—chasing a man she knew was engaged. She looped her arm through his and beamed at me. “Cecilia! You finally made it. We’ve been waiting forever.” I checked my watch. The second hand ticked onto the twelve. 9:00 AM exactly. “The appointment is at nine, Layla. Don’t paint me as late when I’m precise.” Her smile faltered. She looked up at Harrison, eyes wide and pleading. Usually, he would jump to her defense. Today, he was strangely quiet. “Enough. Let’s get the test done,” he said. Layla pouted, shooting daggers at me, but I didn’t engage. I walked into the testing suite. The expedited results would take three days. The next day, after sorting my visa, I went to the Cole estate to say goodbye to Grandfather Arthur. Harrison was there. He frowned, physically blocking the doorway. ” The results aren’t back. You’re in a rush to spin your narrative to the old man?” I almost laughed. “I thought you might have started to believe me. Clearly, I overestimated you.” “You’re a pathological liar, Cecilia. I have no reason to trust you.” Even now, his distrust stung. Like a phantom limb pain—the relationship was gone, but the nerve endings were still raw. “Blocking the door won’t work,” I said, my voice hardening. “I am seeing Grandfather today.” Arthur Cole was the only father figure I had left. I wasn’t leaving the country without a proper goodbye. Harrison didn’t budge. He signaled the housekeeper to take the gift bags from my hands. “I’ll give these to him. You don’t see him until I see that paper.” I didn’t want to cause a scene in the house that raised me. As the housekeeper retreated, I hissed, “I told you, the baby isn’t yours!” “Prove it.” His eyes were obsidian, unreadable and terrifying. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket—the ultrasound from two days ago. He shook it at me. “Fourteen weeks, Cecilia! A fourteen-week fetus. You’ve been married for two months. Tell me, if this child isn’t mine, whose is it?” 4. His voice detonated in my head. I froze, the math paralyzing me for a second. “So,” I whispered, “you still think I’m trying to ruin your life?” “Aren’t you?” Harrison stepped closer, the temperature around him dropping. “I wanted to handle this civilly. I was prepared to compensate you. But you… you just don’t know when to quit.” He looked at me like I was a stranger he’d found trespassing. “We’ve known each other for twenty years, Cecilia. I don’t want to hurt you. Why can’t you just be good? Why can’t we end this quietly?” My chest heaved, tears blurring my vision. “It’s. Not. Yours.” “Harrison, I stopped wanting anything from you a long time ago. Especially your children.” The silence stretched, tense and brittle. He twisted the signet ring on his finger, then ripped the ultrasound photo into confetti, letting the pieces drift to the floor. “I gave you a chance to come clean. But you had the audacity to come here, to Grandfather, looking for a shield.” He grabbed my wrist. “Forget the report. We’re dealing with this now.” Harrison was a man who moved mountains when he decided to. I realized with a jolt of terror that he wasn’t asking. My pupils dilated.

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My husband had been missing for a month. I was so sick with worry that I lost our baby. But just hours after waking up from the D&C surgery, the cramping still twisting like barbed wire in my stomach, I opened Reddit. A thread had gone viral: What do you do when you meet the love of your life when you have absolutely nothing to offer them? The top answer read like a victory lap. “I couldn’t bear to drag her down with me, so I let her go chase her dreams. But I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her entirely, so I married her childhood best friend—a girl who was used to roughing it—to keep me company while I built my empire.” “Now, my golden girl is back. I can finally give her the world she deserves.” “Honestly, I kept hoping my wife would catch me so I’d have an easy out for a divorce. But she’s so clueless. I left my mistress’s lipstick in her car, gave her a promotional freebie necklace… I even vanished for a month on a ‘business trip,’ and she didn’t suspect a thing.” Lipstick. A freebie necklace. Missing for a month. The words blurred. My fingers went numb against the screen. “Thank God she came back to me,” the poster continued. “I almost thought I’d have to spend the rest of my life with the Toad.” A high-pitched ringing pierced my ears. The Toad. It was the cruel nickname my childhood bullies had given me. My blood turned to ice. I prayed to a God I barely believed in that this was just some sick, twisted coincidence. Until I read the final lines. “I pretended to go on a dangerous business trip to an earthquake zone and went off the grid for a month. In reality, I was taking my first love on our honeymoon.” “Just got a text from my wife saying she’s in the hospital. Whatever. Taking my soulmate to that exact same hospital tonight for her prenatal checkup. Maybe we’ll bump into her. Wish me luck.” I was violently shaking. Instinctively, I raised my head. There, at the end of the corridor, just outside the maternity ward. Connor. The husband who had been unreachable for a month. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, his arm wrapped protectively around a petite, laughing woman. He turned his head casually. Across the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway, our eyes met. … 1 A flicker of panic crossed Connor’s face, but it vanished instantly, replaced by a chilling, dead-eyed calm. I knew exactly what he was waiting for. He was waiting for me to lunge at them, to scream, to make a scene so he could finally demand the divorce he so desperately wanted. I sat frozen in my wheelchair. I was shaking so hard I couldn’t force a single sound past my throat. “Connor?” Blair nestled deeper into his chest, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Come on, slowpoke. Do you think the ultrasound will show who the baby looks like yet?” Connor didn’t look at me again. He tightened his grip on her waist, guiding her toward the obstetrics wing as if she were made of spun glass. “Hopefully,” he murmured, “the baby gets your eyes, and my nose.” The phantom pain from my freshly emptied womb twisted so sharply I gasped. Exactly one month ago, he had said those exact same words to me. It was the day he insisted on flying out to the epicenter of the earthquake in Chile. “Natalie, if we can just secure this lithium contract, we’ll finally have a real foothold in San Francisco,” he had told me, cupping my face. “I think I’m ready for a baby. I want them to have your eyes and my nose. I’m going to give you both the best life in the world.” Two weeks after he left, I took a test. I was pregnant. But his phone went straight to voicemail. Frantic, terrified that he was trapped under rubble, I boarded a flight to South America to find him. I was caught in a massive aftershock. A falling piece of masonry struck my abdomen. The doctors called his emergency contact number dozens of times. He never picked up. And now I knew why. While I was bleeding out his child in a foreign country, he was busy making one with my childhood best friend. I pulled the hospital blanket over my head and sobbed until I was choking on my own breath. Suddenly, the blanket was yanked down. Connor stood by my bed, looking down at me with mild detachment. “Natalie. Why are you admitted?” My throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass. “Why did you cheat on me? And out of all the people in the world… why Blair?” His brow furrowed. His tone immediately shifted into a warning. “Don’t refer to her as the other woman.” The sheer, breathtaking audacity of it forced a ragged, hysterical laugh out of my chest. “She’s not? Then what am I?” He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he pulled up a chair and told me a story. A very long, romanticized tragedy about him and Blair—high school sweethearts, star-crossed lovers torn apart by ambition and circumstance. “I’m a bastard. I know that,” he said smoothly. He reached for a cigarette, remembered he was in a hospital, and dropped his hand. “I only married you because you were Blair’s best friend. I thought you’d keep me close to her. But honestly, you were a pretty terrible friend. You didn’t even know where she was living or what she was doing. So, I don’t really feel like I owe you anything.” He let the silence stretch, letting his cruelty sink into my bones. “If you really think about it, Natalie… you’re the third person in our relationship.” I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted copper. Blinded by grief, I grabbed the water pitcher from my nightstand and hurled it at him. He didn’t even flinch. He just let it shatter against the wall behind him. “Natalie, we’ve been married for seven years. I still care about you. You can ask for whatever you want in the settlement. But…” His eyes hardened, turning to obsidian. “Do not go near Blair. I won’t have you upsetting her.” The dam broke. I grabbed my glass, my phone, anything I could reach, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” He left without a fight. On his way out, he even politely asked a nurse to come in and check my IV. “Alright,” he called over his shoulder. “Focus on recovering first. We’ll talk when you’re not so emotional.” I lay in that narrow bed, violently shivering. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face from seven years ago. The way his cheeks flushed when he handed me that cheap bouquet of daisies, telling me how much he loved me. His eyes had been so bright. So earnest. How could a person fake that kind of light? I stayed in the hospital for three more days in a narcotic haze. He never came back. When I was finally discharged, the house was empty. But the very next morning, my phone buzzed. It was Blair. “Nat! I’m back in the States! Let’s get lunch. I have a huge surprise for you!” A sick, masochistic curiosity clawed at my chest. I went. As soon as I sat down, Blair grabbed my hand—the same hand that had just signed my own baby’s cremation papers—and pressed it against her slightly rounded belly. “I’m three months along!” she squealed, her smile radiant and entirely devoid of guilt. “We were long-distance through college, so you never got to meet my boyfriend. But now that we’re back together and it’s permanent, I just had to have my absolute best friend give us her blessing.” 2 Best friend? A bitter, fractured smile touched my lips. When we were five, her father used to hit her. I would sneak out to give her my lunch money and my favorite stuffed animals to comfort her. And in return? When puberty hit and my face broke out in severe cystic acne, she was the one who started calling me “The Toad” behind my back. She cemented an insecurity so deep it crippled my entire adolescence. “He’s honestly so amazing to me, Nat. Even when we were technically broken up, he still took care of me while I was studying in Paris.” Blair pushed up her cashmere sleeve, revealing a faint, barely-there pink line on her wrist. “I literally just slipped while cutting an apple. It was a tiny scratch. But he freaked out, flew all the way to France, and checked me into the most expensive private clinic in the city. He even bought this absurdly expensive crushed-pearl ointment for the scarring.” She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “It was just a scratch, but he dropped thirty grand on it like it was nothing.” I stared at the microscopic scar, the room tilting on its axis. I remembered the early days of Connor’s startup. We were drowning in debt. I worked night and day, courting clients, living on instant coffee. Once, running on three hours of sleep with a 104-degree fever, I missed a step and shattered my tibia. The pain was blinding. I was in the back of an ambulance when I called him. He sounded stressed. “Funds are tight, Nat. I’m scrambling to make payroll. What’s going on?” I hadn’t wanted to be a burden. I swallowed my agony and whispered, “Nothing. Just a little slip. Don’t work too late.” I opted for the cheapest surgical steel plate available. To this day, my leg throbs whenever it rains. Blair rested her chin in her hands, practically glowing. “And last year, when some senior researcher stole my credit on a paper? I just complained to him over the phone. He flew out the next day and donated a million dollars to the lab just to secure my name on the final publication.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Men are so dramatic. Who throws away that kind of money over lab politics?” My nails bit so deeply into my palms they drew blood. Last year, my Nana—my sweet, dementia-addled Nana—wandered out of her care home and was struck by a drunk driver. The ER doctors demanded an immediate $10,000 deposit, and the surgery was going to cost another $25,000. I emptied every savings account I had. I was short. Frantic, I tried to pull from our joint company account, only to find it frozen. The funds had been drained. My parents died when I was ten. Nana was the only family I had left in the world. I called Connor, screaming, begging. He sounded so convincingly panicked. “Nat, baby, breathe. I’m overseas trying to fix a massive supply chain issue. I will wire the money. I promise, I will save Nana.” I sat in that waiting room for three hours. I waited through her crashing on the table. I waited as I signed away the deed to my childhood home to the loan sharks. His money never came. When he finally flew back, he held me in the hallway, his eyes red-rimmed. “Nat, I’m so sorry. I bet everything on a new product line and the supplier went under. I couldn’t get the cash. I failed you.” Nana survived, barely. I had been so relieved she was alive that I actually comforted him. “It’s okay,” I had whispered, holding him as he cried. “I have a little left over from the mortgage. Use it to save the company.” He had looked at me with such a strange, complex expression, pulling me tight against his chest. “Natalie, I swear to God, I’m going to give you the best of everything one day.” Now I understood that look. He was probably marveling at how incredibly, pathetically stupid I was. All the blood drained from my face. Blair suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth, looking contrite. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to rub it in your face! It’s just… we were apart for seven years, and knowing he never stopped loving me for a single second… it’s just overwhelming, you know?” We had been together for seven years. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming. I was seconds away from tearing the restaurant apart with my bare hands, but then the door to the private dining room opened. Connor walked in. He froze when he saw me, shooting me a lethal, warning glare. Blair hooked her arm through mine, insisting we order. I sat there like a corpse, paralyzed by the sheer sociopathy of it all, until she excused herself to the restroom. The second the door shut, Connor leaned over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You look terrible. Are you still recovering from last week? I can get you a private doctor.” I violently slapped his hand away. Hot, humiliating tears spilled over my eyelashes. “Don’t touch me! Keep your fake fucking sympathy to yourself! You two have been sleeping together for seven years behind my back. Are you getting off on this? Watching me sit here like a moron?” Connor sighed, a heavy, long-suffering sound, and reached out, pulling me into a forceful embrace. “I know I’m a piece of shit. But if you’re already depressed, why did you come here just to torture yourself? Love isn’t rational, Nat. You just need to accept it.” “Stop crying,” he murmured against my hair. “Whatever you want in the divorce, it’s yours. It’s been seven years. Seeing you cry like this actually makes me feel bad.” I thrashed against him, trying to push him away, just as the dining room door swung open. Blair stood there, tears streaming down her face. She stormed across the room and slapped me across the cheek with everything she had. “We’ve been friends for twenty years, and you’re trying to seduce my boyfriend?! You cheap, homewrecking slut!” Her diamond ring tore a long, bleeding gash down my cheek. The commotion drew a crowd. Diners from the main floor were peering in, phones already out. I was shaking with a rage so pure it felt like electricity. I raised my hand to hit her back. “We’ve been married for seven years! You’re the homewrecker!” But before my hand could make contact, a violent force shoved me backward. I hit the floor hard. The back of my skull slammed against the mahogany wainscoting. Black spots exploded in my vision, accompanied by a nauseating wave of pain. Blair ran out of the room, sobbing hysterically. Connor looked down at me, his hand twitching like he wanted to help me up, but panic won out. He turned and sprinted after her. “Blair! Wait, she’s lying!” I lay slumped on the floor, the blood from my cheek dripping onto my collar. The crowd closed in. The murmurs grew louder. The flashes from their camera phones blinded me. Connor was the newest golden boy of the Silicon Valley tech scene. Blair was the gorgeous, Ivy League-educated researcher returning triumphantly from abroad. It didn’t take a genius to predict the fallout. By morning, the footage of our fight, coupled with the trending hashtag #WhoIsTheRealHomewrecker, was the number one story on Twitter and TikTok. The internet was a warzone, but then Connor dropped the nuke. He released an official PR statement on his company letterhead. “Blair and I have been deeply in love for a decade. There was no infidelity. There was no ‘other woman’. I simply tried to look out for one of my partner’s childhood friends, who was going through a hard time. I never expected my kindness to be weaponized and misunderstood…” 3 My brain short-circuited. The sheer volume of hatred directed at me was deafening. Blair posted her own tearful video. She stared into the camera, looking heartbroken, saying she never expected her best friend to try and steal her man while she was out of the country. In a matter of hours, my phone became a weapon of mass destruction. The notifications blurred together into a river of vitriol. “She tried to steal her best friend’s man? Gross. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.” “Keep your friends close and the sluts further away, am I right?” “If you’re so desperate for a man, just go walk the streets!” The dull ache of my empty uterus throbbed in time with my pulse. My bones felt like they were made of lead. I gripped my phone, desperately trying to compile a timeline, screenshots, photos—anything to prove the last seven years of my life actually happened. To prove my innocence. That was when Connor walked through the front door. My voice was trembling so badly I barely recognized it. “Connor, we were together for seven years!” He looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “I already told you I’m a bastard. But Blair is the love of my life. Of course I’m going to protect her over you.” He paused, his tone shifting to that of a disappointed father scolding a toddler. “Natalie, if you ever loved me, just compromise this one last time. Just admit you developed a crush on me and misunderstood our friendship. Blair is pregnant. She can’t handle the stress of a scandal. Besides, you were bullied your whole life. You’re used to people calling you names. You can handle this.” Smack. I slapped him across the face as hard as I could. Through the blur of my tears, I was suddenly thrust back into the past. The Toad. That nickname had clung to me like a shadow. My acne eventually cleared, but the psychological scars never did. When I started my first corporate job, I still wore a medical mask most of the time, terrified to let people see my face. The year I met Connor, he had looked at me—truly looked at me—and his eyes were full of nothing but adoration. “Nat, you don’t even know,” he had whispered the night he proposed. “You are the most breathtakingly beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I will never, ever let anyone make you feel small again.” I had thought, He’s so good. I’m so lucky. My stomach violently heaved. I turned away, dry-heaving into the sink. “Connor, I know you want out. Fine. I’ll give you the divorce. I won’t ask for a dime. Just go online, tell the truth, clear my name, and I’ll disappear. You can have each other.” I wiped my mouth with the back of a trembling hand. “But if you don’t, I will.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He muttered a quiet, “I’m sorry.” “We can talk about the divorce later,” he said softly. Then, he made a phone call. Within minutes, three burly men in suits entered the house. They systematically turned the place upside down. Before I could react, one of them wrenched my phone out of my grip. He was stripping me of my only way to defend myself. I stared at the man standing in my kitchen, a man who felt like a total stranger. “Connor,” I whispered. “You are repulsive.” A flicker of something complicated crossed his eyes, but he quickly masked it. “You don’t look well. I’m having a nutritionist sent over. Take the next two days to cool off and think about what I said. Nat, I’m only giving you two days.” The front door slammed. The deadbolt clicked into place. I was locked in. Seven years of marriage, obliterated in an instant. I raged. I cried. I held onto my last shred of dignity like a life raft. But two days came and went, and Connor didn’t return. Instead, one of his private security guards unlocked the door. “Mr. Shen had your grandmother transferred from her care facility this morning.” A bomb went off in my skull. I lunged for the door, screaming, but the men easily shoved me back inside. I dropped to my knees. I threw away every ounce of pride I had left and begged them, sobbing, to let me go. They stared at me like I was a piece of furniture. “Mr. Shen gave strict orders. You aren’t to leave the premises.” I sprinted to the kitchen, smashed a glass against the counter, and pressed the jagged edge hard against my own throat. The guards panicked. One of them immediately dialed Connor and put him on speaker. “Why did you take her?!” I screamed, the glass digging into my skin. “You know what that car accident did to her brain! She doesn’t understand what’s happening! Please, Connor, I’m begging you, send her back!” The background noise on his end was deafening—the hum of a massive crowd, the popping of camera flashes. Connor was silent for a long time. “I didn’t have a choice, Nat. You wouldn’t play ball. I need her to say a few words to the press to clear this up.” It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my skull. I knew exactly what he was doing. “Connor, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “She’s not lucid. She can’t handle a crowd like that. You can’t do this to her!” When Connor’s startup was on the verge of bankruptcy, it was my Nana—my sweet, confused Nana—who had quietly sold her vintage gold locket, our only family heirloom, to give him the cash to make payroll. “Connor, if you put her on that stage, I swear to God I will kill myself!” 4 There was a heavy pause on the line before he replied, his voice devoid of warmth. “Relax, Natalie. I’m keeping an eye on her. She’ll be fine.” The line went dead. Every wire in my brain snapped. I tore through the house, smashing everything in sight. I threw myself against the windows. Glass shattered, slicing deep into my forearms and my neck. Blood poured down my skin, soaking into my clothes, coating my hands. In a blind, feral rage, I turned the bloody glass shard on the guards. The sheer lunacy in my eyes made them step back. I bolted out the door, my legs trembling so violently I could barely stand, and flagged down a car. By the time I shoved my way into the hotel ballroom where the press conference was being held, I froze. Connor was on stage, down on one knee in front of a massive media presence, proposing to Blair. The pink diamond in his hand had to be worth millions. It looked nothing like the four-hundred-dollar sterling silver band he had let me pick out seven years ago. “Nat, I promise, one day I’ll buy you the biggest diamond in the world,” he had said with tears in his eyes. I had worn that cheap ring like a badge of honor for seven years. Now, he could effortlessly buy the most expensive jewel in the room. But what we had built was cheap. It would always be cheap. I ignored the agonizing pain in my chest and scanned the blindingly bright room for my grandmother. I couldn’t find her. Not until the proposal ended, and the crowd erupted into applause. Connor stood up, took the microphone, and gestured to the wings. Staff members wheeled my Nana onto the brightly lit stage. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Connor announced smoothly. “This is the biological grandmother of the other woman involved in this unfortunate rumor. We felt it would be most persuasive if she cleared the air herself.” My heart stopped beating. My fragile, tiny grandmother stared out at the sea of flashing lights, her legs visibly shaking. She had clearly been drilled on exactly what to say, and she began reciting the words mechanically, her voice trembling. “I… I failed to raise my granddaughter right… It was her fault… She tried to ruin their beautiful relationship…” Watching the only person who had ever truly loved me being paraded out like a circus animal to parrot her own granddaughter’s destruction… It felt like a giant hand had reached into my chest and crushed my organs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stand. But suddenly, Nana blinked. The confusion cleared from her milky eyes, replaced by a fierce, maternal panic. She gripped the microphone stand and wailed. “No! My Natty is a good girl! She’s married to him! She didn’t ruin anything!” The ballroom erupted. Journalists, smelling blood in the water, surged forward like a pack of wolves, shoving microphones and cameras right into my grandmother’s face. Connor’s face contorted in panic. He lunged forward, grabbing Nana’s arm, trying to force her back to the script. “Nana, you’re confused, tell them you misspoke—” Between Connor’s harsh reprimands, the aggressively shouting reporters, and the blinding strobes, the stage devolved into pure chaos. The sensory overload shattered whatever fragile grip Nana had left on reality. She began to scream, thrashing wildly. A dark stain spread across her trousers as she lost control of her bladder in sheer terror. She turned and tried to run. But the press wouldn’t let her. They formed a human wall, pushing closer, desperate for the shot. I fought my way through the thick crowd, screaming until my vocal cords tore. “Leave her alone! Stop! Please!” But my voice was drowned out by the mob. And then—a sickening, hollow thud echoed over the sound system. The room went dead silent. The crowd parted. Nana lay at the bottom of the stage stairs. Her head was resting at an unnatural angle. A thick, dark pool of blood was already spreading rapidly from beneath her white hair. I dropped to my knees beside her. I placed trembling fingers against her neck. Nothing. The world went completely, terrifyingly quiet. I couldn’t hear the gasps, the shouting, the sirens. Someone called 911. Paramedics rushed in. I followed the stretcher out of the hotel like a wind-up toy, moving without feeling. Connor ran after me, his face the color of ash. “Nat…” I turned and looked at him. I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Connor,” I said, my voice dead. “You’ve been wanting that divorce, right?” “You’ve got it.”

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This was the third time I’d been “welcomed” back into the Mercer empire, and frankly, I was over it. The fire in my gut had burned out, replaced by a cold, practical numbness. When Brianna “tripped” and tumbled down the grand marble staircase, I didn’t wait for the inevitable trial. Before the echoes of her staged sob could even fade, I stepped forward and held out my metaphorical wrists. “I did it. I pushed her. Go ahead, ground me, send me away—whatever makes you feel better.” The silence that followed was thick with the family’s collective disappointment. I heard the familiar whispers: If only Brianna were the one related to us by blood. I didn’t flinch. I just turned on my heel and walked away. I was done fighting. I was done screaming into the void of their favoritism. But the strange thing about the Mercers was that as soon as I stopped caring, they started acting like I was the one hurting them. “Why are you acting like a stranger in your own home?” my mother asked, her eyes rimmed with theatrical red. My oldest brother, Harrison, tightened his jaw, his brow furrowed in that classic ‘stern CEO’ look. “Is this some new tactic to make us feel guilty, Madeline?” Then there was Tyler, the brother who hated me most. He let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “What’s the angle this time, Maddie? What are you plotting?” I wasn’t plotting anything. In the six months since they’d “found” me, I’d been kicked out twice. I’d tasted the bitterness of the gutter and the exhaustion of back-breaking labor. I’d learned my lesson. Why beg for scraps of love from people who didn’t have any to give? Instead, I was going to squeeze this lifestyle for every drop it was worth. The elite education, the high-end tutors, the networking. As for the “Mercer family love”? It wasn’t even worth the price of the air they used to talk about it. 1 This was the third time I’d moved back into the Mercer estate. I had officially entered my “I don’t give a damn” era. When Brianna fell, I intercepted the accusations before they could even leave their mouths. “Yeah, I did it. My fault. Sentence me already.” Harrison, the first one to burst out of his study, froze. He looked at me, then back at the stairs. “Why would I punish you for that? You were on the first floor. Brianna was on the second. You weren’t even near her.” I blinked. Right. I’d spent too long back with my foster parents—the Millers. Life there was a relentless cycle of waking up before dawn, scrubbing floors until midnight, and narrowly escaping being sold off to some local creep after they tried to force me to drop out of school. When you live in survival mode for that long, your reflexes get a little… twitchy. “Oh,” I said, my voice flat and polite. “Muscle memory, I guess. My bad.” Harrison stared at me, speechless. He didn’t launch into his usual lecture about ‘decorum’ or ‘sisterly bonds.’ I figured I’d ruined his rhythm by confessing too fast, so I tried to be helpful. “Do you want to start the lecture over? I can go stand in the corner if it helps the process.” His frown deepened, his lips thinning into a hard line, but he stayed silent. When it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything, I shrugged and turned to leave. That’s when Tyler made his grand entrance. He looked at me, then at Brianna clutching her ankle, and his temper hit boiling point instantly. “Madeline! You’ve been back for five minutes and you’re already bullying her?” He marched toward me, pointing a finger in my face. “Haven’t you learned a damn thing? You want to be tossed out on the street again? Is that it?” I felt the blood drain from my face—a lingering ghost of the old fear. I looked at Harrison, but he averted his eyes, refusing to explain that I hadn’t been near the stairs. Our mother rushed past me, ignoring my existence entirely to scoop Brianna into her arms. I felt a ghost of a smile touch my lips. “You’re right,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been standing near the light. I probably cast a shadow that dazzled her eyes and made the poor, precious girl lose her footing.” Tyler choked on his next insult. “What is wrong with your attitude!” “Go to your room and think about what you’ve done!” My father’s roar echoed from the landing above. “Understood,” I said. No arguing. No crying. No pleading my case. Every time I’d tried to defend myself in the past, it only ended in more pain. My mother looked up, startled by my lack of drama. She looked like she wanted to say something, but Brianna let out a soft, melodic whimper. “Oh, my sweet girl,” Mom cooed, turning back to her. “Where does it hurt? Let Mommy see… Honestly, Madeline, why must you always be so lurking? You know how sensitive Brianna is.” There it was. If people love you, they find reasons to justify your existence. If they don’t, even your silence is a provocation. I didn’t stay to watch the rest of the performance. I went to my room, shut the door, and turned the lock. I lay on my bed, staring at the intricate crown molding on the ceiling. Outside, I could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and pampered concern. I didn’t fit here. I never would. Not when I was screaming for attention, and certainly not now that I was fading into the background. I sat up, wiped a stray thought from my mind, and pulled out my SAT prep books. If you can’t join the circle, stop trying to break the door down. While they were playing ‘Happy Family’ downstairs, I was going to out-study, out-work, and out-hustle every single one of them. You guys enjoy the party; I’m busy building an exit strategy. 2 The first time I stepped into the Mercer mansion, I felt like a glitch in a high-definition movie. I was wearing scuffed sneakers and a faded hoodie, my heart hammering against my ribs. Across from me stood Brianna, draped in soft pink silk, flanked by Harrison and Tyler like she was a royal being guarded by her knights. They didn’t look at me with joy. Especially Tyler. He stepped in front of Brianna, his eyes narrowing as if I were a common thief coming to snatch his favorite toy. Back then, I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I was the one with their blood in my veins. I was the sister they had lost. Brianna was the one who had lived my life, stolen my years of comfort. But no one saw it that way. Brianna was “perfect.” She played the cello, excelled at ballet, and had the kind of effortless grace that only comes from never having been hungry. Who wouldn’t prefer the polished diamond over the jagged rock? Dinner was always a highlight reel of her achievements. “Brianna won first chair!” “Brianna was invited to the debutante planning committee!” “Brianna placed in the top of her class! She’s so gifted.” No one looked at the ugly duckling at the end of the table. Even my mother, who had been so emotional when the DNA test first came back, fell into the rhythm of Brianna-first. She’d serve Brianna’s favorite dishes. She’d laugh at Brianna’s jokes. When they went shopping on Fifth Avenue, she’d gravitate toward colors that suited Brianna’s complexion, not mine. I realized quickly that I couldn’t compete with Brianna’s “charm.” I didn’t have the training or the pedigree. All I had was my brain. So, I studied. I survived on three hours of sleep, adapting to the grueling standards of their private prep school. When finals came, I placed in the top ten. It wasn’t the number one spot I used to hold back in the rural district, but in this cutthroat environment, it was a miracle. Finally, I had something better than Brianna. I remember clutching my report card, my palms sweating. I imagined the pride in my parents’ eyes. I imagined Tyler finally acknowledging that I belonged. But there was no praise. Only an interrogation. It started with a “well-meaning” comment from Brianna: “Madeline is so amazing. Everyone said that physics exam was impossible, and she barely spent a month in our curriculum. It’s almost… unbelievable. People are saying she must have had the answers beforehand.” They didn’t even hesitate. They couldn’t believe the “rural girl” could outsmart their golden child. My father slapped me. My mother pulled Brianna away as if my “dishonesty” were contagious. “Madeline, you can fail,” she whispered, looking heartbroken. “But a Mercer does not cheat.” That was the first time they sent me back to the Millers. For “lack of character.” The second time I was brought back, I learned to keep my mouth shut. Until the night of the Charity Gala. Brianna accused me of stealing a diamond tennis bracelet. I’d seen the trap coming and caught it on my phone—proof that she had slipped it into my bag herself. I thought I’d won. I thought I’d shown them the truth. Instead, my father dragged me into his study. His first words weren’t an apology. They were: “Do you have any idea how much embarrassment you caused this family tonight?” I stared at him, stunned. “Even if Brianna made a mistake, you should have handled it privately. You didn’t have to humiliate her in front of our guests,” he said, rubbing his temples. “But she lied… she tried to frame me…” I stammered. My mother slapped me then. “Madeline, why must you always try to tear her down?” They didn’t look at me with guilt. They looked at me with exhaustion. So, I was exiled a second time. For “not being a team player.” For “failing to see the big picture.” 3 The next morning, I stepped out of the house with my backpack slung over one shoulder. Harrison’s sleek black Audi was idling in the driveway. He and Tyler were already inside. A second later, Brianna darted past me, her hair perfectly curled, and hopped into the back seat. I stopped. Usually, Harrison only drove Brianna. I was supposed to wait for the family driver to take me in the SUV. But Harrison didn’t pull away. I could feel his gaze on me through the tinted glass. I adjusted my bag and stared at the pavement, pretending I didn’t notice. “Harrison, come on! I’m going to be late for rehearsal!” Brianna’s voice drifted out through the cracked window. Harrison grunted, then called out: “Are you getting in or not?” I looked up, meeting his eyes in the side mirror. I glanced at Brianna, who was pouting, and shook my head. “No thanks. I’ll wait for the driver.” When I’d first come back this time, I’d tried to ride with them. That night, Brianna had broken out in a “stress rash,” claiming the car felt “unclean.” The look my parents gave me was enough. They thought I was literally ‘dirty.’ Harrison paused. “Get in. The driver is off today.” I froze. Off? No one told me. I caught sight of Tyler and Brianna in the car, stifling smirks. They’d known. They’d wanted me to stand out here like an idiot waiting for a car that wasn’t coming. The familiar sting of exclusion hit me, but I pushed it down. I was over it. “Actually, I think I’ll take the bus. I could use the walk,” I said with a polite smile. Harrison’s brow furrowed. From the passenger seat, Tyler sneered. “Let her go, Harrison. She’s used to roughing it. Why bother with someone who’d rather be a martyr?” “Hurry up, Harry! I have a solo today!” Brianna whined. Harrison shifted into gear and pulled away. “You shouldn’t waste your breath on someone so ungrateful,” I heard Tyler’s voice fading as the car sped down the long driveway. I caught a snippet of his laugh: “Walking to the bus stop? That’s a three-mile hike down the hill. Let the peasant sweat, haha…” I rolled my eyes. I walked straight to the garage and pulled out the beat-up mountain bike I’d brought back from the Millers. I wasn’t a martyr. I just wasn’t a fool. When I reached the school gates, I hesitated for a second. The elite atmosphere of St. Jude’s Academy always felt like a suffocating cloud of old money. “Well, if it isn’t the ghost of Mercer past!” I didn’t even have to turn around. Nate, the youngest son of the local tech mogul, was leaning against a locker, a smirk playing on his lips. “I heard you got shipped off again. What happened? Did you forget which fork to use?” Beside him, Sophie—the daughter of a jewelry tycoon—shoved him hard. “Shut it, Nate. You’re such a prick.” Sophie was the closest thing I had to a friend. She was blunt, wealthy, and didn’t give a damn about social hierarchies. “Maddie, seriously,” she whispered, leaning in. “Just move into my guest house. My mom has been wanting a second daughter who actually has a brain. That ‘Stepford Sister’ of yours is driving everyone insane.” I laughed, but didn’t commit. “Hey, Maddie! You still taking commissions? I’ve got three essays and a lab report. Name your price.” A rounder guy, Becca, squeezed through the crowd, her eyes practically sparkling. Her family owned a massive restaurant franchise. This was a school for the one percent—kids who were brilliant at networking but hated the actual grunt work of being a student. For them, homework was a chore. For me, it was a revenue stream. The teachers knew I did it. As long as I wasn’t literally taking their exams for them, they turned a blind eye because my work was better than the kids could ever produce. “I’m back in business,” I said, nodding. A small crowd gathered. Some were genuinely curious where I’d been; others were placing bets on how long I’d stay this time. Becca shooed them away. It was funny, really. These spoiled, arrogant rich kids were infinitely more straightforward than my own family. You knew exactly where you stood with them. Becca was especially good to me. When my lunch card was empty and I tried to hide in the library to drink water and suppress the hunger, she’d drag me to the cafeteria and order enough food for five people. One day, I asked her why she bothered. She’d rubbed her chin thoughtfully and said, “I don’t know. Maybe I just have a hero complex? Or maybe you just look like a stray kitten that needs a sandwich.” She grinned. “Besides, my goal in life is to make sure none of my friends are thinner than me. It’s a branding thing.” It was a ridiculous answer. It was perfect. It almost made me cry. 4 For the next week, the “driver” situation didn’t change. The Mercers seemed to have collectively forgotten I needed a way to get to school. I didn’t remind them. I enjoyed the bike ride; it gave me time to clear the mental cobwebs. The only downside was Tyler. Harrison was busy with the firm, so Tyler had taken over driving Brianna. Whenever he saw me on the road, he’d floor the accelerator, intentionally blowing a cloud of exhaust in my face. “Move it, peasant! You’re blocking the view!” he’d yell, while Brianna giggled in the passenger seat. One afternoon, I’d had enough. As Tyler’s SUV slowed down to make the turn into our estate, he leaned out to shout another insult. I didn’t even look at him. As he passed, I uncapped my water bottle and launched the entire contents through his open window. “MADELINE, YOU LITTLE—” I squeezed the rest of the bottle into the car for good measure. The screech of his brakes and Brianna’s high-pitched scream echoed down the road. It was the most satisfying sound I’d heard all year. When I finally reached the house, Brianna was waiting by the front door. She looked smug. “You’re going to get kicked out again, Maddie. Number three? Or is it four? I’ve lost count. You really are a glitch in the system, aren’t you?” I stopped and looked at her, my expression ice-cold. “What are you talking about?” She just laughed and skipped inside. I frowned, noticing Harrison’s car in the driveway. He was leaning against the hood, watching me. “Madeline,” he called out. I looked away, heading for the side entrance. I could feel his mood shifting—the air around him turning heavy and dark. I tried to walk past him, but he stepped into my path. “Don’t give me that look. This family doesn’t owe you anything,” he said, his voice low. “If anything, you owe us for every second of luxury you’ve wasted.” I stopped. “Is that what you wanted to tell me? Or are you just rehearsing for the next time you discard me?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I brushed past him and opened the front door. SLAP. The blow was so sudden my head snapped to the side. My ears rang. The metallic taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. “Down on your knees! Now!” my father bellowed. I slowly turned my head, my vision blurred. The whole family was there. Brianna was wearing a tiny, triumphant smile. Tyler looked like he was watching a premiere of his favorite movie. My mother was silent, her eyes fixed on the floor. “What did I do?” I asked, my voice trembling but even. My father grabbed a glass of water from the side table and hurled it at my feet. Shards of glass grazed my ankle. “You have the nerve to ask? You’re still pretending?” “Dad, you know how she is,” Tyler added, fueling the fire. “She’s a stone. You could throw her in the ocean and she’d never soften. Just get rid of her. She’s a parasite. She’ll never be one of us.” Brianna stepped forward, playing the peacemaker. “Dad, maybe she just doesn’t know better? Growing up in that… environment… she probably has habits she can’t break. Don’t be too hard on her.” Her words were gasoline on the flames. My father’s face was purple with rage. But before he could scream again, there was a loud THUD. I had dropped to my knees. Straight and stiff, right onto the hard marble floor.

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It was the fourth year since Jax promised to marry me. He finally popped the question. Not in a quiet, intimate moment, but over a livestream at a press conference, fresh off his championship win, adrenaline still dripping from his pores. “Norah…” He held the trophy high, his grin electric, the kind of smile that usually got him out of speeding tickets. “I said it back in the day—win the championship, get the ring. I know I’m five years younger than you, and I’ve got a whole career ahead of me. My mom keeps saying I should find someone in her twenties, but hey, a man’s word is his bond, right?” On the other side of the screen, the room erupted in laughter. His teammate, Riley, threw her arm around his neck, cackling into the camera lens. “How about it, future Mrs.? The proposal speech I stayed up all night writing for my boy here—pretty solid, right?” “Look at her,” Riley teased, pointing at the screen where my face was projected. “She’s so moved she can’t even speak!” Jax looked into the camera, eyes wide with puppy-dog anticipation. “Come on, Norah. Tell the whole world. Will you marry me?” I stared at the screen, then glanced down at the ring already on my finger—a promise ring from years ago. I felt… nothing. “Let’s not,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t think your dad would approve.” … Jax froze. The cheering in the press room died instantly. The host scrambled to save the vibe. “Looks like the bride-to-be is a little camera shy! She’s joking, folks! Let’s give her some encouragement! Marry him! Marry him!” The chanting was sparse, awkward. Then, Jax laughed. “My dad?” He scoffed, brushing it off like a speck of dust on his racing suit. “He’s been recovering out of state for years. He doesn’t give a damn what I do.” His tone shifted, becoming wheedling. “Babe, even if you’re mad I haven’t called in three months, don’t use such a lame excuse to dodge me.” Behind him, the pit crew started laughing again. They were waiting for the waterworks, for the grateful, aging girlfriend to weep with joy that the golden boy was finally settling down. Riley pointed a manicured finger at the camera, her expression shifting to mock seriousness. “Listen, Norah. Jax is proposing in front of every racing fan in the country. He knows you’re past your prime, he’s trying to save you from dying alone. Don’t make him a joke. Just say yes!” Someone tried to pull her back. “Whoa, Riley, easy. You’re just scared you’re gonna lose the bet and have to pay up.” Riley shook them off. “Scared? Please. I bet big, I play big.” She stared me down. “Jax, since she didn’t say yes, I guess I lose. A bet’s a bet. I’ll streak three laps around this track right now!” She reached for the zipper of her racing suit. Jax panicked. He grabbed her, pulling her into his chest to stop her. “Are you crazy? You’re not stripping here!” Then, he cut the video feed. Right before the screen went black, I heard his voice, confident and dismissive: “Don’t worry about her. At her age, I’m the absolute ceiling of what she can get. I’ll go home and smooth it over.” Listening to him, I realized my heart was finally quiet. On the surface, Jax and I didn’t look different. But that five-year gap on our IDs had become a thorn. It festered on the tongues of his friends and family. I used to ignore it. But eventually, I understood: the five years weren’t just time. They were different time zones. His sun was just rising. Mine was setting. Two days later, Jax flew back from the race. I was at the apartment, finishing up with the real estate agent. When Jax pushed open the door, he paused. He scanned the room, saw the agent packing up her laser measure, and immediately decided this was another one of my “hard to get” performance pieces. “You’ve made your point. That’s enough.” He walked over, reaching for my hand out of habit. I side-stepped him. He didn’t get angry. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to that husky register he used when he wanted something. “Alright. Did you post the response online yet? If Riley actually streaks, the team’s sponsors will pull out. It’s a PR nightmare.” He was referring to the demand his team manager had sent me right after the disastrous proposal. They wanted me to post a selfie with the ring, caption it “I Do,” and tag him and the team, thanking him for his “love that transcends age.” Obviously, I hadn’t done it. “Just a status update, babe,” he teased, seeing my silence. “Poor Riley staked her whole reputation on this.” I finally looked up. I looked at that handsome, arrogant face, the smirk that used to make my knees weak. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” I picked up my purse. “You’ve been staring at her body through that fireproof suit for years. Now you get to see the whole show. You should be thanking me.” The smile vanished. “Why do you have to be so difficult?” “Difficult?” I let out a dry laugh. “I thought your favorite line was that I was ‘so mature for my age’?” “You bragged that I didn’t check your phone, didn’t nag you to come home, didn’t need to be coddled like those ‘little girls’ you date.” He flinched. He realized I must have heard the locker room talk. I knew about the races he threw, too. The Shen family had money—old money—but the track didn’t care about trust funds. Jax had spent his life trying to prove he wasn’t just a nepo baby. He bought the best engines, hired the best mechanics. But he still couldn’t beat Riley, who drove on pure instinct. Years ago, rookie Riley crossed the finish line first and laughed in his face. “Hey rich boy, car too much for you to handle? Boring. Losers are so unsexy.” He had huddled in the corner of the garage, shredding his gloves. When everyone left, he asked me, eyes red-rimmed, “Norah, will I ever beat her? Am I really unsexy?” I had held his face, wiping the grease from his cheek. “You’re going to win the championship on your own merit. And when you do, I’ll steal my birth certificate and marry you.” That was the spark. “Deal,” he said. “Win the cup, get married. You can’t run.” But soon after, Riley joined his team. And in every race after that, if they were both in the finals, something happened to Jax. A blown tire on the last lap. Sudden “food poisoning” during qualifiers. He earned the nickname “Eternal Silver.” I knew he had the talent. Winning should have been as easy as breathing. But I never dug deeper into why he kept losing. Until three months ago. We were on a break, a cold war of silence. I went to the clubhouse to surprise him. Instead, I heard him laughing with his pit crew. “Jax, man, the finals are coming up. We need a win. You can’t keep personally financing the team just so you can ‘strategically’ take second place.” Someone giggled. “But if you actually win this time… you gonna give up the whole forest for Norah? She’s five years older than you, dude.” “I’m gonna make a move on Riley!” “Don’t you dare,” Jax snapped, sounding genuinely possessive. “She’s mine.” Then, the sound of a lighter flicking. A deep exhale of smoke. “Forget it. Norah’s clock is ticking. I can’t keep her waiting forever. I’ll just settle.” That was the moment I knew. The boy who said he’d tattoo my name over his heart was throwing races, sabotaging his own career, and paying out of pocket to cover the team’s losses—all to avoid marrying me. And in the end, he was “settling.” Standing outside that door, the fog lifted. Why were we fighting that week? Right. Riley again. I had been working late and saw Riley’s Instagram story. A photo taken in my living room. She was wearing my silk pajamas, straddling Jax’s suitcase, flashing a peace sign. Caption: Boot camp time! Helping the man-child pack his bags! Those pajamas were from our first anniversary. He didn’t use his dad’s money; he saved his wages for three months to buy them. They were sacred to me. When I confronted him, he didn’t even look up from his phone. “She got wet in a water fight. She borrowed some dry clothes. Stop being so sensitive, Norah.” That sentence was the needle that popped the balloon. I broke my silence to ask for an answer. And I got it. Leaving the clubhouse that day, I got drunk. For the first time in years. Everyone told me I should be grateful Jax wanted to marry me. Even my best friend said, “You’re almost thirty. Locking down a guy like Jax is like winning the lottery. Men mature late. If he’s ready to settle down, just swallow your pride.” But if he didn’t want to marry me… he could have just said no. “Norah… look, about what you heard…” Jax’s voice softened, guilt creeping in. “Okay, my bad. I talk trash when I’m with the guys. It’s just locker room talk, it doesn’t mean…” I held up a hand. “I have things to do. Make yourself at home.” It was always the same explanation. He felt inferior dating an older woman, so he had to play the “player” card to keep his status with the boys. “Thanks,” I told the agent. “Bring buyers whenever you want.” As the agent left, I grabbed my bag. Jax lunged, grabbing my wrist. “Norah, stop! Are you done throwing a tantrum? First, you say crazy shit about my dad during the proposal, now you’re selling the apartment? I’m a public figure. Do you know how many people are watching us?” “Oh, so now you know you’re a public figure?” I pulled my hand away, cool and detached. “Is that how public figures propose?” His face darkened. “God, you’re so petty. We’ve been together for years, who cares about the format? besides, isn’t it the truth…” He caught himself. “Look, no matter what, you’re special to me…” I looked down and laughed. Special? Because I was five years older? Did that make me a charity case? An old maid? Even if I was an old maid, he was the one who chased me. In the beginning, he loved flaunting me. “Norah has five years more wisdom and elegance than any of you,” he’d brag. “I’m lucky she even looks at me.” Until Riley joined the team. She’d tease him in front of everyone: “Does Jax have mommy issues or what? Always finding these aunties to take care of him… drags her everywhere like a security blanket.” The team would laugh. And slowly, he stopped bringing me along. I knew exactly why Riley wrote that proposal speech. It wasn’t a joke. It was a public humiliation ritual. She knew I wouldn’t say yes. She knew Jax wouldn’t let her run naked. It was a win-win for her. I was done. I walked past him without a word. “Just because I didn’t come back for three months?” he yelled after me, desperate now. “Don’t forget who started that fight over a stupid pair of pajamas! I said I’d buy you ten new pairs, and you still freaked out!” “I stayed away to let you cool off! You know how intense training camp is!” “I know,” I interrupted, not turning around. “Just a reminder: the condo is listed. Pack your shit.” He stood frozen. The line “I came back to comfort you” died in his throat. It didn’t work anymore. I reached the elevator, only to run into the rest of the pit crew. Riley was spinning a set of car keys on her finger. She arched a brow. “Ooh, running away to lick your wounds, Norah?” I ignored her. She stepped in front of me. “Geez, relax. Jax and I are just bros. You don’t have to give me the death stare every time. How are you gonna be the matriarch of the Shen family with skin that thin? No wonder Daddy Shen looks at you like you’re something stuck to his shoe.” Jax came stomping down the hall. “Riley, enough!” “What did I do?” She pouted, instant victim mode. “It was a joke! Can’t she take a joke?” Seeing Jax actually looked upset, she smirked and tried to link her arm through mine. “Fine, I forgive you for being moody. You’re probably heading out to buy groceries to cook us a victory dinner, right? I’ll come with. I can carry the bags—” I yanked my arm back and hit the elevator button. “I’d save those hands for the steering wheel, Miss Jiang. Who knows if you’ll keep your racing license after the indecent exposure charge.” Silence sucked the air out of the hallway. Riley forced a stiff laugh. “Jax… I told you she can’t take a joke…” “My bad. I just trusted her love for you too much. I thought she’d definitely say yes, that’s the only reason I made the bet…” She took a deep breath. “Fine! I lose!” Jax frowned at me. “Norah, why are you being so aggressive?” “We cancelled our team celebration to come here and make things right with you. What more do you want?” The peanut gallery chimed in. “Yeah, Norah, lighten up. Riley didn’t mean anything by it.” “She’s just a gambler, she wants you guys to be happy!” God, these people were exhausting. “Fine, Norah!” Jax grabbed my hand again. “I get it. You weren’t ready. Even if you don’t want to get married yet, just put out a statement saying you accepted the proposal. We need to present a united front. Once this blows over…” “United front?” I scoffed. “Since when am I on the team?” “And if you love betting so much, pay up.” I shook him off and stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed, I heard someone whisper, “Jax, she looks serious this time. Maybe you should…” “Let her go,” Jax snapped. “She thinks walking away gives her power? She’ll be back begging me before the week is out.” I checked into a hotel. Ten minutes later, a news alert popped up on my phone. RACING STAR JAX SHEN ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT: GIRLFRIEND SAYS YES! I tossed the phone onto the bed. It was just a bet. I didn’t believe for a second that Jax would actually let Riley streak, regardless of what I did. The next morning, I stepped out of the hotel and was blinded by flashbulbs. “Norah! Is it true you demanded a championship trophy before you’d marry him?” “You rejected him on the livestream. Was that a prank to make Riley jealous?” “How do you feel about the engagement announcement?” I paused. The “girlfriend” in the article… wasn’t me? Before I could speak, the crowd surged. Jax was coming out of the hotel lobby, shielding Riley with his body. The reporters swiveled. “Guys, give her some space,” Jax said, laughing charmingly. “She’s young, she gets shy. Don’t scare her.” I tried to slip away, but a cameraman bumped into me, hard. I stumbled, dropping my bag. The noise drew attention. Jax looked over. Panic flickered in his eyes. “Norah?” He clearly didn’t expect to see me there. I ignored him, crouching to gather the papers that had spilled from my purse. “Excuse me, let me through.” Jax blocked my path. He leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper. “Don’t make a scene. I proposed to Riley because you wouldn’t post the statement. I couldn’t let her run naked…” “Luckily the bet was just that a girlfriend had to say yes. You almost ruined her life…” “Is that so?” I stood up, smiling brightly. “Well then, wishing you a hundred years of happiness.” He blinked, stunned. I moved to leave. He reached out to grab me, but his finger hooked the strap of my bag. It tipped over again. A medical file slid across the marble floor. The cameras zoomed in. “Oh my god! 12 weeks? Is Norah pregnant?!” Jax’s face went white. He remembered the night he came home three months ago… He grabbed me, dragging me into a corner. “Norah… I… I’m not ready to be a father… I’ll pay for everything. The best clinic. Painless. I promise.” I almost laughed out loud. “Jax, get therapy.” I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. “You can’t leave! You have to clarify this right now. Tell them it’s a misunderstanding!” “If you don’t, the media will spin this. They’ll call Riley a homewrecker!” Then, realization dawned on his face. “Wait. You stayed at this hotel on purpose? You dropped the pregnancy test on purpose? You’re trying to ruin her? Norah, do you have a heart?” “To be honest, if Riley hadn’t made that bet, I wouldn’t have proposed to you at all!” “You’ve been waiting years for a ring, and instead of thanking her, you pull this toxic crap?” He had found his moral high ground. He looked down his nose at me. “Apologize to Riley. Right now. Or I swear to God, I will never marry you.” Never marry me? I didn’t know I could get that lucky. My face relaxed into genuine relief. “Thank you for your mercy.” “You…” Jax was shaking with rage. The reporters were swarming now, microphones shoving into my face. “Norah, is the baby a Shen?” I paused. I hadn’t planned to go public, but I wasn’t going to hide, either. I nodded. The crowd gasped. Jax looked at me with pure venom. He raised his voice, addressing the cameras. “Norah, I know you want to trap me with a baby.” “But let me be clear. I am young. I am not ready to be a dad. If you insist on having this kid, I will not acknowledge it!” The hotel guests were stopping to watch. The murmurs were getting loud. “That’s Jax Shen and Riley… wait, the ex is pregnant? Is she trying to force a marriage?” Hearing the narrative twist against me, I felt a snap. Slap. My hand connected with Jax’s face. The sound cracked like a whip, silencing the lobby. “Who said the baby is yours?”

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I was the textbook definition of a “velcro girlfriend.” If I could have spent twenty-four hours a day physically fused to my boyfriend’s side, I would have. I was in the middle of my nightly routine—clinging to his neck and begging for one more goodnight kiss—when a flicker of strange, translucent text drifted across my vision like a live stream comment section. [Is this side-character actually brain-dead? Can’t she see the Lead is doing a tactical lean-back?] [For real. He doesn’t even want to touch her.] [He only dated her to keep the “crazy fans” away. She really thinks she’s the love of his life? Delusional.] [Almost there, guys! The real Heroine is about to make her entrance. Our little stage-five clinger is getting the boot any minute now!] I stared at the floating words, my heart dropping into the pit of my stomach. My fingers, which had been laced tightly behind Cade’s neck, slowly began to lose their grip. In the next second, Cade lifted his head. His eyes were dark, shadowed with a touch of the irritation that comes from being interrupted. His voice was a low, honeyed rasp. “Why’d you stop?” … 1 My heart gave a violent squeeze. My eyes darted around the room, unable to meet Cade’s gaze. Under his piercing look—the kind that felt like he was peeling back layers of my skin—I reached down and gripped the silk sheets, whispering, “I’m just… tired.” Cade didn’t say anything. He just watched me for a long beat, probably trying to figure out if I was glitching. After a moment, he rolled over, his back to me. His voice was flat, impossible to read. “Then sleep.” Staring at the broad, cold expanse of his back, I felt like I’d just swallowed a mouthful of ash. It was bitter and suffocating. I sat up and clicked off the lamp. As I lay back down in the dark, the words from that “comment” kept looping in my brain. I shifted toward the very edge of the mattress, leaving a vast, empty canyon of space between us. I did my absolute best to stay as far away from Cade as possible. I didn’t dare press against him like a heat-seeking missile the way I usually did. Maybe if I stop being so much, I thought, he’ll hate me a little less. In the silence, I heard his steady, rhythmic breathing, but my mind was miles away. To be honest, it wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed. I wasn’t that blind. Cade had always been lukewarm. Whenever I tried to get close, I felt that split-second of tension in his frame, a subtle rigidity. But I loved him so much it made me stupid. I wanted to be his shadow, his accessory, his constant. Cade never complained out loud. But looking back, those tiny furrows between his brows, the way his jaw tightened—they were all flashing red lights. He didn’t want this. I’d just been playing dumb. I’d lied and told him I was scared to live alone just so I could move into his place. Then, I’d pushed for more, invading his bedroom until I was a permanent fixture, wrapping my limbs around him every night like an octopus. He hadn’t kicked me out, sure. But his first instinct was always to resist. I’d just been so desperate to be with him that I’d filtered out the truth. Now it seemed the comment was right. The air in the room felt heavy. I tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, finally drifting into a fitful sleep. 2 When I woke up, I realized I was curled into Cade’s chest, my right arm locked firmly around his waist. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. After a few seconds of frozen realization, my soul nearly left my body. My body had gone into autopilot during the night, seeking him out like a habit I couldn’t break. If he woke up and saw me like this, the annoyance would be written all over his face. Holding my breath, I moved with the agonizing slowness of a glacier, trying to retract my arm. I was inches away from a clean break, almost back to my side of the bed, when a hand clamped firmly around my wrist. I looked up, slamming right into Cade’s deep, bottomless eyes. He’d clearly just woken up; his voice was thick with sleep. “What are you doing?” Panicked, I yanked my hand back and shoved against his chest with both palms, trying to create distance. I stammered out the first excuse I could find. “N-nothing. It’s late. I have to get to work.” Cade didn’t respond. He just watched me with that expressionless mask. Even though I was avoiding his gaze, I could feel the atmospheric pressure in the room dropping. [The Lead is definitely in a bad mood now. Imagine waking up to a human leech every morning.] [God, who wants to be suffocated in their sleep? So annoying.] [She’s a literal adult. Doesn’t she understand boundaries?] [I’d dump her so fast. She’s like sentient Scotch tape.] My eyes dropped to my lap, my lashes trembling. The comments made my face burn with a shame so hot I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Just as I was about to scramble out of bed, Cade’s low voice rumbled above me. It was impossible to tell if he was amused or angry. “That goodnight kiss you skipped last night. You want to make it up now?” Usually, if he missed a kiss because of a business trip or a late night, I’d be relentless. I’d make him pay it back with interest—ten kisses for every one missed. I was like a loan shark for affection. The first time I’d pulled that, Cade had almost laughed, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Daisy, don’t you think you’re being a bit of a tyrant?” I’d just blinked innocently at him, cupping his face and kissing him until I was satisfied. Maybe because it happened so often, he’d just grown used to it. He’d stopped fighting it. But remembering how he’d flinched away last night, I knew he was just humoring me. He didn’t want this. “No, that’s okay,” I said quickly, waving my hands. I lowered my head, adding in a small, shaky voice, “Actually, we can skip the morning and evening kisses from now on.” Cade stared at me. His gaze turned heavy, almost frighteningly dark. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke coldly, a sharp edge of spite in his tone. “Fine. Suit yourself.” I let out a quiet breath of relief. But at the same time, a dull ache started to throb in my chest. He really did see it as a chore, didn’t he? 3 By the time I finished getting ready, Cade had breakfast on the table. He was faster than me, already finished, sitting across the table and watching me with an unblinking intensity. Feeling his eyes on me, I started shoveling food into my mouth. Cade frowned. “Slow down,” he said curtly. I nodded, my cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, playing the role of the obedient student. Ten minutes later, it was time for the commute. Usually, he’d drive me, but we were running a bit behind today. Those obnoxious comments popped up again, jumping with excitement. [If I remember the script correctly, today is the Big Day. The Leads meet today!] [Yep, the Heroine starts at his company today. She’s a powerhouse, high EQ, and most importantly—she knows how to give a man space!] [Exactly. The Lead actually feels comfortable around her.] [Once he sees what a real woman looks like, he’s going to drop this clingy brat without a second thought.] My eyes dimmed. So today was the day he met his soulmate. My chest felt tight, the air in the room suddenly too thin to breathe. Seeing me standing there like a statue, Cade prompted, “Get in the car.” I didn’t move. “You go ahead. I’ll just take an Uber.” Cade didn’t argue; he simply opened his door, stepped out, and walked over to me. He stood close, his searching gaze making me feel completely exposed. “You’re mad,” he stated. His voice was certain. “Because I dodged that kiss last night, right?” I looked up, forcing a blank expression. “No.” Why be mad? I’d just finally seen the truth through the comment. I was a nuisance. I was just trying to fix it. Cade clearly didn’t buy it. He stepped into my personal space. “Then why won’t you let me drive you?” My eyes flickered away. I couldn’t tell him the real reason, so I went with a half-baked lie. “I just think… we should give each other some space. You know, boundaries.” Cade froze. It was like I’d slapped him. He clearly hadn’t expected those words to come out of my mouth. He didn’t push further. He just gave me one long, searching look. “…Fine. I’ll pick you up after work.” Without waiting for me to agree, he turned, got back in his car, and peeled out of the driveway. I was a mess all day. I couldn’t focus on a single task. The comment kept chiming in, telling me Cade was driving the Heroine home, that he’d forgotten all about me, mocking me for even hoping he’d show up. But I couldn’t help it. My heart was still holding onto a shred of hope as I walked out of the office building. The spot where his car usually sat ten minutes early was empty. I stared at the vacant pavement for a long time. As I was lost in thought, a bright, cheerful voice rang out behind me. “Hey, Daisy? What are you doing standing there? Can’t catch a ride?” “The subway is going to be a nightmare during rush hour. I’ve got my bike—want a lift?” I turned around. It was Nico, a trendy-looking guy who’d joined the team a few days ago. He was high-energy, like a golden retriever in human form. I was about to say no out of habit, but I looked at the darkening sky and thought about Cade driving some other woman home. I nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Nico.” Nico, who was a good head taller than me, easily slid his spare helmet onto my head. “No problem at all.” But the moment the buckle clicked, a sharp, prolonged honk cut through the air. Before I could even process it, Cade was out of his car. He strode over, his face like a thundercloud, and grabbed my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine in a crushing grip. Then, he reached up and plucked the helmet off my head—the helmet I’d been wearing for all of ten seconds. He handed it back to Nico, his tone casual but dripping with territorial aggression. “Hey there.” “I’m Daisy’s boyfriend. Cade.” Nico blinked, then let out a bit of a cocky grin. “Whoa, man. You’re running a little behind for a boyfriend, aren’t you? We’ve been off the clock for ages.” 4 Cade’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The air between the two men was thick with sudden, sharp tension. I gently tugged at Cade’s hand—his grip was starting to hurt. “Cade, let’s just go home.” I waved a quick goodbye to Nico. “See you tomorrow! Drive safe!” The ride home was brutal. Cade’s expression was murderous. He walked so fast toward the car that I had to jog to keep up. Once we were inside, I opened my mouth to explain. But the words died in my throat. I noticed something on the dashboard. A small, incredibly cute plush cat. Cade hated cats. He complained about the hair, the smell, the effort. And that plushie definitely wasn’t there yesterday. [Hehe, such a cute little kitten! The Heroine definitely put that there.] [Look at Daisy’s face. She knows.] [Honestly, she should just bow out now. Save herself the embarrassment of being dumped.] [And she really thinks he was jealous back there? Please. No man wants to look like a cuck in front of his peers. That’s ego, not love.] I blinked slowly, fighting back the sting in my nose. The comment wasn’t lying. He really had driven her home. He even liked her enough to let her put a cat toy—the one thing he claimed to loathe—right in his line of sight. At this rate, the “we need to talk” speech was coming any day now. I sniffled quietly and pressed myself against the passenger door, putting as much distance between us as the car allowed. If we were going to break up, I wanted to leave with some dignity. I didn’t want to be the girl begging for scraps. That night, after eating the dinner Cade prepared in total silence, I waited until he was buried in work in his home office. I moved quietly, like a ghost, packing my essentials and moving them into the guest room. I didn’t bother him. I didn’t pester him to come to bed early. I didn’t ask for a hug. I just took a shower and crawled into the guest bed alone. I tucked the covers tightly around myself. My feet were like blocks of ice. I realized then that I might never have anyone to warm them for me again. Just as I was spiraling into self-pity, there was a knock at the door. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I cracked the door open just a sliver, peeking out like a stray. “Cade? Did you need something?” He didn’t answer. He just stuck his foot in the door frame to keep me from closing it. His eyes were dark, simmering with something that looked like genuine fury. “Why the hell are you in here?” I avoided his eyes, focusing on the pattern of the hardwood floor. “I just… felt like sleeping alone.”

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