Category: English

I was halfway out the door of the spa when the owner’s voice cut through the tranquil lo-fi beats of the lobby. “Excuse me, ma’am? I think you’ve forgotten something.” I turned, blinking in confusion. “I paid at the desk. Tip included.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes—a practiced, feline stretch of the lips. “It’s about the refreshments. Our fruit platters and premium hydration are reserved strictly for members. Since you indulged, we’ll need to get you set up with a membership today.” I kept my voice level. “I didn’t touch the fruit. I was thirsty, so I took a glass of water from the carafe on the table.” Her smile sharpened. “That water is part of our Diamond VIP service.” She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my leggings and oversized hoodie—my post-facial uniform. “Look, let’s not make a scene. You don’t look like you’re swimming in cash, so I’ll start you on our entry-level tier. It’s only a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for the year.” I stared at her, genuinely stunned. “And if I refuse to pay a hundred grand for a glass of tap water?” The mask dropped instantly. She rolled her eyes and shrieked loud enough to startle the koi in the lobby pond. “Everyone, look! We’ve got a jumper! Someone trying to scam high-end services for free!” I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream back. I simply pulled out my phone and speed-dialed my executive assistant. “Cancel the employee wellness initiative,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Yes, all ten thousand corporate spa vouchers. Effective immediately.” … 1 The lobby went dead silent. Then, the whispers started. Employees and wealthy patrons drifted over, drawn to the scent of a conflict. “She looks decent enough. Why is she stiffing them?” one woman whispered, adjusting her Chanel bag. “If you’re broke, don’t come to a luxury establishment,” another sneered. “Know your place. Honestly, the nerve of people these days.” I felt the heat crawl up my neck. The owner, Tiffany, crossed her arms, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “I’ll give you a chance to save face,” she said loudly. “Sign the membership agreement, and we’ll forget this ever happened.” She was acting as if she were doing me a favor after I’d supposedly robbed her blind. I took a breath, grounding myself. “I paid for my facial the second I walked out of the treatment room. You are holding me here because I took a sip of water. There are no signs, no price tags, and no warnings in that lounge. Charging a hundred thousand dollars for a sip of water is not a business model—it’s a shakedown.” The crowd wavered. Tiffany didn’t blink. “This is an elite club. We serve limited-edition, mountain-sourced artisanal water to our members. It’s imported, carbon-neutral, and rare. We don’t just hand it out to any walk-in off the street.” “Is that true?” a woman at the register asked, her interest piqued. “If I join, I get that water every time?” Tiffany tilted her chin up. “Absolutely. Only the best for our inner circle.” The woman practically threw her Amex at the clerk. Tiffany sighed dramatically, looking at me with pity. “See? Some clients value the experience. Others just look for excuses to be cheap. They want the luxury lifestyle without the luxury price tag.” The disdain in the room was palpable. A few people looked at me with genuine disgust. One older woman tried to be “kind.” “Honey, she probably didn’t know. Tiffany, be the bigger person. Maybe she’ll come back when she can actually afford it.” This spa was three blocks from my corporate headquarters. I’d been here at least fifty times. I’d spent well over six figures here over the years. Until today, I’d actually liked the place. But the person standing in front of me wasn’t the manager I usually dealt with. This was a new owner, someone who clearly didn’t recognize the hand that fed her. “Fine,” I said, wanting to end the nightmare. “How much for the glass? I’ll pay for the water.” I pulled out my phone to Venmo the business. “Is a hundred bucks enough for your ‘artisanal’ hydration?” Tiffany let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “A hundred bucks? What is this, a lemonade stand? That water is a hundred dollars an ounce. That glass holds ten ounces. Plus the service fee? You owe us a thousand dollars, or you sign the membership.” The onlookers gasped. “A thousand-dollar glass of water? I need to try that,” someone joked. “Look at her face,” Tiffany mocked, leaning into my personal space. “What’s the matter? Can’t scrape together a grand? Maybe you should have stuck to the water fountain at the park.” I stepped back, repulsed by the smell of her heavy perfume. “It was filtered tap water in a generic glass, Tiffany. You claim it’s a ‘limited edition’ import? Prove it. Show me the bottle.” “Prove it? Who do you think you are? You think a place like this keeps trash lying around for ‘low-lifes’ like you to inspect? This isn’t a recycling center.” The lobby erupted in laughter. My face went cold. In all my years running a multi-billion dollar firm, no one had ever dared to speak to me like this. I had a board meeting in an hour. I just wanted to leave. I reached for my wallet to throw ten Benjamins at her just to shut her up, when a cry came from the front desk. “Oh my god! Someone took a bite out of a Ruby Roman grape on the VIP platter!” 2 “You little thief!” Tiffany’s voice rose an octave. Her crimson stiletto nails pointed directly at my face. “I knew it! First the water, now the fruit. You’re a regular shoplifter, aren’t you?” She turned to the girl at the desk. “Call the police. Now.” The receptionist hovered her hand over the phone, her eyes darting between me and her boss. I realized then that this wasn’t an accident. This was a setup. “I knew she looked like a scammer,” someone muttered. “It’s always the ones trying to act ‘casual’ who are the most entitled.” “Just sign the membership,” Tiffany hissed under her breath so only I could hear. “Or I’ll make sure your face is all over the local news by tonight. ‘Local Professional Caught Stealing Grapes.’ Think about your reputation.” I swiped her hand away from my face. “Show me the security footage.” “Who the hell do you think you are to demand my footage?” Tiffany sneered. “I know your type. You spend all your ‘sugar daddy’ money on fake bags and then pinch pennies on the tips. Pay for the water, pay for the fruit, and get the hell out.” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. The sting of it snapped something inside me. I didn’t think; I just reacted. I yanked my arm back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across her face. The room went silent. Tiffany froze, clutching her cheek. I didn’t wait for her to recover. I stormed toward the front desk. The receptionist tried to block the screen, but I shoved her aside and grabbed the mouse. I saw the client database open. I found my name: Gwen Montgomery: Low-value. Pretends to be rich. Mark up all products by 50%. The blood rushed to my head. My ears were ringing. I’d always been private about my life. When they’d asked what I did for a living, I’d just said I “worked in an office nearby.” Because I occasionally wore Lululemon instead of Dior, they’d labeled me a “poser.” I scrolled down the list, reading the notes aloud for the whole lobby to hear: “Mrs. Gable: Idiotic and wealthy. Only recommend the ‘Platinum’ tier regardless of skin type.” “Sarah Jenkins: Desperate, low funds. Target her after the 15th of the month when her paycheck hits. Tell her the products are French imports.” “Ms. Lawson: High-maintenance. Dilute her serums with saline. Give her free samples to keep her quiet.” One by one, the women in the lobby began to pale. “Is this how you treat your ‘esteemed’ guests?” I demanded. Mrs. Gable, who had just handed over her Amex, snatched her card back from the counter. “Cancel it. I want a refund. Now!” Tiffany, her face mottled red and white, scrambled to the desk. “Mrs. Gable! Please, that’s just a misunderstanding! This… this disgruntled employee must have hacked the system! I’ll fire her immediately!” She pointed at the cowering receptionist. “You! Pack your things! You’re done!” Then she turned back to me, her eyes burning with pure hatred. “Security! Get this woman out of my sight!” Two massive guards moved in, grabbing me by the shoulders. I struggled, reaching for my phone. “Don’t you touch me! I’m calling—” “Calling who? The cops?” Tiffany snatched the phone out of my hand. With a cruel smirk, she dropped it into the koi pond. “Consider that payment for the fruit. Those grapes are imported from Japan, honey. They cost more than that cracked iPhone of yours.” I was hauled out of the building and literally thrown onto the sidewalk. My palms scraped against the concrete. My head spun. Tiffany stood in the doorway, looming over me. “Go ahead, call the police,” she spat. “My husband is one of the biggest developers in the city. He owns half the council. You’re nobody. Just another bitter mistress trying to play dress-up.” The heavy glass door slammed shut. From inside, I could hear her theatrical voice: “So sorry for the disruption, ladies! Let’s get you all a round of mimosas—on the house! Eighteen percent off all services today!” Then, her voice dropped, but I could still hear her through the glass. “That bitch really thought she was something. Acting like a hundred grand would kill her. We’ve got a fifteen-million-dollar corporate contract about to sign; I don’t have time for peasants like her.” I sat on the curb, nursing my scraped hand. I had a meeting to get to. I would swallow this rage for now. But that fifteen-million-dollar contract? She could kiss that goodbye. … That evening, I dragged myself home, exhausted and aching. My husband, Derek, popped his head out of the kitchen. “You’re back! I made that butternut squash soup you like. Drink it while it’s hot.” I slumped onto the sofa and checked my tablet. I opened Instagram, and there it was. Tiffany had posted four times in the last hour. [Broke-ass ‘influencers’ need to stay home. Can’t afford a membership but can afford to steal the VIP fruit! Pathetic.] [Note to the mistresses out there: Fake bags don’t make you a lady. Get a job.] [Caught a thief today. She threw a tantrum when we called her out. Pure comedy.] She’d posted a photo of me being hauled out by security. It was a high-resolution shot of me facedown on the sidewalk, my face clearly visible. The comments were a bloodbath. I slammed the tablet onto the cushion. Derek walked over with a bowl of soup, a sympathetic smile on his face. “What’s wrong, babe? Who climbed up your back today?” I told him everything—the water, the grapes, the database, being thrown out. I was shaking with fury. “She violated my privacy, she assaulted me, and she’s slandering me online! I’m suing her into the ground.” Derek frowned, stirring the soup. “I don’t know, Gwen. Maybe you’re overreacting. I mean, you did drink the water, right? Technically, she’s not lying.” I froze. I looked up at him, my eyes narrowing. “You’re taking her side?” 3 “I’m just being objective,” he said, his gaze flickering away to the TV. “Besides, what’s a hundred grand to us? It’s pocket change. You could have just paid it and avoided the drama. People are just trying to run a business, Gwen. It’s tough out there.” His words felt like a bucket of ice water over my head. For the two years we’d been married, Derek had been the perfect husband. He cooked, he cleaned, he insisted on doing everything himself because he “didn’t want strangers in our home.” Seeing my expression, he quickly sat beside me. “Look, you’re just stressed. Let me run you a foot bath, okay? Just let it go.” “No thanks,” I said, my voice flat. “Actually, why don’t you sleep in the guest room tonight?” His face stiffened, but he quickly masked it with his usual “supportive” smile. “Alright, Princess. I’ll let you have your space. I’m right next door if you need anything.” I sat in the dark for a long time. A detail suddenly clicked into place. That spa had opened last year. Derek was the one who suggested it. He’d told me it was right near my office, a perfect place for me to unwind. He was the one who pushed for the corporate wellness vouchers, saying it would be a “great perk” for the staff. I’d trusted him. I’d authorized the pilot program without a second thought. The seeds of doubt started to sprout. I picked up my backup phone and called my secretary. “Cancel the spa vouchers. Now. And I want a full audit of every vendor Derek has recommended to the firm in the last eighteen months.” The next morning, the storm broke. Tiffany showed up at my corporate headquarters, screaming at the top of her lungs in the lobby. “You can’t just cancel a contract! Do you have any idea how much that deal is worth? Fifteen million! Who is in charge here? I want to see the CEO!” Her voice echoed through the open-plan glass offices. Employees were peeking over their monitors. My operations manager, Mark, stood his ground. “The order came directly from the Board Chair.” “I don’t care about some ‘Board Chair’! My contact is Derek! He’s the one who set this up!” Tiffany was disheveled, her expensive highlights frizzy with rage. Mark sighed. “Ma’am, the Chair has the final say. Even Derek has to follow her directives. Please leave.” Tiffany slammed her fist onto the marble reception desk. “Call him! He won’t turn me away!” The receptionist, a fresh college grad, looked like she was about to cry. “I hired extra staff for this! I bought new equipment! I spent a fortune on overhead because of this deal!” Tiffany screamed. “You can’t just back out! It’s breach of contract!” Several employees were filming now. Mark almost laughed. “There is no signed contract, Miss. It was a proposal. We’re well within our rights to decline.” “Liar! I’ll sue! I’ll go to the Better Business Bureau! I’ll go to the press!” Tiffany was so enraged she actually flipped a display table in the lobby. I decided it was time. I walked out from the executive elevator bay, still in my morning running gear—leggings and a hoodie. Tiffany saw me and froze. Then, a slow, mocking grin spread across her face. “Oh, look who it is. The shoplifter. What, do you work as a janitor here?” A collective gasp went up from the office. My staff knew exactly who I was. I ignored her and took a sip of my coffee. “Mark, you called for the executive team?” “Yes, ma’am. This woman is demanding to see Derek.” “Call him down,” I said, standing in the shadows of the hallway so I wasn’t fully visible from the center of the lobby. “Derek’s coming!” someone whispered. Tiffany stood taller, adjusting her blazer like a queen awaiting her consort. Derek stepped off the elevator, looking sharp in the suit I’d bought him for his birthday. “What is going on here?” He looked at the mess in the lobby, then at Tiffany. He blinked, his face going momentarily pale. “Derek!” Tiffany’s voice turned into a melodic pout. She ran over and grabbed his arm, leaning into him. “Your people are being horrible! They’re trying to cancel my contract! They’re being so mean to me!” She pressed herself against him, her red-nailed hand tracing circles on his chest. “You’re the one in charge of the partnership, right? Tell them they’re wrong.” I watched them from the shadows, my heart turning into a block of lead. Derek coughed, looking around nervously. He knew this was my building. “Tiffany… look, I’ll talk to the Chair. There must be a misunderstanding.” Tiffany pointed a finger at Mark. “He tried to have me kicked out! Me! Your partner!” Then she pointed toward the shadow where I stood. “And he let that little cleaning lady over there insult me!” Derek finally looked toward the corner. Because of the lighting, he couldn’t see my face clearly yet. Maybe it was Tiffany’s tears, or maybe he thought he had more power than he actually did, but he suddenly barked at the room: “Who authorized the cancellation of this partnership?” Mark started to speak, but Derek waved him off. “I’ve been too soft on you people. I’m an executive here. I say the deal is back on! We’re moving forward with Tiffany’s spa!” He pulled Tiffany closer, his hand sliding down to rest on her waist. The silence in the office was deafening. Every single employee was looking at him like he was a dead man walking. “Derek, honey,” Tiffany purred, casting a triumphant look in my direction. “That janitor woman over there? She was glaring at me. She’s creepy.” “Fired,” Derek snapped, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Pack your bags and get out. We don’t need that kind of energy in a professional environment.” I finally stepped out into the light, my coffee cup still in hand. “Fired? Really, Derek? That’s a bold move.”

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The countdown to the concert was at exactly sixty minutes, and the internet was hyper-fixated on a single headline—the kind that moves markets and breaks hearts: [EXCLUSIVE: Pop Sensation Valerie Cross Set to Propose to Manager Dominic Hart Tonight—A Decade of Romance Culminates in the Public Proposal of the Century!] This proposal wasn’t just a personal milestone; it was the crown jewel of our firm’s PR strategy for the fiscal year. It was supposed to be the finish line of my ten-year marathon with Valerie. But instead of prepping for my cue, I was standing in the shadows of the backstage service stairwell. There, I watched Valerie—radiant in a custom-designed Vera Wang bridal gown—locked in a desperate, hungry embrace with the boy she’d spent the last year keeping in the shadows. “Dominic, let me explain…” “Explain?” I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Explain why you’re back here cheating on me an hour before we’re scheduled to broadcast our engagement to millions of people?” I looked at her, the woman I’d built from nothing. “The cameras are live. Tens of thousands of fans are in their seats. Every major outlet in the country is waiting for you to make us official.” I slammed the velvet ring box onto the metal railing between us. “After the final encore tonight, you have two choices. You walk out there and propose to me as planned, or you watch your entire career go up in flames before the house lights even come up.” Her jaw tightened, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her bouquet. Finally, she snatched the box, her voice a low, venomous hiss. “Fine.” The moment arrived. The spotlights converged on me in the VIP section, blinding and white. Valerie stood center stage, draped in silk and lace, and slowly pulled the ring from the box. The stadium fell into a deafening silence. But instead of looking at me, she turned. Her gaze swept past me, landing on a pale, trembling man sitting three rows back—Lucien Pierce, the “soulmate” from her past she’d never quite let go of. “Dominic,” she said into the microphone, her voice echoing through the rafters. “Thank you for lifting me up to the stars. But tonight… tonight I need to follow my heart back to the moon.” The crowd erupted in a confused, violent roar. I sat there, the ultimate prop in her televised betrayal. As she stepped off the stage and walked toward him, I didn’t feel anger. I felt the cold, quiet snap of something vital inside me finally dying. … “Dominic,” my assistant, Parker, whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion as he handed me the tablet. “You… you should probably see this.” The screen was a digital carnage of headlines. Tonight was supposed to be the ultimate ROI—a fusion of business and brand. I had invested over a hundred million dollars, coordinated with dozens of global luxury brands, and leveraged every connection I had. The moment Valerie Cross proposed to her long-time architect and partner, our joint market value would have been astronomical. The trap was set. The world was watching. But now, the image of Valerie and Lucien Pierce kissing on the arena floor was being zoomed in on and analyzed by every tabloid on the planet. The caption read: [Pop Royalty Defies Corporate Control for True Love]. Meanwhile, the footage of me—the stunned, jilted manager walking out into the night—had already been turned into a thousand mocking memes. Our company’s stock had vaporized thirty million dollars in value before the West Coast even woke up. I scrolled through it all, page after page, my face a mask of calm. Finally, I hit Valerie’s latest personal statement, posted just minutes ago. In it, she thanked her fans for their “courageous support.” She thanked the universe for “the truth.” And then, she redefined me and the company as a “painful chapter of professional obligation” that she was finally closing. She claimed she would “pay any price for freedom.” Freedom. I looked at that word and felt a sudden, sharp bark of laughter escape my throat. “Tell PR not to respond. No statements, no denials,” I said, leaning back. “And tell the legal team to prepare the heavy artillery. I want the most aggressive breach-of-contract clauses triggered by sunrise.” Parker blinked, stunned. “Dominic, shouldn’t we try to get ahead of the narrative? The public sentiment is… it’s ugly. They’re painting you as the villain.” “Clarify?” I stood up and walked to the window, pointing at Valerie’s glowing, tearful face on a billboard across the street. “You don’t clarify things with a liar, Parker. You audit them.” I rubbed my temples and sank into the leather sofa. The last five years blurred past my eyes like a film reel. I remembered her five years ago—clutching a battered acoustic guitar, singing folk songs in a dive bar in the East Village to a crowd of three people. I was the only one who heard the potential in her voice. I was the one who signed her, built a boutique agency around her, and bet everything I owned on her. Back then, we had nothing. To save on overhead, we slept on thin mattresses on the floor of a twelve-hundred-square-foot office, eating cold takeout and talking about a future that felt a million miles away. She used to say, “Dominic, when I make it, the first thing I’m going to do is marry you.” I’d just laugh and say, “When you make it, the first thing you’re going to do is pay back the company’s startup loan.” She’d call me a corporate shark, but her eyes would be full of a soft, desperate longing. To get her a ten-minute opening slot at Coachella that first year, I drank myself into a stomach ulcer at a donor gala, ending up in the ER at 3:00 AM. When she arrived at the hospital, her eyes were red from crying. She held my hand and whispered, “Dominic, I’m never going to let anyone hurt you like this again.” I believed her. I thought we were a single entity—us against the world. I poured my life’s blood into her. I taught her how to hold a camera’s gaze, how to manipulate a room of journalists, how to craft the “approachable but untouchable” persona that her fans worshipped. She was a fast learner. She was perfect. As she rose, we moved into the glass-and-steel penthouse offices Midtown. The boutique agency became a conglomerate. But the foundation of us was shifting under the weight of the gold records. She started complaining about my “need for control.” She claimed my tour schedules were too tight, that I was stifling her “creative soul.” She began to crave something she called “purity.” That’s when Lucien Pierce appeared—a former classmate from her conservatory days. He became the face of that “purity.” I tried to talk to her about it once, a month before the concert. “Valerie, we’re partners—in business and in life. I need to know if there’s anything threatening the foundation of this company,” I had said, my tone professional but my heart hammering. She sat across from me, scrolling through her phone, her voice airy and dismissive. “You’re overthinking it. Lucien is just a friend. Someone who actually understands music, not just metrics.” “I’m the one responsible for your music,” I reminded her. She snapped her head up, her eyes flashing with a resentment I hadn’t seen before. “That’s different! That’s commercial! It’s a product, Dominic! That’s all you see! You don’t see me!” “With Lucien, I feel like a human being, not just a commodity in your portfolio.” That was the first time I realized she wasn’t the girl from the East Village anymore. She was a product I had perfected—and now, the product wanted to fire its creator. I chose to stay quiet then. I told myself it was just the pressure of the tour. I thought that once the ring was on her finger and the world saw us as a power couple, the “purity” of Lucien Pierce would fade into the background. I was wrong. I had treated her like a controlled variable in an equation, forgetting that the most volatile element in any business is human betrayal. The office door swung open without a knock. Valerie walked in, dressed in all black, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes. Lucien followed a half-step behind her, looking like a lost puppy in a designer coat. “Sir,” Parker said, standing up quickly to block them. “Out,” I said, my voice as flat as a dead heart. Parker gave me a worried look but retreated, closing the heavy oak door behind him. “Why are you here?” I asked. Valerie pulled off her glasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her face was eerily calm. “I’m here to discuss the exit,” she said, dropping a thick envelope on my desk. She sat on the sofa across from me and pulled Lucien down next to her. “I want an amicable split. For the sake of the company, and for you. Let’s just end this cleanly.” “An amicable split?” I repeated the words like they were a foreign language. “Valerie, you orchestrated a public execution of my reputation and my company’s stock last night. You call that ‘clean’?” “You didn’t just ruin a proposal. You torched a hundred-million-dollar rollout. You were the lead asset of this firm’s Q4 projections, and you know that better than anyone.” She let out a sharp, mocking scoff, leaning back with an air of unearned defiance. “Business, business, business. That’s all that goes on in that head of yours. I’m done! I am not your ATM!” Lucien tried to find his voice. “Mr. Hart, don’t blame Valerie… it’s my fault. We’re in love, truly—” “Shut up,” I snapped, my eyes cutting to him like a blade. “The adults are talking.” Lucien went pale and subsided. Valerie exploded. She stood up, leaning over my desk, her face inches from mine. “Dominic, enough! You’ve always acted like you’re so much better than everyone! Who do you think you are? My savior?” “Every day with you felt like I was suffocating in a vacuum. You sold your apartment, you drank yourself into a hospital—you didn’t do that for me! You did it for your ambition! For your investment! I was just your most successful trade!” She hit every nerve, her words dripping with a cruelty she’d been saving up for years. “So, the five years we spent together… that was just an investment? Sleeping on the floor, eating ramen—that was a trade? Staying up all night in that ER waiting room—was that just me protecting my margins?” I looked up at her, waiting for a flicker of the woman I knew. She faltered for a second, her eyes darting away. Then she hardened. “Consider it… paid in full,” she said. A slow, ugly smirk spread across her face. “Oh, and there’s something else you should know.” She reached out and draped an arm over Lucien’s shoulder, her hand sliding down to rest tenderly against her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. I have to do what’s right for him. For our family.” Pregnant. The last thread of logic, the last piece of me that wanted to be reasonable, snapped. It turned out I hadn’t just been building a career; I had been financing the nursery for another man’s child. That afternoon, I sat in my darkened office, watching the live stream on the wall. Valerie’s press conference started right on time. She looked thinner, her makeup designed to make her look fragile, exhausted, and “authentic.” Her eyes were expertly rimmed with red. Lucien sat beside her, his head down, playing the role of the sensitive, innocent artist. “First, I want to apologize to everyone who has supported me,” Valerie began, her voice cracking into a perfectly rehearsed rasp. She spoke about her “pure love for music,” about how she had been “swallowed by the corporate machine,” and about her “suffering in silence.” She described Lucien’s arrival as a “light in a dark, cold world.” She didn’t mention a single thing I had done for her. I was simply “the former management,” “the corporate cage,” “the architect of her misery.” I was the fiancé she was fleeing, not the man who had saved her career. “I admit, Mr. Hart is a brilliant businessman. He brought me to where I am today, and for that, I am grateful,” she said, before the knife came out. “But he controlled my work, my friends, even my thoughts. Every word I spoke, every dress I wore—it was all his design. I was just his creation. A puppet without a soul.” Lucien wiped a tear away and choked out into the mic, “It’s not Dominic’s fault… I shouldn’t have come back… Valerie, I’m so sorry…” The flashes from the cameras were a blizzard of white. The journalists were feral. The live chat on the stream was a bloodbath. [She’s been through so much! We won’t let him hurt you anymore!] [Heartbreaking. Imagine living under that kind of pressure.] [Dominic Hart is a monster. Cancel him. Burn the agency down.] [Support her independence! Real music is back!] Finally, Valerie announced she was forming her own independent label and severing all ties with my firm. “I’m going to do music my way now. It will be hard, but I have Lucien. And I have our baby.” “That’s enough for me.” The press conference ended, and the internet exploded. I was officially the most hated man in America. The office phones were ringing off the hook. Several of my junior artists were already having their lawyers send over “inquiries” about their contracts, terrified of being associated with a “predatory mogul.” When the walls start to crumble, everyone looks for the exit. I looked at her beautiful, lying face on the screen. The pain was gone now. In its place was a cold, crystalline hatred. I wiped a single stray tear from my cheek and buzzed Parker. “Get the legal team. Every core partner. My office in five minutes.” Parker looked at me, his eyes full of pity. “Dominic…” I gave him a smile that didn’t reach my eyes—a sharp, lethal grin. “Tell them to bring the ‘Black Box’ files. I don’t want a defense.” “I want her destroyed.”

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“Say it! What color is this?” My mother’s palm cracked across my cheek, leaving a stinging heat in its wake. I stared at the palette in front of me—a blurred, muddy mess of grays and shadows—and my lips trembled. I couldn’t find the words because I couldn’t find the light. “Your father is a world-class painter,” she hissed, her voice trembling with a jagged edge of hysteria. “How could his child be colorblind? I’ve taught you this a thousand times. Why can’t you see it?” She gripped my upper arm, her fingers digging into my skin like talons. She was unraveling right in front of me. “If you don’t find red today, you aren’t my daughter anymore!” The heavy oak door of the studio slammed shut, the deadbolt clicking into place. I knelt there on the hardwood floor, paralyzed. My eyes drifted from the sketch of roses on the easel—waiting for a life they would never receive—to the X-Acto knife resting on the side table. My mother had told me once that the color of life, the color of human blood, was red. I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the blade and drew it across my wrist. As the warmth sprayed across my face and splattered onto the canvas, a strange, floaty sense of relief washed over me. I finally smiled. Look, Mom… I found the red. 1. The phantom heat of the slap still lingered on my skin. The bite of the blade was sharper, colder, a new kind of agony that bloomed across my wrist. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the frantic humming of my heart. I have to find it. I have to find the red. I stared at the little squares of pigment. In my world, color didn’t exist in hues; it existed in gradients of gray and silver. I couldn’t tell where the fire ended and the forest began. When the hot blood hit my face, I didn’t stop to wonder why there was so much of it. Instead, I reached out, dipping my fingers into the wetness, comparing it to the paints. “You useless girl. How many times do I have to show you?” My mother’s voice echoed in the cramped space, a ghost of a thousand previous lessons. I could see her throwing the color swatches at me, her face contorted. “Willa, do you want the whole world to know? Do you want them to know you aren’t your father’s child?” That truth was an arrow that had pierced my heart years ago, the shaft broken off, leaving the tip to fester in my chest until it became part of my DNA. I was the fruit of a nightmare. On their wedding night, amidst the drunken chaos of the reception, my father—Thomas—had been locked out of the bridal suite by a group of “pranksters.” In the dark, someone else had slipped in. My mother, Lydia, had spent her life pretending I was a miracle, rather than a mistake. Whenever we went out, people would lean over my stroller and coo. “Who does she look like? Not much of her dad, I think. She’s all you, Lydia.” My mother’s smile would always freeze, a porcelain mask cracking at the edges. She lived every day on a razor’s edge, waiting for the world to see the lie. And then, I had painted a rose green. “You’re supposed to love art,” she would mutter, pacing the studio, her steps quickening with her heartbeat. “Thomas says you have his hands. He says you’re going to be a master. How can you be colorblind? He doesn’t carry that gene! Speak to me, Willa! Why can’t you see it? Do you want to destroy this family? Do you want to destroy me?” Her screams vibrated in my ears, a symphony of resentment. I ignored the growing pool of dark liquid beneath me. I was running out of time. If I didn’t find the red, they would leave me behind. In my panic, I knocked over the palette. The paints ran together, merging into a dull, soulless gray. Just like my life. Acting on a dark, primal impulse, I smeared the blood from my wrist onto the canvas. Lydia always said blood was red. I remembered the time she’d slapped me so hard my lip split. She’d pressed her thumb into the wound, her eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. “Do you see? This is red. Do you understand now?” I picked up the knife again and carved deeper, following the line I’d already made. The world began to blur. The edges of the room softened, turning into a hazy, silver mist. The pain felt far away now, like a sound heard underwater. I looked at the rose on the canvas, now drenched in my own essence. A twisted sense of satisfaction filled the hollow spaces of my soul. I did it, Mom. I’m not a failure. I’m an artist. I’m his daughter. Can you forgive me now? 2. My body felt impossibly light. Suddenly, the gray veil lifted. It was as if someone had turned the saturation dial on the universe all the way up. Colors exploded everywhere—violent, beautiful, and overwhelming. I saw my painting, a macabre masterpiece of crimson. I saw the girl on the floor—my body—tangled in a pool of brilliant, terrifying scarlet. My first thought wasn’t horror. It was joy. So, this is red. I finally understood. I wanted to run out and tell her. I wanted to show her that I finally saw what she saw. But then I saw Lydia. She was standing outside the studio, turning the key in the lock from the outside. “Willa, you stay in there until you can tell the difference,” she called out, her voice cold. “I’m not letting you out until you learn.” It was a familiar routine. Whenever Thomas was away at a gallery opening or a teaching seminar, Lydia turned into a jailer. She would lay out the swatches and her voice would start soft, deceptive. “Willa, honey, you aren’t colorblind. You’re just not trying. Let’s look again.” She would coax me, and I would reach out, my heart hammering against my ribs. I would stare at the gray cards and try to read her face. If her lips tilted up, I was close. If her eyes narrowed, I was failing. “Tell me. Which one is this?” Her voice would flatten—the calm before the hurricane. “I… I think…” I would reach for a different card, but she would grab my hand, her nails digging in. “Don’t you know?” she’d whisper. “This is the color of that dress your father bought you. Your favorite dress. What color is it, Willa?” I couldn’t answer. Before the tears could fall, her rage would erupt. “You useless, ungrateful brat! I’ve spent years on you! Why can’t you just be blind? If you were blind, it would be easier! I wish I’d never had you!” I learned to survive. I started making tiny, microscopic pinpricks on the back of the swatches to mark them. When her mood collapsed, I would find my mark and say the word “yellow” or “blue” with feigned confidence. She would let out a sharp breath, her posture softening. She would pull me into a tight, suffocating hug. “I knew it. My Willa is a genius. Just like your father. He’s so proud of you. We can’t let him down, okay?” “Okay,” I would whisper, the lie sticking in my throat. But as the color palettes grew more complex—moving from twenty-four shades to forty-eight, then to professional pigments—I couldn’t keep up with the marks. I started failing again. “If I come back and see one more mistake, you’re done,” she said today, walking away without a backward glance. I followed her—or rather, my spirit did. She was going to pick up Thomas. His fame had skyrocketed over the last few years. He was the darling of the contemporary art scene, and today was the opening of his solo exhibition downtown. When Lydia arrived, he was in the middle of an interview with a sleek woman in a power suit. “Yes, I have a daughter,” Thomas was saying, his smile warm and genuine. “She’s incredibly talented. She has my eyes for detail. She’s my greatest pride.” The sun caught his face, making him look like a hero from a storybook. Beside him, Lydia froze. She clutched the fabric of her skirt so hard her knuckles turned white. She was terrified. Thomas finished the interview and walked toward her. “Lydia? Where’s Willa? Why didn’t you bring her?” Lydia blinked, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “Thomas… I think we should send her away. To that boarding school in Switzerland. For her art.” 3. Lydia looked like she was in physical pain. Her brow was furrowed with a grief so deep it looked like hatred. Thomas looked confused. “What? Why so suddenly?” “I’m just… I’m scared, Thomas. Scared she won’t live up to your legacy here. She’s so shy, so stifled. She needs to see the world. She needs to grow.” She forced a brittle smile. “And if she’s away… we won’t be so busy. Your mother is always saying we need a son. To carry on the name properly.” I felt a cold shiver pass through my soul. She was giving up on me. She wanted me gone so she could start over—so she could give Thomas a child that was actually his. “What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, rubbing her shoulders gently. “Willa is enough. Forget what my mother says. Our daughter is too young to be sent across the ocean. When she’s older, if she wants to go, we can talk about it. But not now.” His voice was so kind, so full of love. And that was the problem. The better he was, the more we suffered under the weight of the lie. “You’re a curse,” Lydia used to scream at me in the middle of the night. “Why do you have to be colorblind? If you were normal, we could forget. You can’t let him find out! He loves you too much—you can’t fail him!” The guilt had been my constant companion, a heavy stone I carried in my pockets until I finally sank. Lydia wanted to solve the problem by erasing me. And honestly? It seemed like a good plan. If I disappeared, the bomb would be defused. Everyone could be happy. Why are you saying no, Dad? I’m nothing like you. I can’t even pick out a tube of paint. How can I be your pride? Then it hit me. I was already dead. The bomb had already gone off. I watched Thomas lead Lydia toward a bistro for an early dinner. I felt strangely light. I drifted between them, pretending for a moment that we were a normal family of three out for a walk. “I’ll have the waiter pack up some of those salted caramel cupcakes,” Thomas said. “Willa loves those.” Lydia’s smile faltered. While Thomas was looking at the menu, she pulled out her phone and sent a text. My ghost watched the screen. Your father is coming home soon. Is that painting finished? Send me a photo. If you got the colors wrong again, I’m done with you. She was terrified of him seeing my mistakes. When I was younger, I used to love showing him my “abstract” work. Once, I showed him a landscape where I’d accidentally used a bright crimson for the moon. “Why is the moon red, Willa?” he had asked, curious. My skin had crawled. I felt Lydia’s gaze on the back of my neck—sharp, predatory, freezing the marrow in my bones. I’d lied instantly. “Because I ran out of yellow, Daddy.” He laughed it off. But that night, Lydia had dragged me to the kitchen. She forced a piece of bitter orange peel into my mouth. “Remember this taste? This is yellow,” she hissed, her face inches from mine. “Do I have to keep doing this? Are you ever going to learn?” I remembered. I remembered the bitterness. I remembered the gray world and the way I had to memorize the position of the paints on the tray. I remembered never mentioning colors in front of my father again. 4. After dinner, Thomas bought a small cake from a bakery on the corner. “Next time, you have to bring her,” he said, swinging Lydia’s hand. “She hasn’t even seen the new gallery layout.” Lydia slowed down, her voice sounding like it was being squeezed out of her lungs. She checked her phone. No reply from me. Still can’t get it right? she typed. Fine. No more art. I don’t have a daughter anymore. The words were sharp, fueled by a decade of repressed panic. “You keep saying she’s talented,” Lydia said, her voice trembling. “I don’t see it. You see her coloring… it’s like she doesn’t even think. She picks colors that make no sense—” They were walking through a quiet alleyway now, the shadows stretching long and blue against the brick. “I should have waited to have kids,” Lydia whispered. “I didn’t know it would be… like this.” She was a string pulled too tight, finally snapping. Thomas usually played the peacemaker. “Honey, you’re being a ‘Tiger Mom.’ It’s okay if she’s not perfect. She’s a kid.” He didn’t know the shadow she carried. He didn’t know she was drowning in a deep, dark well of her own making. “Please,” Lydia sobbed, stopping in her tracks. “Just send her away. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t teach her. She’s… she’s broken.” Her voice was raw, desperate. She began listing my “faults” like a prosecutor—how I was moody, how I was lazy, how I couldn’t communicate. She was trying to make me unlovable so that when she sent me away, it wouldn’t feel like a crime. “I’m going crazy, Thomas! I can’t be in the same house as her!” I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I wanted to reach out and hold her. I wanted to tell her it was over. I was dead. The “stain” on her life had been bleached white. She could be clean now. But Thomas moved first. He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I know,” he whispered. “Lydia, I know everything.” Lydia went rigid. “I know Willa is colorblind. It doesn’t matter. She’s my daughter. I’ll help her.” The world seemed to stop spinning. Lydia’s eyes were wide, fixed on nothing. I stood there, a ghost in the wind, frozen. He knew? “I’m sorry,” Thomas said, his voice thick with tears. “I thought if I pretended not to know, it would make it easier for you. I thought if I played along with the ‘genius’ narrative, you’d feel less pressure. It was my fault. I let you carry this alone.” He stroked her hair, ignoring her stunned silence. “Whatever happened that night… I don’t care. I love you. And I love our daughter. Let’s just go home. Let’s talk about this as a family.” Lydia was like a doll with its strings cut. He led her to the car, and she sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. Thomas looked at her through the rearview mirror, his face a mask of guilt and resolve. I sat in the back seat, watching them. It’s going to be okay, I thought. They’re going to be okay. If I were still alive, we could have been a real family. Thomas pulled into the driveway and helped Lydia out of the car. “She’s probably in the studio,” he said, grabbing the cake and the cupcakes. “I’ll go give her these.” He walked toward the studio, his stride confident and light—until his shoe stepped into something wet and dark that was seeping out from under the door.

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I was the daughter they had lost eighteen years ago, finally stepping back into a world of wealth I didn’t recognize. But the moment I crossed the threshold of the Holloway estate, the girl who had been living my life—the girl they kept—threw herself into my parents’ arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom, please… I can’t do this. I can’t call her my sister.” She looked at me, her eyes brimming with a practiced, liquid terror. “She’s the one. The transfer student who started those rumors about me at school. She’s the reason I’ve been so depressed!” My mother pulled her closer, stroking her hair with frantic, heart-aching devotion. My father, meanwhile, looked at me with a face carved from granite, his eyes flickering with a cold, sharp disappointment. “I thought a few years of being lost would have made you humble,” he spat, his voice trembling with rage. “Instead, you’ve come back rot-filled and cruel. You’ve brought your filth into this house.” He didn’t even wait for me to respond. He turned to the security detail standing by the door. “Get her out of here. The Holloway family has no room for a bully who preys on her own flesh and blood.” I stood there, frozen. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and my hands began to move—a frantic, blurred dance of American Sign Language, my fingers flying as if I were trying to weave a spell to stop time. I started rumors about her? But I’m mute! … I stood in the foyer, the tips of my fingers still stinging from the biting winter air outside. Cassidy was hysterical in my parents’ arms, her breath coming in jagged, shallow gasps. She buried her face in my mother’s neck, her shoulders shaking so violently I almost believed her. When she finally looked up, her eyes were rimmed with a perfect, tragic red. “Dad, Mom, you don’t know what she did,” Cassidy whispered, her voice cracking. “After the midterms—when I took second in the state—she told everyone I cheated. She told the whole school that Dad bribed the board. She even told people I was sleeping with the department head just to get my Ivy League recommendation…” With every word, my mother’s grip on her tightened. My father’s brow furrowed into a deeper, more permanent scowl. I opened my mouth, a reflex I still couldn’t shake, but only a thin, wheezing breath escaped. I hadn’t been able to speak for as long as I could remember. The doctors called it organic vocal cord damage—a physical silence I’d worn like a second skin. Paper, pens, and my hands were my only bridges to the world. I lifted my hands to sign ‘That’s not true,’ but before I could finish the first gesture, Dominic, my brother, lunged toward me. He was the only son, the golden boy of the Holloway legacy. From the moment I’d arrived, he had looked at Cassidy with a protective tenderness and at me as if I were something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. “Willa, how long are you going to keep up this act?” he demanded, towering over me. His voice was thick with loathing. “You’ve driven Cassidy to the edge of a breakdown, and now you’re standing there, playing the victim with your hands?” I froze. My fingers hung uselessly in the air. “Dominic, please, don’t be mean to her…” Cassidy tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft as silk but sharp as a razor. “Maybe she just wanted to belong. Maybe she thought if she took me down, there’d be more room for her. I don’t hate her. I really don’t…” “You are far too kind for your own good!” My mother snapped, her gaze shifting to me, turning into ice. “Willa, we brought you back to give you a family, not to let you terrorize the one we already have. Can’t you leave those gutter tactics back in the slums where you found them?” My father, Harrison, let out a heavy, guttural huff. He tapped his knuckles against the mahogany hall table, the sound like a gavel. “A daughter of mine—even one lost to the wind—should have some shred of dignity. You? You’ve barely walked through the door and you’re already dragging our name through the mud. You are an embarrassment to the Holloway bloodline.” Behind them, the household staff whispered in the shadows, their eyes gleaming with judgment. “I heard she was a wild animal in the country. No wonder she’s so malicious.” “Miss Cassidy is an angel. How could anyone hurt her?” “Look at her hands go. It’s probably a show. She’s probably faking it for sympathy.” The words felt like needles under my fingernails. I took a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow down. I reached for the side pocket of my backpack. I had my notebook there. I could write it down. I could explain that I didn’t even know who Cassidy was until three days ago. But as my hand touched the zipper, Dominic grabbed my wrist. His grip was bruising, his knuckles white. “What are you reaching for now? Another lie?” I struggled, trying to pull away, my other hand diving into the bag until I felt the familiar texture of the white paper. I pulled out a stack of pages, desperate to show them— Dominic ripped them out of my hand. With two violent motions, he shredded the paper, the white scraps fluttering through the air like a mockery of snow. A fragment landed in my hair. I stared at him, the last spark of hope inside me finally guttering out into the cold. Cassidy let out a well-timed sob, burying her head even deeper. “Dominic, stop. She’s just…” “She’s a parasite!” Dominic shouted, his eyes burning. “She’s pushed you to the brink, and you’re still defending her? Someone this twisted doesn’t deserve the Holloway name!” Harrison’s face went dark. He gestured to the head of security, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Throw her out. We have no daughter by this name.” I spent the night curled on a cot in a low-rent motel on the edge of the city. The next morning, before the first bell even rang at the private academy they had enrolled me in, I was summoned to the principal’s office. When I pushed the door open, Cassidy was already there, sitting in a velvet-backed chair across from the principal. Her shoulders were shaking, a lace handkerchief clutched in her hand. Her eyes were swollen like bruised peaches. When she saw me, she flinched—a perfect, subtle movement of terror—and retreated behind the principal’s shadow. “Willa Holloway,” the principal said, his voice as cold as the morgue. “Sit down.” I stayed by the door. Cassidy began to weep softly. “Sir, please don’t be hard on her. Yesterday, in the hallway, she cornered me. She called me a stray, a cuckoo in the nest. She said she’d make sure I never graduated. I… I’m just so scared to be alone with her.” Every word was a lie, whispered with the precision of a stage actress. The principal’s face hardened. He picked up the desk phone and dialed. “I’ve already called your parents. They’re on their way.” It didn’t take long. The door swung open, and Harrison and Beatrice walked in. My father’s face was a mask of iron; my mother went straight to Cassidy, taking her hand with a look of pure agony. “What happened now?” Harrison demanded. “Did she lay a hand on her?” The principal adjusted his glasses. “According to Cassidy, Willa has engaged in repeated verbal harassment and character assassination. She has threatened Cassidy’s future at this institution. This school has a zero-tolerance policy for such behavior.” Harrison turned to me, his disappointment a physical weight in the room. “Is there no end to the shame you’ll bring us? Are you determined to destroy everything we’ve built?” I opened my mouth. Only that hollow, whistling sound came out. I lifted my hands, my fingers starting the sign for ‘I didn’t do it,’ but my father’s hand moved faster. Crack. The slap echoed in the small office. My head snapped to the side, my ear ringing, my cheek blossoming into a searing heat. I stared at him, stunned. The tears finally broke, spilling over. “And now you cry?” Harrison’s voice was thick with disgust. “You do something this vile and you have the nerve to cry? You’re pathetic. You think if you play the victim, we’ll forget what you are?” Cassidy let out another sob, pressing her face into my mother’s coat. “Dad, Mom, please don’t yell at her. It’s okay. I can handle it.” My mother glared at me. “You were born with a common soul, Willa. You’re just like the people who raised you. All you know how to do is hurt things that are beautiful.” The office door hadn’t been closed all the way. I could see the silhouettes of other students in the hall, their whispers leaking through the crack. “So she really did it…” “She looks so quiet, but she’s a total psycho.” “I heard her parents don’t even want her. No wonder she’s so bitter.” I took a shuddering breath, trying to regain my balance. I raised my hands again, slowly, deliberately signing: I. DID. NOT. I didn’t even get through the third word. The principal waved a hand dismissively, his face twisted in annoyance. “Willa, stop with the dramatics. If you have something to say, speak. Don’t sit there playing charades to get attention. It’s insulting to everyone’s intelligence.” I froze. My fingers felt like lead. Even my silence—the only thing I truly owned—was just another “tactic” to them. Suddenly, the door pushed open a little wider. A girl from my homeroom stood there, her voice barely a whisper. “Sir… she’s not playing charades. That’s sign language.” The room went silent. The girl kept her head down, her fingers fidgeting with her sweater, but she found the courage to continue. “My uncle works at a school for the deaf. I learned a little bit over the summer. She just said ‘I didn’t do it.’ And… I don’t think she can talk. At all.” The air in the room turned to ice. The girl’s face was beet-red, but she repeated it: “She hasn’t said a word since she got here. Everyone knows that. She’s not faking being mute.” The principal cleared his throat, his voice skeptical. “Are you sure? This isn’t a time for jokes, Chloe.” “ASL signs are specific,” the girl said, her voice gaining strength. “I’m sure. She’s been trying to tell you the whole time.” Silence descended. My parents’ expressions shifted. My mother looked at me, her lips parting, a flicker of something that looked almost like guilt crossing her face. But then, Cassidy let out a sharp, jagged cry. She wiped her eyes, her voice trembling. “Willa… if you were going to lie, you didn’t have to pay someone to act with you. You didn’t have to pretend to be disabled just to get out of trouble.” That cry was a scalpel. It sliced right through my mother’s burgeoning guilt. Harrison’s face went from pale to a livid purple. He turned on me, his rage revitalized. “You are unbelievable! You’ve reached a new low, Willa. To fake a disability? To hire a classmate to lie for you? You are truly, fundamentally broken.” I reached into my pocket, trembling, and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. It was my medical certificate—the diagnosis from the clinic. I tried to hand it to him. Harrison snatched it. Before he even looked at it, he tore it into shreds, just like Dominic had done the night before. I watched the pieces fall. The tears wouldn’t stop now. “Keep acting!” Harrison roared. “I’m done with this. If you love playing the troubled child so much, I’ll give you a real reason to be troubled. I’m calling the academy for wayward youth. We’ll see how long you stay mute when you’re working ten hours a day in the fields of a reform camp!” My mother stepped back, clutching Cassidy, her eyes full of scorn. “We were wrong about you, Willa. We thought we were bringing home a lost child, but we brought home a monster. You’ve disappointed us for the last time.” Cassidy leaned into her, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk that no one else saw. “Dad, Mom, don’t be so hard on her. Maybe she’s just confused. She didn’t mean it…” “She meant every bit of it!” Harrison snarled. “She’s rotten to the core. I’m calling the transport service now.” The principal stood by, looking uncomfortable but saying nothing. He waved the other girl away. “Go back to class, Chloe. We’ll handle this.” The girl looked at me—a long, pained look of pure sympathy—and then she was gone. I stood there, surrounded by the confetti of my own medical records, and I actually found myself smiling. A small, broken smile. I realized then that the truth didn’t matter. In this room, my existence was nothing more than a performance they had already reviewed and hated. I knelt down, slowly, and began to pick up the scraps of paper. A sharp edge sliced my finger, drawing a bead of red. I didn’t feel it. Compared to the vacuum in my chest, the cut was nothing. The sound of a heavy vehicle pulling up to the school entrance vibrated through the floorboards. Two men in charcoal-grey tactical uniforms entered the office. They had the flat, dead eyes of men who dealt with “problem kids” for a living. Harrison stepped forward to greet them. “Gentlemen. This is the girl. She’s disturbed, manipulative, and needs a serious dose of discipline. Take her.” One of the men looked at me, a cold, hard grin touching his lips. “Don’t worry, Mr. Holloway. We’ve seen her type before. We’ll have her straightened out in no time.” Cassidy watched from my mother’s arms, her eyes dancing with triumph. “Good luck, Willa,” she whispered, the words a silent taunt. The man walked over to me. He loomed over me, blocking out the light. “So, you’re the one? Playing mute to get your way?” I didn’t move. My fingers were cold. “Nothing to say? Still playing the game?” He didn’t wait. He kicked my leg, his boot catching me right behind the knee. I collapsed. My knees hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. The pain was a white-hot flash behind my eyes. “Still stubborn?” He grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head back. “I said, speak!” He backhanded me. The force of it sent my head spinning, the world tilting on its axis. My ear rang with a deafening hum, and the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I was shaking, my entire body convulsing with fear and pain, but I clamped my teeth shut. I wouldn’t give them a sound. But the pain was too much. A sharp, involuntary wheeze escaped my throat—a series of clicking, broken vowels that sounded like a dying bird. “She spoke! See? I told you she was faking!” Cassidy’s voice was a shrill, delighted scream. “I knew it! She’s a liar! She’s been lying to all of us!” My parents’ faces curdled with a fresh wave of loathing. Harrison pointed a shaking finger at me. “You fraud! I can’t believe you’re my blood! You are a stain on this family!” The principal shook his head. “Willa, I am truly disappointed. To go to such lengths to avoid accountability…” The officer grabbed my arm to drag me up, but then— The office door didn’t just open. It was slammed against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. Everything stopped. A man in a crisp, midnight-blue military dress uniform stood in the doorway. The silver stars on his shoulders caught the fluorescent light, cold and blinding. He was tall, built like a mountain, radiating a sense of absolute, crushing authority. His eyes swept the room, landing finally on me. The murderous rage in his gaze softened into a heartbreaking tenderness that felt like a physical embrace. His voice was low, vibrating with a lethal, quiet power. “My daughter cannot speak,” he said, his eyes scanning the room like a predator. “And yet, you’ve spent the morning trying to break her for it?”

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I was ironing my husband’s dress shirts when a crumpled slip of paper tumbled out of his pocket. It was a paystub. I smoothed it out, my eyes scanning down the rows of deductions and additions until I hit the seventh line. Death Benefit — Spouse Deceased — $8,000.00. Spouse. Deceased. I read those two words three times. Mark only had one spouse: me. But I was alive. My heart was thumping a steady, frantic rhythm against my ribs, and my fingers were still curled around the warm cotton of his sleeve. I stood there on the balcony, the afternoon breeze catching the shirt, inflating it until it looked like a hollow, boneless man dancing in the wind. A memory surfaced—last month at the pharmacy. I’d tried to pick up some flu meds, and the pharmacist told me my insurance card had been declined. “System error,” she’d guessed. I’d believed her. Now, looking at that slip of paper, the chill in my bones told me the system wasn’t broken at all. 01 I turned the paystub over and over until the edges began to fray. The print was neat, clinical. Base salary: $6,800. Seniority bonus: $1,200. Travel allowance: $300. I’d seen these numbers a thousand times. Mark usually tossed his paystubs on the nightstand without a second thought. But this one was different. This one had been folded three times and tucked into the hidden inner pocket of his blazer. Line 7: Death Benefit (Spouse) — $8,000.00. Line 8: Widower’s Special Stipend — $2,000.00/month. I stared at the word “Widower” until it lost all meaning. It meant his wife was dead. I set the iron down, tucked the paystub into my purse, and retrieved a spare key hidden under the shoe rack—the key to his home office. Mark had started locking that door late last year. He claimed he was handling sensitive corporate contracts and didn’t want the “clutter” of our domestic life leaking in. I hadn’t questioned it. The lock turned with a heavy click. The desk was immaculate. A laptop, a stack of trade journals, and a single manila envelope. I opened it. The first page was an application form bearing the logo of the infrastructure firm where Mark worked. Employee Spouse Death Benefit & Survivor Stipend Application. Applicant: Mark Sterling. Relationship to Deceased: Husband. Name of Deceased: Claire Sterling. Social Security Number: My number. Every digit was correct. Date of Death: March 17, 2025. Cause of Death: Illness. I flipped to the next page. It was a formal Death Certificate. My name. My SSN. Our home address. In the box for “Cause of Death,” four words were typed in cold, black ink: Sudden Cardiac Arrest. The certifying facility was listed as “St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital.” I’d lived in this city for five years. I had never heard of a St. Jude’s Memorial. My fingertips went numb. I took photos of everything—every page, front and back, even the adhesive tape on the envelope. Then, I meticulously replaced everything, aligning the creases of the manila folder exactly as I’d found them. I locked the door and slid the key back under the shoe rack. I sat on the sofa, staring at the half-empty glass of orange juice Mark had left on the coffee table this morning. He leaves for work every morning at 6:50 AM. He walks through the door at 6:30 PM sharp. The first thing he does is kick off his loafers. The second thing he does is ask me, “What’s for dinner, babe?” What’s for dinner. He asks me what I’m cooking while he eats the food I bought with my “dead” hands, all while cashing a “Widower’s Stipend” at the office. In his world, I’ve been dead for a hundred and twenty-seven days. 02 The next morning, I took half a day off from my accounting firm. My first stop was the Social Security Administration. I slid my ID into the self-service kiosk. A red box flashed on the screen. Account Terminated: March 2025. Reason: Death of Beneficiary. Deceased. I checked my health insurance portal next. Same red text. Same date. Same reason. I stood in front of the kiosk, a line of eight people forming behind me. An elderly man leaned over my shoulder. “Everything okay, sweetheart? Maybe you typed a digit wrong?” “No,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. “It’s not wrong.” I exited the screen and tucked my ID away. One thought hammered at my brain: Mark wasn’t just scamming his company for a few thousand dollars. With that forged certificate, he had effectively “murdered” me within the entire social system. My 401k contributions? Wiped. My health savings account? Frozen. My existence as a citizen? Terminated. I, Claire Sterling, was a ghost in the machine. I didn’t go back to work. Instead, I went to the local police precinct. The officer at the window glanced at my ID, then at my face. “Your ID is active in the DMV database,” he said, frowning. “It’s not flagged as deceased here.” “Then why does Social Security say I’m dead?” The officer tapped a few keys, his brow furrowing. “Your civil status is ‘Active,’ but your federal benefits records have been updated with a death filing… Have you talked to the SSA?” “They told me I need a formal revocation of the death certificate to restore my status. But I didn’t file that certificate.” The officer put down his pen. “Are you telling me someone filed a fraudulent death certificate in your name?” “Yes.” “Do you know who?” I hesitated for a heartbeat. “Yes. My husband.” The look in his eyes shifted. It wasn’t pity; it was the weary cynicism of a man who had seen too many domestic horrors. He slid a report form through the slot. “You can file a report. Forgery of a government document is a felony. Do you want to press charges now?” I stared at the paper for ten seconds. Then, I folded it and put it in my bag. “I need to think.” The officer started to say something, then simply handed me his card. “Whenever you’re ready.” As I walked out of the station, my phone buzzed. It was 1:23 PM. A text from Mark. Hey babe, you feel like tacos or grilled salmon tonight? I stared at the screen. A man collecting a widower’s stipend was asking his “late” wife what she wanted for dinner. I typed two words back. Whatever’s easy. 03 At dinner, Mark moved a piece of salmon onto my plate. “Eat up. You’ve looked a little pale lately. You need the Omega-3s.” I chewed the fish, my mind racing through the last few months, flipping through memories like a ledger. The first clue: The insurance card. Last month at the pharmacy, the clerk had said, “Maybe check with your provider, honey.” I’d assumed it was a glitch and paid cash. The second clue: My phone. Two months ago, Mark told me my number had been “compromised” in a data breach. He took my phone for thirty minutes to “install a security lock.” Now I realized he wasn’t locking it—he was rerouting my Social Security and insurance alerts to his own number. I never saw the notifications that I’d been declared dead. The third clue: Mark’s colleagues. Two weeks ago, I’d dropped by his office to surprise him for lunch. I ran into Gary, one of his department heads, in the hall. “Hey, Gary! Long time no see,” I’d said, smiling. Gary’s face didn’t register a smile. It registered pure, unadulterated terror. He turned pale, his lip trembled, and he practically ran in the opposite direction without a word. I thought he was just having a bad day. Now I knew. In that office, Gary hadn’t seen a colleague’s wife. He’d seen a ghost. “Where are you, Claire?” Mark’s voice snapped me back. “Just tired,” I said, setting down my fork. “Mark, how’s the firm doing this year? Any talk of layoffs?” “Doing fine. Same old grind.” He took a big bite of rice. “Why do you ask?” “Just curious. I haven’t seen your paystub in a while. Did that cost-of-living raise ever kick in?” His hand paused. It was subtle—less than half a second—but his knuckles whitened. “Nah. Still the same base. Paystubs are boring, babe. Nothing changes.” “Right,” I said, looking down at my plate. I did the math in my head. Death benefit: $8,000 lump sum. Survivor stipend: $2,000 a month for 36 months. Total: $72,000. $80,000. That was the price of my life. He’d been cashing it for four months already. $16,000 in the pocket. To get that money, he’d erased my five years of social security contributions and my entire medical history. Mark stood up to clear the table. As he passed behind me, he grazed the back of my head with his hand, a gesture that used to feel like affection. “I’m leaving early tomorrow for a site visit. Get some extra sleep.” “Okay.” I listened to him in the kitchen, the sound of the faucet running. Mark never volunteered to do the dishes. He was doing them tonight. Maybe because he felt guilty. Or maybe because the $8,000 check had finally cleared and he was in a celebratory mood. I didn’t know. But I knew one thing—a sane man doesn’t fake a death certificate just for eighty grand. There had to be something else. 04 For the next three days, I played the part. I made breakfast at 6:30, left for work at 7:20, bought groceries at 6:00, and had dinner ready by 7:00. Mark would walk in, change his shoes, and ask what was for dinner. I’d tell him it was pasta or stir-fry. Everything was “normal.” But every day during my lunch break, I used my office computer to dig. I’m an accountant; I have a nose for paper trails. On Monday, I checked our property records. We’d bought our suburban house three years ago. I’d put down $200,000 of the down payment; he’d put down $100,000. Both our names were on the deed. Except, when I pulled the digital records at the County Recorder’s office, I found a title change filed two months ago. The house was now in Mark’s name only. Reason for Transfer: Death of Co-owner. Sole ownership vested in surviving spouse. My hand froze on the mouse for a full thirty seconds. It wasn’t just the $80,000. He was stealing the house. The equity was worth at least $600,000. On Tuesday, I dug into his finances. I knew his phone passcode—he thought I didn’t, but the glass coffee table reflected his thumb movements every night. 1-9-7-8-6-3. His Venmo and banking apps told the real story. Every month, there were four or five transfers to accounts with generic names like “Loan Servicing” or “Private Recovery.” The amounts ranged from $3,000 to $10,000. One month, he’d sent out $37,000. I tracked the IDs. They weren’t banks. They were offshore gambling sites and high-interest private lenders. I went back six months. Mark had burned through nearly $230,000. His salary was barely $7,000 a month. Where was the money coming from? I checked his savings. $41.55. Then I saw a linked account I didn’t recognize—a regional bank in Nevada. The balance was zero, but a transfer of $35,000 had gone out three days ago. A $230,000 debt. A $7,000 income. Suddenly, the death certificate made perfect sense. The $80,000 in benefits, the $600,000 in home equity—he wasn’t just scamming his company. He was using my “death” to pay off his life.

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For three years, I played the part of the perfect, devoted partner to Sebastian Adams. We shared a bed, shared our secrets, and lived a life that looked like love in every way—except for one. He refused to acknowledge me in public. To the world, I didn’t exist. Then, the System—the cosmic glitch that had been guiding my “mission” to win him over—suddenly piped up with a casual, “Oops.” “My bad, June. Totally botched the data. The girl Sebastian was supposed to fall for is Jane, not June. Different spelling, different girl. Honest mistake!” I looked down at the cashmere scarf I had spent weeks knitting for his birthday, then looked at my phone. I sent a single text: We’re done. I didn’t expect a reply. Sebastian usually took six hours to ignore me. But an hour later, at our high school reunion, he cornered me in a private lounge, his breath hot against my ear, his teeth grazing my lip as he snarled, “You call this ‘not knowing each other’? Hmm?” … I was three years deep into the “Sebastian Adams Project” when the System informed me it had committed the ultimate clerical error. “I misheard the name, okay? I thought it said June. It definitely said Jane,” the voice buzzed in my head, sounding entirely too breezy for someone who had just wasted three years of my life. “Jane is showing up at the reunion tomorrow. So, June, you can officially clock out. You don’t need to try with Sebastian anymore. Let Jane take over from here.” I stood in my kitchen for a long time, the silence of the apartment pressing against my eardrums. “Okay,” I finally whispered. It was for the best. Sebastian never loved me anyway. This messy, nameless thing we had was a house of cards waiting for a breeze. The System’s confession was just the wind. I had just finished the last row of the scarf when the “Oops” happened. It was supposed to be his big birthday surprise. My phone screen still showed the last text I’d sent him: Hey, Seb. Guess what I made for your birthday this year? You’re going to love it. The message sat there, unread. A stone dropped into the middle of the Atlantic. Sebastian never gave me the courtesy of a quick reply. He was far too busy being the brilliant, untouchable architect of his own ego. “Look, don’t take it personally,” the System continued its chatter. “You and Jane have such similar names, and you both went to the same prep school. I just saw ‘Zhou’ on the file and ran with it. Honestly, it’s a good thing you never actually got him to commit. If you’d succeeded and then found out it was the wrong guy… well, I’d be out of a job.” It paused, then added with a hint of a sneer, “I’m not saying you’re bad, June. It’s just… Jane’s profile says she’s a literal genius, a former model, the kind of woman men actually want to show off. This ‘Love Optimization System’ usually picks people with actual chemistry. When it’s the wrong person, well, you can’t force a spark where there’s just… damp wood.” “I get it,” I said, my voice steady. “You don’t have to explain.” Everything finally clicked. That’s why, despite the intimacy we shared behind closed doors, he never introduced me as his girlfriend. That’s why no matter how much of my soul I poured into him, I remained a ghost in his life. Sebastian hated “simple” things. He hated mediocrity. And to him, I was the human equivalent of a participation trophy. I decided to go to his place one last time to pack up the bits of my life scattered across his penthouse. Jane was arriving tomorrow, and I refused to be the pathetic squatter in the middle of their destined romance. I didn’t expect Jane to already be on his radar. Standing outside the iron gate of his terrace, I saw him. Sebastian was sitting in a rattan chair, a sketchpad on his lap, his phone on speaker. Jane’s voice, melodic and bright, drifted through the air. “So, are you excited to see me tomorrow, Seb?” “Mmm,” Sebastian hummed, that long, drawling tone he used when he was intrigued. “It’s been a while. I’m looking forward to the whole group being back together.” “Oh, stop. Don’t act like I’m just ‘one of the group.’ I’ve got a birthday present for you, but you have to earn it. Think you’re smart enough for a little game?” “What kind of game?” “A riddle. A complex, beautiful logic puzzle I designed just for you. If you solve it by the end of the reunion dinner, I’ll tell you a secret. Don’t be late, genius.” I heard Sebastian chuckle. A real, genuine sound. He put down his charcoal pencil and picked up the phone. “Consider me challenged.” Sebastian never answered my calls when he was sketching. Never. Even though I knew the truth now, seeing the effortless way she captured his attention made my throat tight. I turned and walked away before he could see me. My phone buzzed. A text from Sebastian. Finally. Two words, cold as a mid-winter morning: Sounds boring. He was right. I was boring. My birthday present was a handmade scarf—an act of “cheap labor,” as he’d probably call it. I couldn’t give him logic puzzles or intellectual thrills. I didn’t even understand the math he lived by. I walked home slowly, the weight of a decade-long crush finally starting to dissolve. I had loved him since high school. Back then, I was just “Specs”—the quiet girl with the thick frames who sat in the back of the AP classes. Our families were old friends, but in Sebastian’s orbit, I was invisible. The only reason he even knew my name was because I used to hand-deliver love letters to him from other girls. He’d take them with a smirk and say, “Still playing messenger? You’re such a ditz, June.” Ditz. That was his label for me. I did it just to have five seconds of his time. I never expected a miracle until that summer after freshman year of college when the System appeared. It told me we were “meant to be” and that I just needed to “optimize the romance” to win a massive payout and a happily ever after. Meant to be. That phrase had been my fuel for three years. When he broke his leg playing pickup basketball, I used the System’s prompt as an excuse to show up at his door. “Here to nurse me back to health?” he’d asked, leaning against the doorframe, eyes tracing my face with a lazy, mocking light. “What’s the catch? What do you want in exchange?” I looked him in the eye. “I want you.” He laughed. “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” But he let me in. That summer was an endless cycle of me running errands in the heat, cooking for him, and being his shadow. One day, the AC died. He couldn’t climb the ladder with his cast, so I did it. I slipped, fell right into his lap, and we tumbled onto the hardwood floor. It was July. We were barely wearing anything. I felt his body react, my face flaming as I tried to pull away, but he pinned my wrists above my head. “I thought you said you wanted me,” he whispered, his dark eyes fixed on my trembling lips. “Why are you backing down now?” “I…” “If you want it,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “then let’s see if you can handle it.” We “handled it” for three years. But “girlfriend” was a title he guarded like a state secret. “Is a label really that important?” he’d say whenever I worked up the courage to ask. “You have me. You’re in my bed. Why ruin it with some clingy, suburban expectation of a ‘relationship’?” I didn’t have the words to argue with him. I just convinced myself the System couldn’t be wrong. He was just “afraid of commitment.” He’d come around. But now, the System was telling me the whole foundation was a lie. I got home, sat on my sofa for four hours in the dark, and finally picked up my phone. We’re done. Don’t contact me again. The next day, I arrived early at the reunion. Sebastian wasn’t there yet, but Jane was. She was the sun, and everyone else was a planet trapped in her gravity. “Oh look, Specs is here!” someone shouted. In our class, there were two J-names. Jane was “Jane.” I was “Specs.” Even now, years after I’d traded the glasses for contacts and started dressing better, the nickname stuck. Jane turned to me, her eyes doing a quick, clinical scan of my outfit. “Oh, guys, don’t call her that. She’s not wearing glasses anymore. Let’s be grown-ups.” She smiled, the kind of perfect, practiced smile of a woman who knew she was the lead actress in every room. I remembered it was her who started the nickname in the first place, back in tenth grade, because she “couldn’t keep us straight.” “True,” a guy named Nathan piped up. “June looks great without them. Actually, she looks incredible.” “June, you got a boyfriend? Or are you still—” “Nathan, Chris,” Jane interrupted smoothly, “weren’t you asking me about my MBA program? I’ve got a few minutes before the main event starts.” The guys drifted back to her instantly. I moved to the edge of the room. “I’m late. My apologies.” The voice was cool, cultured, and sent a familiar shiver down my spine. Sebastian had arrived. The room practically vibrated with the collective need to impress him. “Sebastian! The man of the hour!” I stepped further back into the shadows. “Seb, sit here!” Jane said, patting the empty chair beside her. Sebastian’s gaze flickered around the room, landing on me for a fraction of a second. “What’s the topic of conversation? You all look very intense.” “We were just saying how much ‘Specs’ has glowed up,” one of the guys joked. “Her?” Sebastian tossed his blazer onto a chair near me, his eyes raking over me with total indifference. I didn’t look at him. The second he sat down, I grabbed my clutch and walked to the furthest table in the back of the room. Sebastian’s expression darkened instantly. “When did you lose your eyesight, Chris?” Sebastian’s voice carried across the room, followed by a burst of cruel laughter. The “inner circle” huddled around him and Jane. My table was practically empty, save for a few people who had never been part of the elite crowd. “I’m so over this,” a girl named Lindsay muttered next to me. “It’s been years and they still act like there’s a hierarchy. The ‘Gifted and Talented’ kids are still just a bunch of snobs.” “Who cares?” someone else said. “Let them have their little cult. We’ll have our own fun.” “Actually,” Lindsay said, looking at the guy next to me, “Nathan’s doing better than all of them. He won that tech innovation award last year and started his own robotics firm. Right, Nathan?” I looked at the man sitting beside me. “You’re Nathan? You lost… a lot of weight.” In high school, he’d been the “Big Nate” to my “Specs.” Another casualty of the social ladder. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit shy. “Yeah. Spent that summer after senior year in the gym and the lab. It’s good to see you, June.” He had become genuinely handsome—rugged, grounded, and kind. He was a “boss” now, but he didn’t carry the arrogance Sebastian did. He raised his glass. “To the back table. We might not have been the top of the curve, but we’re doing okay. How about after this, I take everyone here for a real drink? My treat.” “Hell yeah! Nathan’s the man!” I caught the infectious energy and laughed along. Suddenly, a piece of glazed salmon appeared on my plate. Nathan cleared his throat. “I remember you used to wait in the long line for the salmon on Fridays in the cafeteria.” I blinked. “You remember that?” His face went slightly pink. “I was usually standing three people behind you.” “That’s… wow. So, tell me about these robots. Are we talking AI takeover or the ones that do the TikTok dances?” Nathan grinned. “If you want them to dance, I can make them dance.” “June! Specs!” The shout came from the main table. It was one of Sebastian’s friends. “Sebastian’s being tight-lipped as usual, but your families are close. You have to know the tea.” I looked over. Sebastian was leaning in close to Jane, whispering something that made her giggle into her hand. “What tea?” I asked flatly. “Does he have a girlfriend or what? We’ve all been trying to figure out who the mystery woman is.” Sebastian didn’t even look up, but I could see his jaw tighten. “I wouldn’t know,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “We aren’t close.” The movement at the main table stopped. Sebastian looked up, his eyes like two black holes, fixed on me. I didn’t blink. I turned back to Nathan and cracked a joke. I was laughing so hard I accidentally bit into a hidden habanero pepper. I started coughing violently. “Whoa, you okay?” Nathan was instantly on his feet, handing me a glass of water. “I’m fine, just… spicy,” I wheezed, my face turning beet red. “I’m going to the restroom.” I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom, trying to get my heart rate down. As I walked back, passing an empty hallway, a hand shot out and yanked me into a dark alcove. “You call this ‘not close’? Hmm?” His teeth clamped down on my bottom lip—hard. The pain snapped me into focus. I shoved him with everything I had. “Are you insane?” He stumbled back, caught off guard by the force. His face was a mask of cold fury. “I should be asking you that, June. What the hell has been wrong with you since yesterday? What kind of game are you playing?” I wiped my mouth, my lip stinging. “No game. I meant what I said in the text.” “We’re done.” “Hah.” He let out a sharp, mocking breath. He shoved a bottle of yogurt into my hands. “I saw you coughing and went to the bar to get you this. This is how you thank me?” I looked down at the cold bottle. “If you’re mad at me, fine. But don’t go eating peppers like an idiot just to get attention. You know you have a sensitive stomach. Are you trying to make me jealous by flirting with Nathan? Is this your new strategy to force me into a ‘public’ relationship?” I stared at him, genuinely bewildered. “What are you even talking about?” “Am I wrong? You send a breakup text, then show up here and act like I’m a stranger. You’re trying to squeeze a commitment out of me by showing me how ‘in demand’ you are. It’s pathetic, June.” Suddenly, I felt a wave of exhaustion so heavy it felt like lead. “And if it were?” I asked, looking him dead in the eye. “If everything you said was true—that I did all this just to be your ‘official’ girlfriend—would you do it? Would you walk out there right now and tell everyone we’ve been together for three years?” The silence was deafening. He didn’t say a word. I shoved the yogurt back against his chest. “What was I to you these last three years, Sebastian? You knew I loved you, so you let me hang around like a stray dog. You enjoyed the ego boost of having me beg for scraps of your time. Did it make you feel powerful?” His brows knitted together. “We had an arrangement. It was mutual. Don’t act like you’re some victim. I told you from day one: I don’t do ‘clinging’.” “Right. It was mutual when I thought you cared. Now I don’t care, and I want out. It’s that simple.” He grabbed my arm, his grip tightening. “Say that again. I dare you.” “Are you deaf?” I snapped. “I’m done with you.” He stared at me for a long beat, then a slow, cruel smirk spread across his face. “Fine.” He threw my arm back. “We’re done. But don’t you dare come crawling back when you realize how small your life is without me.”

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The balance on our joint savings account was zero. One hundred thousand dollars—the down payment for our future, the safety net I’d spent three years weaving—had vanished. I stood at the bank teller’s window, the air-conditioning feeling like ice against my skin, as she calmly informed me that my husband had moved the funds himself. When I confronted him at home, he didn’t even look up from his phone. “Lydia’s son needs a heart transplant, Natalie,” he said, his voice airy, as if he were discussing the weather. “I transferred it to her. What? Are you really going to make a scene over something like this?” I thought of the medical report in my bag. The biopsy results. My world tilted. “But my mother is sick, Derek! It’s cancer!” Derek froze for a second, then a cruel, jagged laugh escaped him. “Oh, so your mother has cancer? Well, thank God I gave that money to Lydia first. If I’d left it to you, you’d have flushed it down the toilet trying to save a lost cause. Talk about throwing good money after bad.” He shrugged, heading toward the bedroom. “She’s old. If there’s no money for treatment, she dies. That’s life.” I looked at the trash can in the kitchen. I reached into my bag, pulled out the medical report—the one that actually belonged to his mother, Martha—and let it flutter into the garbage. Fine. If the money is gone, it’s gone. But someone’s mother is about to die, and it isn’t mine. … The health checks had come back that morning. My mother was fine. I was fine. It was Martha, my mother-in-law, who had early-stage lung cancer. Despite the way she treated me—the constant barbs about my weight, my “masculine” focus on my career, and my inability to get pregnant—my heart had initially ached for her. Derek had lost his father young. I knew Martha was his only anchor, or so I thought. I’d planned to spend the evening going over treatment options with him, figuring out how to reallocate our savings to save her life. Then I saw the $0.00 balance at the ATM. I stumbled back into the house to find Derek packing a suitcase. He looked frantic, his eyes darting to the door. I saw a flash of crimson lace inside the bag—a silk nightgown. For a split second, I thought it was a gift for me. A peace offering. I realize now how pathetic that hope was. It was for someone else. “Where is the hundred thousand, Derek?” I asked, my voice trembling. He arched an eyebrow, giving me that same dismissive look. “I told you. Lydia’s kid. It’s a life-saving surgery. Don’t be so provincial.” “Lydia again!” The name tasted like poison. “How much have you ‘lent’ her since we got married? She’s never paid back a dime. She treats you like her personal handyman and ATM. You’re over there at midnight fixing her lightbulbs while I’m sitting here alone. Who lives like this?” Derek’s face turned a bruised purple. “Shut your mouth! It’s an act of mercy. Maybe if I do some good in the world, God will finally see fit to give you a child. You’ve been a dry well for three years, Natalie. I haven’t divorced you yet, have I? Consider that money a donation for your own karma. And I didn’t ‘lend’ it. I gave it to her. She doesn’t owe us anything.” He tried to push past me. I grabbed his arm, desperate, and he swung back, his palm cracking against my skin. The sting was immediate, hot and sharp. “But Derek,” I whispered, tears finally spilling over. “The cancer. Mom is sick.” He laughed again, that same horrifying sound. “Right, your mom. Like I said, glad the money is gone. Saving her would be like feeding a dead dog. Let her go. It’ll save us the headache.” He whistled a jaunty tune, his suitcase wheels clicking against the hardwood floor as he walked out the door. I wiped my eyes, went to the kitchen, and made sure the medical report was buried deep under the coffee grounds in the trash. The money was gone. But so was his mother’s time. Martha came home later that evening, smelling of cheap perfume and the casino. When she saw there was no dinner on the table, she started in on me immediately. “What, are you trying to starve me? You’re more like a man than a wife, always ‘working,’ always ‘busy.’ No wonder my son is miserable. Any other woman would have a hot meal ready. Derek truly cursed his luck the day he met you.” I didn’t argue. I’ve always been a “silent crier”—the kind of person whose throat tightens until they can’t speak. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of my tears. Everything in this life—the house, the car Derek drove, the savings he’d just stolen—had come from my promotions, my late nights, my grit. And yet, I was the failure. I ordered takeout. Szechuan—extra spicy, heavy on the oil and the peppers. The aroma filled the house. Martha’s anger vanished the moment she smelled the food. “Oh, did you finally get a bonus? About time you contributed something useful.” She grabbed the containers and took them to her room, gorging herself. I heard her coughing from the spice, but she didn’t stop. The doctor had been very specific: a bland, low-sodium diet was crucial for her condition. I sat in the dark living room, scrolling through my phone. A message from a college friend popped up. “Saw Derek’s Instagram story! You guys look so happy. So jealous of that weekend getaway!” I couldn’t see the post. Derek had blocked me from his stories weeks ago. He wasn’t on a business trip. He was at a boutique hotel with Lydia. I messaged my friend back: “I’m at home working. That isn’t me.” The silence that followed was deafening. I was buried in a spreadsheet an hour later when the front door slammed open. Derek was back, and he looked like he wanted to kill someone. “Natalie! You petty, spiteful bitch!” he screamed, looming over my desk. “You reported me to HR? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He was shaking with rage, his finger inches from my nose. “Call my boss right now. Tell them it was a mistake. Tell them you were jealous and made it up, or I’m fired! You’re going to fix this!” I stared at him, confused for a second, before the pieces clicked. My college friend worked in his firm’s marketing department. She must have mentioned his “romantic getaway” to someone who knew he wasn’t there with his wife. I looked at his disheveled hair, the faint scent of another woman’s lotion clinging to him, and felt nothing but cold iron in my chest. “You did this to yourself, Derek. Actions have consequences.” He didn’t speak. He grabbed my laptop and slammed it onto the floor. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of dead pixels. “I’m talking to you! You’re going to call him! If I lose this job, we’re done! Everything is over!” He pulled out his phone, dialing his supervisor. “Sir? Yeah, my wife is right here. She wants to clear up the misunderstanding. Hold on.” He thrust the phone at me. I didn’t take it. I swiped my hand, knocking the phone to the floor. “Hello? Hello?” the voice on the line crackled. Derek scrambled for the phone, stammering apologies into the receiver before hanging up. He turned on me like a cornered animal. His hands flew to my throat, squeezing. “I am so sick of you!” he hissed, his eyes bloodshot. “You think because you make more money, you’re better than me? You’re lucky you’re a woman, Natalie. You just have to smile at a client, let some CEO touch your leg, and the deal is closed. If you were a man, you’d be a nobody. You’d be nothing.” I gasped for air, my hands clawing at his wrists. This was the man I’d supported. This was the man whose ego I’d carefully inflated for three years while he bled me dry. “I want… a divorce!” I choked out. “Divorce!” He threw me back against the chair, a sneer curling his lip. “Fine. I’ve been waiting for this. I’m done with your icy, professional bullshit anyway.” Martha finally emerged from her room, having watched the whole thing from the shadows. She feigned a half-hearted attempt to calm him down, whispering in his ear. “Mom! Who cares if she makes money?” Derek yelled. “So what if she gets half the assets? I’m done!” Martha patted his arm, her eyes darting to me. “Oh, honey, don’t be rash. Think about the income…” That was Martha. Always looking at the ledger. She didn’t love me; she loved the lifestyle my salary provided. Derek straightened his shirt, looking at me with pure venom. “You know what, Mom? Let her go. This woman—this ‘alpha female’—her mother is dying of cancer. All that money she makes? It’s going into a black hole of chemo and hospital beds. We need to get out before she drags us down with her.” Martha froze. The color drained from her face, replaced by a sharp, calculating gleam. “Cancer? Oh, God. It’s a bottomless pit. We can’t be tied to that!” She turned to me, her voice shrill. “Natalie, if you want to stay married, you have to cut your parents off. We aren’t letting your mother’s illness ruin our quality of life!” I stood up, my voice steady for the first time in years. “I want a divorce.” They looked at each other, grinning like they’d just won the lottery. We spent the next hour carving up our lives. I didn’t care how tedious it was. I wanted every cent accounted for. “The SUV is worth thirty thousand. You put in five, I put in twenty-five.” “The house—the down payment was all mine…” Derek snapped. “Does this make you feel powerful, Natalie? Look at yourself. You’re thirty-two and divorced. You’re damaged goods. Nobody wants a woman like you. You think your career makes you special? You’re a failure as a wife, a failure as a woman.” He leaned in, his voice a cruel whisper. “Enjoy your dying mother and your empty house. You’re going to rot alone. Good luck with the funeral.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Every mother gets what’s coming to her, Derek.” We signed the papers. I started packing my things. My parents were already on their way to pick me up, their voices thick with concern over the video call when they saw my bruised neck. But before they arrived, the doorbell rang. It was Lydia. She was holding a small boy’s hand. The boy was running around, full of energy, showing absolutely no signs of someone who had supposedly just undergone major heart surgery. “Grandma!” he chirped, running to Martha. Martha beamed, pulling him into a hug. “My beautiful grandson! Lydia, you have such good hips—I knew you’d be a breeder!” Derek didn’t even try to hide it anymore. He took Lydia’s hand. “This is your home now,” he told her. “No more running. No more hiding. You’re safe here.” Lydia’s eyes shone with a predatory triumph. she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply. “I’m so lucky to have you, Derek.” It was nauseating. As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, Lydia stepped in my way, blocking me. “I’m just making sure you don’t ‘accidentally’ pack anything that belongs to my husband.” “Move, Lydia. My makeup is mine.” She put her hands on her hips, her sweet facade dropping. “Derek bought that for you. Since you’re leaving, it stays. It’s mine now.” She reached for my bag. I didn’t pull away. I let the bag drop, and when she tried to grab my vanity case, I let it shatter on the floor. I picked up a jagged shard of glass, holding it low. “Try me,” I whispered. “I have nothing left to lose. Do you?” Derek moved toward me, reaching for a heavy floor lamp to swing. But the door flew open. My father and my cousin—a guy built like a linebacker—stepped in. Derek folded instantly, shrinking back behind the sofa. Martha, however, was emboldened by her own ignorance. She started screaming, throwing herself on the floor. “Go ahead! Hit an old woman! I’ll sue you for everything! I’m a helpless old lady!” My cousin looked down at her with pure disgust. “Shouldn’t you be at a hospital, lady? Or are you waiting to drop dead right here?” Martha paused her theatrics, looking at my mother. “Oh, don’t you look smug? Has Natalie told you yet? You have cancer! You’re a walking corpse!” My mother calmly pulled her phone from her pocket and turned the screen around. It was a digital copy of the lab results. “Martha,” she said softly. “Look at the name on the report. You are the one with cancer.” Martha scrambled to look. Her face went from white to a sickly grey. She staggered back, her breath hitching. “No. No, that’s impossible. I feel fine. I’m healthy!” Derek’s panic flared and then vanished, replaced by his usual arrogance. “Mom, don’t listen to them. It’s a fake! They’re just trying to scare us so I won’t leave her. Natalie is desperate.” He really was a special kind of stupid. If he’d paid attention for a single second, he would have noticed his mother’s weight loss, her constant complaints of abdominal pain. But he only saw what he wanted to see. Martha’s color returned. She straightened her hair, encouraged by Lydia’s whispered reassurances. “That’s right! You’re the one who’s sick! I’ll outlive all of you!” She pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Get out! All of you! If you touch me, I’m calling the cops!” I held my father back. I didn’t want them getting a police record over these people. I looked at Martha—her face twisted in a mask of triumph and terminal illness. I walked up to her and, with every ounce of resentment I’d built up over three years, I slapped her across the face.

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I funded Cameron’s life for five years. The first thing he did after making it big was kick me to the curb. “You’re an orphan, Norah. You paid a few semesters of tuition, and you think that gives you the right to leverage my future?” His cruelty was casual, almost bored. “If you want me to marry you that badly, fine. I’m getting married in a month. If you have the guts to crash the wedding, I’ll marry you then.” My heart didn’t break; it simply went cold. I turned around and accepted the arranged marriage my late parents had set up for me years ago. The irony was sharp: my wedding date was the same as Cameron’s. I had just arrived at the hotel in the bridal car when I was dragged out. Cameron was there, flanked by his groomsmen, looking at me with pure disdain. “I was joking, you psycho. You actually came to crash the wedding? Are you that desperate to be with me?” He pulled out his phone to livestream, humiliating me as the ‘other woman,’ and accused me of stealing a signet ring belonging to the heir of the Huntington dynasty. But the moment I took the arm of the Huntington heir and walked into the ballroom, Cameron stopped laughing. …… 01 I was dragged out of the limousine, a mess of white silk and tulle. My veil was torn, my ankle throbbing where I’d twisted it. Cameron looked down at me, a sneer curling his lip. “Norah, I made a joke to mess with your head. You actually showed up in a gown? How pathetic is that?” “Do you have no shame? You literally cannot live without a man?” The rich prep-school boys surrounding him laughed, their voices loud and jagged. “An orphan thinking she can marry into the Huntington circle? Honey, find a mirror.” “She’s pretty, though,” one of them drawled, his eyes raking over me. “Since you’re not getting into the family, why don’t you hang out with us? We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” They doubled over laughing, their gazes feeling like slime against my skin. Humiliation and rage warred in my chest. I glared at Cameron. “What is this, Cameron?” “Don’t play dumb.” Cameron scoffed, looking at me like I was something stuck to his shoe. “I was having fun with you. You still haven’t figured that out?” “Normal people walk away when they get dumped. I didn’t realize your skin was this thick. You actually wore a wedding dress to ambush me.” “You paid a few bills back in the day, and you think you can hold that over me forever?” “You spent fifty grand on me? Fine. Today I’ll pay you back double. Just stop dreaming about marrying me. You aren’t worthy.” Cameron pulled a stack of hundred-dollar bills from his jacket and slammed them into my face. The crisp edges of the new bills sliced my cheek. I felt a sting, then the warmth of blood. I gasped, tears springing to my eyes from the sharp pain. I stared at Cameron. He used to be gentle. He used to be kind. How did he turn into this monster? I wiped the tears and blood from my cheek. My voice was ice. “Who would want to marry an ingrate like you? I’m not here to crash your wedding. I’m here to marry my husband.” “We just happen to be at the same hotel.” “Hahaha! If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” one of the trust-fund boys howled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “The Sovereign Hotel is for the elite. Who could a nobody like you possibly be marrying here?” Another guy stepped closer, his grin oily. “I get it. Twenty-eight years old, panic setting in. Tell you what—forget Cameron. My dad’s single.” “Marry my dad, become my stepmom. Pop out three sons in three years, and if they’re boys, the Lee family will cut you a check. Hahahaha!” The mockery buzzed in my ears like static. My hands were freezing. I looked at Cameron, who was just watching them, letting it happen. Cameron was my neighbor. His mother died when he was five, and my parents, pitying him, took him in. When my parents died in a car crash, it was just the two of us against the world. In high school, when local thugs targeted me because I had no family to protect me, Cameron fought three of them at once. He ended up in the hospital, nearly expelled, but he made them swear never to touch me again. I remember asking him, through tears, if it was worth it. He had looked at me with such intensity. “It’s worth it, Norah. I won’t let anyone bully you. I love you. Wait for me. I promise I’ll give you a good life.” Seven years. One stint abroad. That was all it took for his heart to rot. “From the day you broke up with me, we were done,” I said, my voice trembling with suppressed fury. I scanned the faces of the men mocking me. “I’m remembering every insult today. Once the ceremony is over, my husband will settle the score.” “Ooh, scary. Who gave you the confidence?” “Your imaginary husband?” One of the groomsmen stepped forward, his hand reaching out to grab the bodice of my dress. “Why don’t you marry me instead? I’m Cameron’s buddy. I can give you some ‘justice’ right now.” He winked, lewd and disgusting. “Get the hell away from her!” Harper, my best friend and maid of honor, came sprinting from the back of the stalled motorcade. She didn’t hesitate—she delivered a flying kick that sent the groper sprawling. “You people have a death wish,” she screamed. “My best friend is marrying Dominic Huntington. You treat her like this, and you’re dead men walking!” Cameron froze for a split second, then threw his head back and laughed. He laughed so hard he choked. “You aren’t even good enough for me, and you think you’re marrying my uncle? The Dominic Huntington?” “Especially after I’ve already had you?” “There’s a limit to daydreaming, Norah!” 02 “Dominic Huntington is untouchable. Even our fathers are terrified of him. And you claim you’re marrying him?” “A toad lusting after a swan. Delusional.” The ridicule intensified. “The ceremony is starting soon. What are you boys doing out here?” Blair, Cameron’s bride, walked out. She saw me in a gown that was visibly more expensive than hers, and a flash of jealousy cut through her poised expression. “Just watching a clown, babe. She claims my uncle is going to marry her. Ha!” Cameron said. “Failed to crash our wedding, so now she’s hallucinating.” Cameron wiped his tears of laughter, wrapping an arm around Blair’s waist while shooting me a look of pure disgust. Blair looked at me with faux pity. “Miss He, I didn’t think Cameron would make such a harsh joke, but really…” “It’s not right of him. I apologize on his behalf.” Cameron scoffed. “It was just a joke. She’s the one with the twisted mind who actually showed up.” “She deserves the humiliation.” The groomsmen chimed in like a Greek chorus of idiots. “Exactly, Blair. She’s a gold digger. She knows Cameron is a Huntington now and won’t let go. No shame.” I looked at Blair. She was the daughter of the Xu family—rich, elegant, appropriate. They met on campus, matched in status. For Cameron, an illegitimate son needing legitimacy, she was the perfect asset. My eyes drifted to her hair. A vintage emerald comb glinted in the sunlight. That was my family’s heirloom. I had given it to Cameron as a promise of our future. I never expected to see it on her. Swallowing the acid in my throat, I spoke calmly. “Miss Xu, the hairpiece you are wearing was my engagement gift to him. Since we are nothing to each other now, please return it.” Blair’s expression stuttered. She smiled, a sugary, poisonous thing, and pulled the comb from her hair. “Miss He, I know you helped Cameron, but you can’t force love.” “He chose me. Please, have some self-respect and leave.” She held the comb out. I reached for it, but before my fingers could graze the metal, she let go. Crack. The emerald comb hit the pavement and shattered. I stared at the fragments, my vision blurring. That heirloom had survived a hundred years in the He family. Now, it was dust. “Babe, she almost ruined your wedding, and you’re just letting her go? You’re too nice,” one guy jeered. “She needs a lesson. Otherwise, with her thick skin, she’ll just come back to harass Cameron.” Cameron smoothed Blair’s hair, his eyes cold as he looked at me. “You guys are right. She needs a lesson to kill the fantasy once and for all.” Two of the men circled me. One shoved me hard. My ankle gave way, and I collapsed onto the asphalt, a heap of bruised white satin. The grief for the heirloom and the shame of the moment fused into a white-hot anger. I scrambled up and slapped the nearest guy across the face. “Are you deaf? I told you, I am marrying Dominic Huntington today!” The man I slapped touched his cheek, his eyes turning dark and dangerous. He swung back, a heavy hand striking my face. Stars exploded in my vision. “Still acting? Still pretending?” “The Huntington heir is marrying a woman from a dynasty family, an arrangement made at birth. You’re a nobody orphan. You dare impersonate her?” “If you’re so tough, call Dominic Huntington out here to save you!” Blair chimed in, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Boys, that’s enough. Miss He is clearly upset. It’s normal to invent a savior when you feel small.” “Just make her leave. Don’t let her ruin our day.” “She hasn’t learned her lesson yet. She can’t leave!” The guy I slapped grabbed my arm, his eyes scanning my dress with malicious intent. “This dress… where did you steal it from? It looks more expensive than the bride’s.” Cameron frowned, stepping closer. “Today is Blair’s day. You wearing something this flashy… you’re trying to humiliate her.” “Strip it off her. I won’t allow anyone to outshine my wife today.” Blair looked at Cameron with adoring eyes, visibly touched, before feigning hesitation. “Stripping a girl in public? That’s too cruel, Cam.” “Just kick her out.” “No. I need her to understand her place. Or she’ll never stop stalking me.” Cameron looked at me with pure loathing. I stared into his eyes, feeling a strange detachment. I couldn’t believe this was the boy I raised. I gave up college to work double shifts for his tuition. And now, because of a coincidence of venue, he wanted to destroy me. Thirteen years of history, erased. “Hey beautiful, let’s get you out of that.” 03 Two of the men lunged, grabbing handfuls of my bodice. “Get off me!” I screamed, kicking and clawing. Harper threw herself into the fray, pulling at them. “Let her go!” But two women in heels were no match for a group of gym-rat men. Within seconds, the delicate lace of my bodice ripped. The sound was sickening. The fabric gave way, exposing my bra. Cameron’s friend held up his phone, broadcasting live. “Look at this, folks! This is what happens to homewreckers!” “She knew my bro was getting married and showed up in a wedding dress to spite him. Now she’s stripped. Karma, right?” Harper desperately tried to cover me with the tattered remnants of the silk. She was screaming, her voice cracking. “You are humiliating Dominic Huntington’s wife! You think you’re going to survive this?” “Get lost! Don’t touch my friend!” “Still bluffing? If you were Dominic’s bride, he’d be here, wouldn’t he?” They twisted my arms behind my back, forcing my face toward the phone camera. “Get a good look. This is the face of a stalker.” Comments flooded the screen: [Die, homewrecker!] [Shameless!] [Throw her in the river!] My face burned with shame and fury. “I am Dominic’s wife! You will die for this!” In the struggle, a pendant tucked into my bra swung loose. It was a heavy, dark green jade signet ring on a gold chain. “That’s the family seal!” I shouted. “The Huntington signet ring! Does this not prove who I am?” The man holding me froze. He looked at the ring, his face draining of color. It was unmistakable. Dominic never took it off—until he gave it to me. It was the symbol of absolute authority in the Huntington family. Cameron saw it. He marched over and yanked the chain from my neck, snapping the clasp. “Let me go,” I hissed. “Or you’re dead.” Cameron stared at the ring, his eyes shifting. Then, a cold, calculating sneer appeared. “You came to the ancestral house with me once. I can’t believe you had the audacity to steal my uncle’s ring.” My eyes widened. The lies flowed out of him so easily. “You liar! Dominic gave that to me!” I only found out a year ago. My father and Dominic’s father were best friends. They made a pact. After Cameron dumped me, Dominic found me. He offered the marriage. I accepted partly because I was broken, partly for revenge—to become Cameron’s aunt. But I never expected Cameron to accuse me of theft. “Since you have no shame,” Cameron said, his voice rushing, “you don’t need the rest of that dress.” He signaled the man holding me. The guy laughed nervously but complied. “We’re losing daylight, Cam! Go get married. I’ll handle this trash.” “I promise to give her a ‘wedding’ she won’t forget.” He started dragging me toward the side alley. Harper was fighting, I was screaming, scratching at the pavement. Just as the darkness of despair began to close in, a voice thundered across the driveway. Low, terrifying, and authoritative. “STOP. Take your hands off my wife.”

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Ever since I got engaged to Liam Sterling, my entire family has died in a series of bizarre accidents. My little sister went hiking and was stung to death by a swarm of hornets, her body covered in swollen, venomous holes. My dad slipped at his construction site and fell into an industrial stone grinder. He was ground into hamburger meat; there was barely enough tissue left to identify him. My mom suffered a massive, fatal heart attack while playing bingo. In just one short month, my entire family was wiped off the face of the earth. It wasn’t until the day of their joint funeral that I overheard a conversation between my fiancé and his ex-wife. “Three dead bodies isn’t enough for you? I’m begging you, can we just let Chloe go?” “What, are you falling in love with her?” His ex-wife’s voice was venomous. “Don’t you forget, you are the sole beneficiary of all those life insurance policies. That Rolex on your wrist was bought with her family’s blood!” My fiancé’s voice wavered. “It’s not that. Sometimes, leaving someone alive to suffer the grief of losing their whole family is a worse punishment. Let her live.” “On our wedding night, I’ll pay a few homeless junkies off the street to violate her. That should be enough.” It turned out my entire fairytale romance was nothing but a horrifying, calculated murder plot. Since he had such a special “gift” planned for our wedding night, it was only fair that I return the favor. I needed to prepare a massive gift of my own. 1 “You make a good point. Letting her live the rest of her life utterly alone, waking up to nightmares of her dead family… that does seem like better torture.” Audrey finally compromised. Hearing that Audrey was willing to spare my life, Liam’s eyes lit up. “Good. I’ll reach out to some thugs from the narrows and buy some roofies right now. I’ll get your revenge.” But before he could even unlock his phone, Audrey pushed his hand down. “I want them to watch us. I want her dead parents to see how much fun we’re having!” Audrey actually reached out and shoved the lid of my father’s casket open. She wasn’t even going to let the dead rest in peace! But as the casket swung open, it was completely empty. It wasn’t just Audrey who was shocked. Hiding in the shadows, I was stunned too. After my family died, I refused to let the morticians touch them. I had personally dressed them in their Sunday best and done their makeup. I watched them get placed into those caskets. How could they be gone? Liam quickly let out a lazy, arrogant laugh to explain. “I know how much you hate them, babe. So, a few days ago, I had their bodies secretly pulled, cremated off-the-books, and flushed the ashes down the sewer drain.” “Come on, every second of our time is precious. Let’s not waste it on dead people.” How dare he! I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. My insides were boiling with a rage so violent I almost lost control and leaped out to kill them both with my bare hands. But I knew I had to endure this. Otherwise, the grand stage I was setting would collapse. For the entire night, I hid silently beneath the memorial tables, my heart feeling like a gaping, freezing hole in my chest. It wasn’t until they finally left that I crawled out. I used my bare hands to clean the disgusting fluids they had left on my family’s memorial portraits. I dropped to my knees and pressed my forehead hard against the floor. “Mom, Dad, Lily… I’m so sorry. I’m so useless I couldn’t even protect your rest. But it’s okay. I promise I will avenge you.” When I returned to our shared apartment, the unhinged monster from the funeral parlor had vanished. Liam was back to playing the perfect, grieving fiancé. Seeing me walk in, he handed me a heavy stack of accidental death and dismemberment insurance paperwork. “Chloe, paying for your family’s medical bills and the funeral was incredibly expensive. I’m completely tapped out. You’ve had such a tragic streak of bad luck lately, what if you have an accident too? If we get you insured, at least we’ll have money to cover your hospital bills.” Is that right? My eyes drifted down to the gleaming Rolex on his wrist, and then to the massive Tiffany sapphire sparkling on Audrey’s neck across the room. All of that was bought with my family’s lives. Noticing my gaze, Liam quickly tried to cover his tracks. “Oh, this watch is just a cheap knockoff.” “And Chloe, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want us to have peace of mind. You aren’t going to die! The worst that could happen is you end up paralyzed from the waist down and can’t have kids.” My family’s deaths were premeditated murders. The only reason he was so confident I would “only” be paralyzed was because he had already planned for a gang of men to destroy me on my wedding night. Looking at his shifting, expectant eyes, I let out a soft laugh, easing his tension. “You’re right. You’ve spent so much money helping my family lately. I’m clearly cursed. It’s smart of you to be prepared.” I happily signed my name on the dotted line. But as he excitedly examined the insurance policy, a dark, hidden smile curled on my lips. I had already planned everything for our wedding night. A few hours ago, I finalized a partnership with a man of terrifying wealth and power. He would help me strip away every ounce of wealth and glory Liam had stolen over my family’s dead bodies. And in return, I would marry him. 2 Audrey Hayes was a live-in housekeeper Liam had hired. It was only very recently that I discovered she was actually his ex-wife. That night at the funeral, Audrey had only pretended to agree to spare my life. In reality, she was deeply jealous of how much Liam seemed to care about my survival. Since the funeral, she had orchestrated several covert assassination attempts against me. Like the time I was walking out of my apartment building, and a heavy ceramic potted plant plummeted from the roof, aiming straight for my skull. Even though she ran away quickly, I caught a glimpse of her signature dyed red hair leaning over the ledge. Or the time I was driving on the highway, and a massive semi-truck suddenly swerved into my lane. The brakes had mysteriously failed, and the driver was in a total panic. But from a distance, parked on an overpass, I saw Audrey watching the chaos unfold. She even tried to repeat her old tricks, secretly shoving a live hornet’s nest into the backseat of my car. Three murder attempts. Three failures. I walked away without a single scratch. Because that powerful man was guarding me from the shadows. “My future wife is brilliant. Faking your signature on the policy to make her jealous and force her hand. We’ve collected all the evidence of her attempted murders.” Reading his text, the corners of my lips turned up. Failing to kill me out in the open made Audrey’s glares grow increasingly unhinged. She couldn’t take it anymore. She stopped hiding and decided to kill me right inside the house. She pushed me down the stairs, fracturing my leg. Then, taking advantage of my broken cast, she offered to help me bathe. She secretly sealed the bathtub drain with industrial glue and turned the water on full blast. She walked out, intending to let the water rise over my head and drown me. Outside the house, my protector could shield me. But inside, he had no idea what was happening. Watching the water level rise higher and higher, my heavy cast pinning my leg down, I thrashed wildly, desperately trying to pry the stopper out of the drain. But no matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. Just as the water crested over my nose and I began to suffocate, Liam suddenly burst through the bathroom door. 3 He pulled me out and rushed me to the hospital. I was genuinely surprised he saved me. But when I woke up, he immediately made excuses. “Chloe, Audrey has terrible memory. She’s so clumsy, she didn’t do it on purpose. Please don’t be mad at her, she gets scared easily.” He had used those exact same words when she pushed me down the stairs. I turned my face away and didn’t say a word. Sensing my coldness, Liam awkwardly tucked the blankets around me, told me to rest, and left the room. But Audrey wasn’t going to give up that easily. A few days after I was discharged and resting at home, she laced my bowl of soup with liquid pesticide. I had barely swallowed a spoonful before Liam noticed the smell, slapped the bowl out of my hands, and carried me to the car, speeding to the ER. Even though it was only one bite, Audrey wanted me dead so badly she had dumped two entire bottles of poison into the broth. I went into shock. My organs began shutting down. While doctors fought to stabilize me, Liam paced frantically outside the ICU. Maybe God was trying to make up for my suffering, or maybe my sheer, burning desire for revenge was keeping my heart beating. I narrowly escaped death and woke up. When I opened my eyes, Liam wasn’t by my bed. I unhooked my IV and walked weakly down the hall. Turning the corner near the stairwell, I spotted Liam and Audrey. Liam was gripping Audrey’s wrist so hard his knuckles were white, looking like a brewing storm. “Didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t touch Chloe?! I already told you I was going to let her be destroyed on the wedding night!” Audrey let out a cold laugh and wrenched her hand free. “Liam, you really are falling in love with her, aren’t you?! Did you forget how my father died?!” A little over a year ago, my dad, a construction foreman, organized a strike. He brought a banner to the wealthy developer’s mansion, demanding the millions in unpaid wages owed to his crew. The protest made the local news. Crushed by the media pressure, the developer liquidated his assets and paid the workers. The very next day, the developer jumped off the roof of his corporate high-rise. My mind spun. That developer’s name was Arthur Hayes. But my dad was doing the right thing! He was fighting for his starving crew! Arthur Hayes chose to kill himself—what did that have to do with my dad? What did that have to do with my innocent family?! “My father was your mentor! He pulled you out of the gutter! When we got divorced so you could go undercover, you swore to me you would make her entire family pay in blood!” Audrey’s bitter, venomous voice shook Liam to his core, leaving him in a daze. Every time she brought up his debt to her father, Liam caved. A second later, he pulled Audrey into a fierce embrace. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I raised my voice and didn’t consider your feelings.” “I was just angry! I’m angry that you divorced me and pushed me into the arms of another woman. In this entire world, no woman can ever compare to you.” As he spoke, Liam pressed his lips passionately against Audrey’s. “Let me handle everything, okay? Your hands need to stay clean. I have the wedding night perfectly planned. There will be thugs, and I tipped off the tabloid media. I will completely destroy her reputation. I’ll make her kneel at your feet and beg for mercy.” Liam’s sweet, intoxicating promises finally melted Audrey’s anger. She compromised. “Fine.” Then, they began to passionately make out against the stairwell wall. I had heard enough. I turned around and walked away, completely disgusted by their live show. 4 Perhaps because Audrey actually listened to Liam, she stopped trying to murder me. A few days later, Liam sat by my bed and tried to explain away the poison. “Chloe, Audrey really didn’t mean it. She thought the pesticide bottle was a new brand of liquid seasoning.” Even he must have realized how utterly ridiculous that sounded. But Liam truly believed I was a naive idiot, delivering the lie with absolute sincerity. He smelled heavily of whiskey, drunkenly gripping my hand. If it were the old me, I would have sarcastically ripped him to shreds. But this time, I softened my voice, making it sound sweet and vulnerable. “This is the third time she’s almost killed me. And you’re still defending her? Are you my fiancé, or hers?!” I was never the submissive type, so my sudden display of soft, jealous vulnerability caught Liam completely off guard. He loved it. Acting like a spoiled, jealous little woman made my stomach physically churn, but I knew it was only temporary. Liam’s heart melted completely. He pulled me into his arms by my waist, coaxing me gently. “I promise, I’ll punish her severely for you this time. I’ll make her stay up all night doing chores, how about that?” Heh. What a brutal punishment. But I didn’t care. I kept playing weak. “Is that really it?” I was deliberately leading him on. He was thoroughly drunk, and he started spilling secrets he never should have voiced. “Chloe, I’m so sorry, but I have no choice. Her father made me the man I am today. I have to avenge him.” “Audrey really isn’t a bad person. She’s just blinded by grief. She killed your three family members, but she let me keep all the insurance money.” … As he babbled on, his hands started wandering, clumsily trying to unbutton my hospital gown. My eyes went dark. I raised my hand and delivered a sharp, precise chop to the back of his neck. He instantly blacked out, slumping heavily onto the floor. I had learned that little trick from the man guarding me. Unconscious on the floor, Liam started mumbling in his sleep. I leaned in closer and heard him whisper: “Chloe… just endure the wedding night. It’s the last thing I owe Audrey. Once your reputation is destroyed… I’ll take care of you. We’ll live a good life together. No more lies.” He actually seemed to be falling in love with me. But my heart was already an icy tomb. Staring at the blinking red light of the digital recorder in my hand, my resolve was like stone. He wanted to start over and live a good life? Too damn late! I stepped out onto the hospital balcony and received a text message. “The wedding dress and the venue are completely prepped. Just waiting for your word.” I replied without a second of hesitation. “I just secured the final piece of audio evidence. Get ready to be my groom.” Time flew by. Soon, it was our wedding day. Liam’s eyes were darting nervously around the venue. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He was feeling guilty. But my smile was radiant and genuine. What he didn’t know was that the water he had spiked with heavy sedatives for me… I had swapped with Audrey’s glass. He wanted me destroyed? Not in a million years! Right before the grand banquet was supposed to start, Liam led a horde of tabloid reporters to the bridal suite, ready to catch me “cheating.” They burst through the doors, aiming their cameras at the tangled, naked bodies writhing under the blankets. He opened his mouth, ready to shout his rehearsed lines of betrayal, and aggressively whipped the blankets back. But he froze. The woman groaning underneath the hired thugs wasn’t me. It was Audrey. At that exact moment, the traditional wedding march began blaring from the grand ballroom outside. If he was standing in the suite, who was I marrying? Panic seized Liam’s face. He turned to run, but Audrey weakly grabbed his ankle. “I’m ruined… and you’re just going to leave me?!” But Liam’s mind was entirely consumed by me. Without a second thought, he violently kicked Audrey away. He sprinted into the grand ballroom, only to see his beautiful bride walking down the aisle, her arm looped through another man’s. He screamed in terror, sprinting down the aisle to stop the ceremony. He grabbed my veil, ripping it back, and yelled frantically. “Chloe! Look at the man standing next to you! That’s not me!” He expected me to be shocked. He expected me to be terrified. But he was sorely disappointed. My face was completely calm. “I know exactly who I’m looking at. This man is my groom. He’s about to be my husband.” I tightened my grip on Carter Grayson’s muscular arm. Liam panicked, desperately trying to pry our intertwined fingers apart. “No! You can’t do this! Chloe, did he drug you?! You’re supposed to be marrying me! You designed this entire venue specifically for us!” “Just look at the banners outside! And look at—” Liam’s voice abruptly died in his throat. He followed his own pointing finger and stared. Nothing in this room belonged to him. The massive silk banners hanging from the ceiling boldly displayed the names of the Bride and Groom. But the Groom’s name was Carter Grayson. Liam’s eyes flooded with bloodshot panic. He charged at the nearest pillar, desperately trying to tear the banner down. “The event staff screwed up! Didn’t anyone notice they printed the wrong name?!” He was lying to himself, completely unable to accept reality. He thrashed wildly, but he couldn’t do any real damage to the immaculate setup. There were hundreds of custom banners and signs. He could tear at them for a day and a night and still wouldn’t make a dent. I knew Carter had done this on purpose. He wanted to announce to the entire world that I was his. But watching Liam act like a rabid dog was making me bored. I lazily clapped my hands. Instantly, dozens of heavily built security guards swarmed the aisle, pinning the thrashing Liam to the marble floor. No matter how hard Liam fought, he was no match for a dozen trained guards. He was pressed flat against the ground. I walked slowly down the steps of the altar, looking down at him from above. I shattered his delusions. “Liam, I wasn’t drugged, and the staff didn’t make a mistake. You’re right, I did design this entire venue. But from the very beginning, the groom I had in mind was never you.” Those words hit Liam like a bullet to the chest. “Why are you doing this?! So you never loved me at all?! You were just acting this whole time?! I loved you so much, I treated you so well! Why are you doing this to me?!” I genuinely couldn’t comprehend how Liam had the absolute sheer audacity to say those words. How he had the nerve to act like the victim. “Once upon a time, I really did love you. I loved you so much I wanted to introduce you to everyone I knew, my friends, my parents. But my love for you is exactly what got them killed!” “Do you have any idea? Ever since they died, I’ve laid awake every single night, disgusted with myself, wondering why my love was so filthy. It was toxic.” “I hate myself. I hate that I was so blind that I fell in love with a monster like you.” Hearing my words, Liam finally understood everything. All the color drained from his lips. “Since when did you know?” “Since when?” I pretended to think for a moment, then spoke slowly. “Did you really think I could ever forget? I will remember that day for the rest of my life. The day of my father, my mother, and my little sister’s joint funeral. I heard your conversation with Audrey.” “You and Audrey couldn’t wait to screw each other right in front of their caskets. It was their memorial, and you just had to defile it!” Liam didn’t say a single word in his defense. He knew it was all true. “But Chloe, I was forced! Audrey’s dad was my mentor! When she demanded revenge, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing!” “But I deeply repented! I promised myself that after the wedding day, I would never lie to you again. I genuinely wanted to spend the rest of my life making it up to you!” Hearing his pathetic excuses, I let out a cold sneer. “Spend the rest of your life with me? You slaughtered my entire family, and you expected me to play house with you?!” “Audrey isn’t a bad person! There’s a reason she killed your family! The developer your dad drove to suicide was Audrey’s father!” Hearing him bring that up only stoked the raging fire in my chest. “My dad didn’t kill her father! Stop spewing your delusional garbage! My dad worked in construction his whole life. He treated his crew like brothers. He was a foreman, but he never looked down on anyone.” “When those millionaire developers withheld wages and his guys couldn’t feed their kids, my dad would empty his own savings to buy them groceries! Arthur Hayes withheld paychecks for an entire year! He owed them millions!” “That wasn’t a few bucks! It was millions of dollars! The workers’ families were starving! Men were committing suicide because they couldn’t pay rent! Do you think my dad wanted to go protest?! He was fighting for justice for his dead friends!” “Arthur Hayes didn’t have to jump off that roof! He was a coward who couldn’t handle the public pressure of his own crimes! You don’t get to blame my family for that!” By the time I finished screaming, Liam’s face was completely ashen. “I’m sorry.” At the very end of the line, that was the only useless, pathetic phrase he could muster. But it didn’t matter. I was going to make sure he paid the ultimate price. Yet, Liam still wouldn’t give up. He violently slammed his forehead against the marble floor, over and over, the sickening thuds echoing through the silent ballroom. “I know I was wrong! But I didn’t kill your parents or your sister! Audrey did!” “Chloe, I was wrong! Please, can you just give me one more chance? I swear I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll never hurt you again!” I was just about to tell him to rot in hell when Audrey suddenly appeared at the ballroom doors.

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To stand up for the fake heiress, my brother intentionally called out the wrong groom’s name at my engagement banquet. In front of all the elite families in New York, he announced that I was to marry a waiter working the event. The city’s high society pointed and laughed at me: “The great Miss Sterling is actually marrying a waiter!” I stood there, paralyzed by grief and indignation. But my brother showed no remorse. “That’s what you get for stealing Chloe’s thunder at the piano competition. She’s been upset for so long. Humiliating you today is just to teach you a lesson.” “She’s spoiled, stubborn, and doesn’t know any better. Don’t take it to heart.” “Anyway, it’s just a joke. Dad and I would never actually let you marry a waiter!” …… Everyone at the banquet was pointing and whispering about me. My brother cleared his throat, his expression unchanged: “That was just a little joke with everyone. Maya is still young. We’ll formally announce the engagement another time.” After he finished, he glanced at Ethan Hayes standing nearby. Originally, today was supposed to be the announcement of my engagement to Ethan. Everyone in our circle knew our families had arranged this marriage since we were kids. We grew up together as childhood sweethearts. My heart clenched instantly, quietly waiting for him to speak up. But Ethan’s eyes were filled with a casual, distant coldness, like an outsider. “Since the engagement has been announced, how can it be a joke? The Sterling family is highly respected; you can’t treat this kind of thing like a game.” “That poor waiter is probably overwhelmed and waiting. Surely the Sterling family isn’t going to make a fool of him in public?” I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My brother’s face grew even uglier. He looked at Ethan in disbelief: “What are you saying? I thought you loved Maya the most. Why would you say that?” Someone in the crowd couldn’t hold back a laugh: “Who in New York doesn’t know that Mr. Hayes prefers the Sterling family’s second daughter, Chloe! I heard he just bought her a limited-edition sports car yesterday to make her happy.” Every word was like a sharp icicle piercing my heart. My eyes suddenly welled up. I stepped forward and snatched the microphone from my brother’s hand. “Since this engagement has been announced, it’s certainly no joke.” “I will marry this waiter!” My brother’s eyes widened instantly, looking at me with absolute shock. “Maya Sterling, what kind of nonsense are you spouting?!” “You are the eldest daughter of the Sterling family! How can you marry a waiter?!” I looked at him apathetically. I let out a miserable laugh: “Arthur Sterling, isn’t this exactly the result you wanted? Are you happy now?” Arthur froze for a moment. His pitch suddenly rose a few octaves: “Maya, even at a time like this, you’re still competing with Chloe. Do you have any idea how much she’s already suffered…” I didn’t want to hear his defense of Chloe anymore. I dropped the microphone and walked off the stage. The crowd’s gaze followed me. As I passed Ethan, he grabbed my hand. His cold tone carried a hint of reprimand: “Maya, at a time like this, why do you still refuse to back down?” After he spoke, he pulled me a little closer, his voice softening considerably: “Stop being so stubborn. Why don’t you just give Chloe a proper apology? I’ll smooth things over today for the sake of our years together. There’s no need to gamble with your own happiness just because you’re throwing a tantrum.” I looked up and scoffed. “Our years together?” “Admitting you’ve changed your mind is better than this fake affection you’re putting on now. At least it wouldn’t make me sick!” His face went pale for a second. I shook off his hand and walked straight toward the waiter in the corner. My brother was completely dumbfounded, yelling from the stage: “Maya, don’t do anything stupid! Come back!” Ethan also looked at me, his hands clenched into fists. I acted as if I didn’t notice and asked softly: “Are you willing to marry me?” The waiter opened his mouth, a flicker of an emotion I couldn’t understand crossing his eyes. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice warm and clear: “Miss Sterling, I’m just a waiter. Are you sure you won’t regret marrying me?” “I never regret anything.” “Alright, I will marry you!” Arthur rushed over like a madman but was stopped by Ethan with a cold smile. “Can’t you see she’s doing this on purpose? If you go over there now, she’ll just bully Chloe even more recklessly in the future.” Ethan’s smile was freezing. “She’s convinced you won’t actually let her marry this waiter. She’s just forcing you to compromise!” “If you compromise, you won’t be able to do a thing when she bullies Chloe again!” Arthur’s movements stopped. I turned around and looked at Ethan apathetically. He and I were childhood sweethearts with an arranged marriage. When I was twelve, I was kidnapped, and they lost all contact with me. My parents were so heartbroken they couldn’t sleep at night, consumed by pain and guilt, until they adopted Chloe from an orphanage. She had a sweet mouth and gradually took my place in my family’s hearts. They treated her like the apple of their eye, pouring all the love that should have been mine onto her. A year ago, covered in injuries, I escaped from the compound and was finally brought home by the police. What I received wasn’t the joy of a lost child returning, but the guarded, distant looks from every one of them. They even comforted Chloe right in front of me: “Chloe, our whole family will love you forever. She could never shake your position.” I felt like I had been stripped naked in the freezing cold; my whole body went stiff. …… The news that the Sterling family heiress was marrying a waiter spread like wildfire. It quickly trended all over New York, with millions of people discussing it online. When I got home, I pushed open the door to see my dad pointing at my brother, yelling furiously: “This is absolute nonsense! Where am I supposed to put my face?!” My mom sighed. “What’s done is done. The best thing is to find a way to convince Maya to tell the public she was just being rebellious, throwing a tantrum against the family, and created this whole farce. That way, we can save the Sterling family’s reputation.” “I bet she only said she’d marry that waiter out of spite, and she’s probably already regretting it.” Chloe was crying tears that looked like rain on pear blossoms. “I’m sorry, Mom and Dad, it’s all my fault. Arthur was just sticking up for me because his heart ached for me. I never thought Maya would be so stubborn, disregarding the Sterling family’s face entirely.” My mom immediately softened, comforting her: “Don’t say that, sweetheart. Mom and Dad know you’re a good girl. You’ve suffered a lot since she came back. She only did this because she was furious. It has nothing to do with you.” My dad nodded too. “Exactly, this has nothing to do with you. It’s all Maya being immature.” “Don’t worry, your sister is just used to running wild out there. That’s why she’s fighting us like this. She couldn’t possibly marry a waiter for real.” As he finished speaking, my mom looked up and met my gaze. A deathly silence fell over the living room. If this were in the past, I definitely would have caused a huge scene, hysterically demanding to know why they treated me this way. But now, I was just too tired. I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Or perhaps, I had completely given up on any hope for familial love. I no longer wished for even the slightest bit of affection from them. So, amidst everyone’s defensive glares, I went upstairs without a single expression on my face. A few days later, I met that waiter at a coffee shop. He had pre-ordered my favorite coffee and pastries, and even bought a bouquet of flowers, placing it next to my hand. I stared blankly at the roses, still holding drops of water, my heart inexplicably warming for a second. He looked at me with a gentle smile. Only then did I realize he was a young man with sharp, handsome features. He wore a well-tailored casual outfit; although I couldn’t recognize the brand, it was clearly very expensive. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Alexander Vance.” “I’m Maya Sterling.” Alexander’s movements paused slightly. “Of course I know. The Sterling heiress who should have been showered with love, but had her life stolen by a fake.” I abruptly looked up. For so long, everyone had told me to give way to Chloe, saying she had suffered a lot of “grievances.” But no one ever saw that I was the most innocent one of all. A moment later, I forced down the emotions in my heart and pulled out a check. “It’s not convenient for me to show my face. A wedding, a house, a car—whatever other people have when they get married, we need to have too. Use this to buy them. You can put them in your name. If it’s not enough, just tell me.” “We’ll get married in half a month, is that okay?” Alexander didn’t take the check. His gaze fixed on me, unreadable, his tone soft: “Miss Sterling, are you really not going to regret marrying a waiter with no future like me?” My heart sank. I shot back: “Are you scared?” Alexander froze. Then he let out a low chuckle: “Alright, I understand. I will definitely come marry you in half a month. Just like you said, whatever others have when they get married, we won’t lack a single thing.” He didn’t take the check. Instead, he pressed a velvet box into my hand, turned, and left. I opened the box. I stared blankly at the diamond ring inside. My heart felt as if it had been tightly wrapped by something warm and soft. When I returned home, the smiles vanished from everyone’s faces, and they all glared at me with dissatisfaction. My brother scratched his head awkwardly, stepped forward, and grabbed my arm: “Maya’s back, come sit down and try today’s cupcakes.” I gently pushed his hand away. “No thanks, I’m tired. I want to rest early.” Just then, my mom suddenly spoke up: “Wait, we have something to discuss.” I let out a self-deprecating, bitter laugh in my heart. It was as if I were just an outsider, forever standing in opposition to their family. Seeing no reaction from me, my mom continued: “Your stubborn tantrum at the banquet, insisting on marrying a waiter, didn’t just embarrass the Sterling family; it put the Hayes family in a very difficult position too.” “So we’ve discussed it and decided it’s better for your sister to get engaged to Ethan.” I slowly looked at Ethan. But he averted his eyes. I scoffed aloud. The last string in my heart finally snapped. My mom thought I had a problem with it and her face darkened: “Don’t be so unreasonable, child. If you hadn’t made such an ugly scene at the banquet, we wouldn’t have…” Before she could finish, I calmly interrupted her. “Sure, whatever you decide is fine. You don’t need to ask me.” “Congratulations in advance to my sister and future brother-in-law.” With that, I turned to leave without hesitation, never sparing Ethan another glance. I didn’t expect him to chase after me, his face stern. “Maya Sterling, how long are you going to keep this up? I had no other choice.” I lowered my eyes, staring at his hand gripping my arm. “Brother-in-law, is it appropriate for you to be grabbing me like this?” Ethan sighed: “Don’t be like this, okay? I know you’re angry, but can’t you just be good?” “I know everything you said earlier was just out of spite. You’re upset inside, aren’t you?” I looked up at him. Maybe I truly was devastated once. After all, I had always believed Ethan would never betray me. I believed in him as firmly as I believed the sun would rise every day. A year ago, when I first came home, my family rejected me. They indulged Chloe without any boundaries. Only Ethan. He would always be by my side when I was at my lowest. I thought he would never change towards me. I never expected that, in the end, he would still take Chloe’s side. His cold, harsh voice from back then still echoed constantly in my ears: “Look at yourself, acting so hysterical. No wonder your biological parents and brother love Chloe more.” “I’m really tired, Maya. Why do you always demand that I go against Chloe for you? The one time I didn’t say anything, you start suspecting if I’ve fallen for her. When is this going to end?!” “Fine, then I’ll give you what you want! I have fallen for her! Hopelessly in love!!” I felt like I had been slapped hard across the face several times, finally waking up in that moment. It turns out, from beginning to end, I was just an abandoned, despised obstacle. Ethan reached out and stroked the top of my head. His tone helpless, he said: “Stop making a scene, okay? We grew up together; I don’t want to see you in so much pain either.” “How about this? I’ll marry Chloe first to quiet the gossip. Later, I’ll buy you a house outside, and you can still be with me forever.” My eyes widened in shock, looking at him in disbelief. My heart felt like it was being violently torn apart by invisible hands, aching intensely. “Ethan Hayes, do you know what you’re saying?! You want me to be your mistress?!” He frowned. As if he didn’t understand why I was reacting this way. “Maya, being with me, even without the title, is better than following that waiter, isn’t it?!” “You’ve already sunk this low. What are you still being so stubborn about?!” I was finally, utterly devoid of any hope for him. I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Get lost!” Half a month later, my wedding day arrived. Chloe also received news that she won an award in a piano competition. These past few days, my dad had deliberately suppressed the trending news about me. After all, no one would believe I was actually going to marry a waiter. But they didn’t know I was completely disillusioned with them and had no desire to stay in the Sterling family any longer. When I woke up, I heard Arthur downstairs saying: “Today we absolutely must celebrate Chloe properly. Keep it down, so Maya doesn’t start throwing another endless tantrum when she wakes up.” My mom hesitated: “Should we really not invite Maya? Will that look bad?” “What if she gets upset again and does something impulsive?” My dad was dismissive. “What could she possibly do? Let’s go, or we’ll miss the flight.” Chloe put on a show of being understanding and tried to persuade them: “If Mom is worried, why don’t we just bring Maya along?” Arthur clicked his tongue impatiently: “If we bring her, forget about celebrating, we won’t even be able to walk out the door!” My mom finally gave in. “Alright, then we’ll coax Maya when we get back.” I stood on the second-floor balcony, watching them all walk away. I turned and called for the nanny. “Martha, bring out my dress.” I never expected the wedding cars Alexander arranged to be a fleet of over a dozen Rolls-Royces. Not only that, but he had hired the most renowned wedding planning team in New York, perfecting every single detail. Candies were handed out to every car and pedestrian we passed. Various media outlets had received envelopes of cash from him and came specifically to congratulate me. Sitting in the car, I couldn’t help but wonder. He was just an ordinary waiter. How could he possibly have this much money? But thinking back to his noble aura when we met at the coffee shop… I belatedly realized that Alexander’s true identity was definitely not simple! After the Sterling family arrived at the airport, their flight was canceled due to extreme weather. Frustrated, the group had no choice but to head back home, fuming. As soon as they walked in the door, they noticed something was off. The yard was littered with the remnants of fireworks and firecrackers, and the servants all looked like they had something to say but didn’t dare. My mom frowned at Martha: “Where’s Maya?” Martha immediately broke out in a cold sweat and stammered: “Miss Maya… Miss Maya got married today… None of us dared to stop her…” My parents and brother stared with wide, shocked eyes. They yelled in unison. “Married? Who did she marry?!”

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