Category: English

I gave birth to my son on the linoleum floor of a five-hundred-dollar-a-month studio apartment. While I lay there, shivering against the cold, gripped by a primal desperation as the baby let out his first cry, his father was at the airport. He was picking up his “Golden Girl”—the one who got away—welcoming her back to the country with open arms. He never came back to me. Not that night. Not for years. 1. My ex-boyfriend found me while I was wearing oversized rubber gloves, fishing sodden napkins and half-eaten pretzels out of a trash can in the mall’s food court. The woman at his side—his “Golden Girl”—absently tossed her half-finished iced latte into the bag I was holding. The plastic lid popped, spraying milky coffee across my cheek. When Bennett finally recognized me, his expression darkened into something heavy and unreadable. He told her to go on ahead, then he reached out, gripping my wrist so hard I could feel the pulse thrumming in his palm. “Daisy? Where the hell have you been for the last five years?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “Graduation day, I came back for you. You weren’t there. You just vanished.” I forced a tight, awkward smile, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes. “I didn’t finish. I dropped out.” “Why?” he hissed, his grip tightening. “You lived for your books. You were the smartest person in our class.” “As you can see, Bennett, things changed,” I said, gesturing to my stained uniform. “I’m a janitor now. Let’s skip the trip down memory lane. I have a job to do, and if my supervisor sees me talking, I’m toast.” I clutched my heavy trash bag, the plastic let out a sharp, grating crackle, and I made sure he saw the neon-pink rubber gloves—a cheap shield against a world that had tried to swallow me whole. Bennett’s eyes turned like flint. We had been the “it” couple in college—or so I thought. By our junior year, his first love had moved back from London, and I was discarded as easily as a used textbook. When he left, I realized I was pregnant. I had no family to turn to, and every time I tried to call him, I got the same mechanical drone: The number you have dialed is no longer in service. I was broke. I was desperate. I tried everything to end it—old wives’ tales, scalding baths, even throwing myself down a flight of stairs. But the life inside me was stubborn. It clung to me with a terrifying tenacity. I was a girl drowning in ignorance, watching my stomach grow while my world shrank. I hid in that cramped apartment, missed too many classes, and was eventually “invited” to leave the university. I survived on dishwashing gigs and the meager remains of a student hardship grant. The university district was full of bright, beautiful girls with glowing skin and promising futures. I was the rat in the shadows, scuttling between my basement rental and grease-stained kitchens, sometimes eating the leftovers students left on their plates. Back then, I spent every waking second hallucinating his return. I imagined him sweeping in, apologizing, taking me away to a life where I didn’t have to choose between milk and bus fare. But he never came. So, I stopped imagining. I finally understood why he’d left without a word. The original had returned to the gallery; there was no longer any need for the cheap, mass-produced imitation. 2. I hauled the heavy trash bag toward the service exit. A small, familiar face popped up from behind a concrete pillar. My son. Five years old. Theo—short for Theodore, my “God-given” gift—was already mumbling, “Mom, you’re so slow today.” Without being asked, he deftly opened the bag, picked out the plastic bottles, crushed them under his scuffed sneakers, and tucked them into the wicker basket on his back. That basket was an heirloom of our poverty; I used to carry him in it when he was a toddler. Bennett asked why I wasn’t at graduation. He didn’t see me that day, because I was miles away, trekking through the rain with a one-year-old on my back, looking for any shop that would hire a girl with a GED and a hungry mouth to feed. This city is built on hills—steep, unforgiving inclines that turn into rivers when it rains. I remember walking those slick streets, going into store after store with a practiced, desperate smile, only to walk out a minute later with my head bowed. The city lights were dazzling, reflecting off the wet pavement like diamonds I’d never own. Nobody wanted a mother with a “backpack baby.” Eventually, I found work at a daycare center—not as a teacher, but as a cleaner. I promised the owner that Theo was an angel, that he never cried. He didn’t. He’d just stare with those big, solemn eyes, too quiet for a child his age. Why didn’t he cry? Because back then, I was so malnourished I couldn’t produce enough milk. He’d learned early on that crying didn’t bring food. I’d had to cover his mouth to keep us from being evicted. He learned the silence of the poor. “I’m coming, baby,” I said, shaking off the memories. Suddenly, I froze. Bennett was standing there, his bespoke suit a sharp, jarring contrast to the filth of the loading dock. I instinctively moved to cover Theo’s mouth, a ghost of an old habit. But Theo was too fast. “Mom! I finished my pile! Do I get a sticker tonight?” Bennett stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. He grabbed my wrist again, his voice trembling with a dark, suppressed fury. “Daisy. This is my son, isn’t he?” I looked at Theo—a perfect, miniature carbon-copy of the man standing before me—and the words died in my throat. Theo saw the man holding me. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped his basket and lunged like a little leopard, his small boots thudding against Bennett’s expensive slacks. He had his father’s fire, I’ll give him that. “Let go of my mom!” Theo didn’t cry. He just stood between us, baring his teeth. Bennett grabbed him by the armpits and hoisted him into the air. A slow, unsettling smile spread across his face. “I’m your father, kid.” Theo’s scream was pure vitriol. “My dad is dead!” Bennett set him down, his tone turning clinical, brook no argument. “Your mother lied to you. But I’m here now. I’m taking you both home.” He looked at the basket of crushed plastic bottles and gave it a dismissive kick, sending our “income” scattering across the wet concrete. “You won’t be picking through trash anymore,” he said casually. That kick broke something in Theo. He scrambled to pick up the bottles, his small hands trembling. I wrenched my hand away from Bennett. “We’re doing just fine, Bennett. Don’t touch us. Don’t come near us.” He was always the hunter, never the prey. He ignored me, reaching out to ruffle Theo’s hair. Theo flinched and then, with a sob of rage, bit Bennett’s forearm. Bennett winced but didn’t let go. He actually looked proud. “Definitely my son.” “Bennett, leave,” I hissed. “Or I’ll scream ‘kidnapping’ so loud the whole mall will hear it. You don’t want that kind of press.” He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Daisy, you can either get in my car willingly, or I’ll have someone come for you in the middle of the night. You know I don’t play fair.” That was the Bennett I remembered. Arrogant. Reckless. Entitled. 3. I met him in a lecture hall. We were both sophomores. I was a ghost in the system. My foster parents used to tell me I was “worth every penny” of the state check they got for me, usually while they were hiding my college acceptance letters so they could marry me off to a local contractor for a “dowry.” I ran away in the middle of the night with three hundred dollars tucked into my socks. Bennett found me when my foster father tracked me down to the campus gates, trying to drag me into a truck. Bennett had been walking by, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He’d flicked the ash onto the old man’s hand and arched an eyebrow. “Is there a problem here? Looks like a kidnapping in broad daylight.” I’d hidden behind him like he was a shield. “Who the hell are you?” my foster father spat. “I’m her boyfriend,” Bennett said, and then he leveled the man with a single, practiced punch. In that moment, he wasn’t just a guy. He was a god. My savior. I followed him everywhere after that. Survival instinct told me he was the only thing standing between me and the abyss. Bennett never pushed me away. I realized later that for a guy like him—a trust-fund prince—a girl who was both beautiful and utterly dependent was the ultimate trophy. Especially since I looked a little too much like his first love. One night, after too many drinks, he kissed me, and the deal was sealed. I was blinded by what I thought was love. He bought me dinner at places where the napkins cost more than my shoes. He bought me tea when I was on my period. In return, I became his maid. I did his laundry every Friday, carrying his designer clothes to the campus basement. My roommates thought I was pathetic. I thought I was cherished. In my “rom-com” haze, I ignored the cracks. 4. I ignored the fact that he was ashamed of me. At dinner, I’d keep my head down, terrified to look at the bill, and I’d catch him looking at me with a flicker of disdain. I wore a fifteen-dollar sweater that was pilling at the sleeves. He once remarked, “My mother wouldn’t even use that to scrub the floors.” The breaking point came when he felt a hole in my leggings during a movie. “Daisy, for God’s sake,” he’d snapped. “Can you at least try not to be so… unkempt?” I didn’t want to be unkempt. But my scholarship only covered tuition, and every cent I earned went to staying alive. When Bennett wasn’t around, I lived on free cafeteria soup. His disgust stung worse than the cold. I burst into tears, and he just sighed, got dressed, and walked out. I didn’t even have the courage to be angry. I just waited. Two days later, he sent three pairs of expensive leggings to my dorm. It was his version of an olive branch. That night, we were back in a hotel room. He looked down on me, but he couldn’t quit me. I was a blank canvas. I was “The Imitation.” I’ll never forget the night he whispered against my skin, “You look so much like Mallory, but your soul… you’re nothing like her.” Who was Mallory? The girl in the vintage photo in his wallet? I never dared to ask. I couldn’t risk losing my only light. He took me to meet his friends once. I heard one of them whisper, “Where’d you find the knock-off? She’s got the face, but she’s missing the fire. Mallory would never stand for that outfit.” He never took me out with them again. That night, he gripped my waist and told me to smile. “Be more confident, Daisy. Show me some of that pride.” I practiced my “proud smile” in the bathroom mirror until my face ached. And then I cried into my pillow so he wouldn’t hear me. We were together for three years. In our junior year, he got a call. I heard a girl’s voice, honey-sweet and demanding. “Hey, little brother. I’m back in the States. You coming to get me?” Bennett was out of bed before she could finish the sentence. He even did his hair. “Are you coming back?” I asked, pulling the duvet to my chest. “The rent on this place is paid through graduation,” he said, not looking at me. He never came back. He didn’t need the “cheap version” anymore. He’d moved on to the real thing, leaving me in that rental where, months later, I’d scream through the birth of our son. Now, he was standing in front of me again, looking every bit the prince. “What do you want, Bennett?” I asked, meeting his eyes. “I won’t have my son living in a gutter. I’ve bought a place for you. You’re moving in today.” His eyes were like obsidian—hard and cold. He didn’t love me. He just wanted to balance the scales of his conscience. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. 5. “It’s too far from Theo’s school,” I said. He waved a hand dismissively. “That church basement? Forget it. I’ve already enrolled him in a private academy. Bilingual immersion, elite athletics. Don’t hold the boy back because of your pride, Daisy.” He knew exactly where to hit me. Everything for the child. I stopped fighting. Theo deserved the life his father’s money could provide. We moved into a sprawling penthouse. At first, Theo was inconsolable. He cried for our “little house,” the one where the radiator hissed and the wallpaper peeled. For the first time in his life, I snapped at him. I sat him down in his new, massive bedroom and looked him in the eye. “This is a hundred times better than that dump. Your teachers are going to be the best in the world. You have a yard. You have a future. Why would you ever want to go back?” Theo turned his head, a single tear escaping. “Because, Mom… I know you hate it here. I know you hate him.” My heart shattered. I hated Bennett with every fiber of my being, but I had to play the part. “That’s my business, Theo. I’ll be fine. You just grow up and be happy.” I didn’t want him to feel the weight of my resentment. I wanted him to play. In our old life, we played “soccer” with plastic bottle caps. For his birthdays, I made cakes in a rice cooker and we made wishes over a single candle. When he was three, his wish was to see his dad. I told him his father was a hero—a firefighter who passed away saving a city. I wanted him to have a legacy to be proud of. Until Bennett showed up, Theo believed me. Now, as I led a dry-eyed Theo out of the room, Bennett was lounging on the sofa, feet up on the marble coffee table. This was his world. I was just a guest. “Daisy, make something to eat,” he called out, eyes on his phone. “I’m starving. I haven’t had your pork chops in years. No one makes them like you.” I didn’t refuse. If I was living under his roof, I had to pay the rent in service. He tossed a bag of expensive toys onto the floor. “Hey, kid. Look what I got you. Come play with your dad.” He didn’t ask. He commanded. Theo didn’t even look at the toys. “I’m going to help Mom in the kitchen.” Bennett’s face fell, just for a second. Over dinner, I finally asked the question. “What about Mallory? Where do we fit into your life with her?” Bennett shrugged. “Mallory and I… we were never like that. She treats me like a younger brother. Besides, I’m taking responsibility for you and Theo now.” He emphasized the word “you.” My stomach turned. My mind screamed I don’t need you, but I looked at Theo, who was quietly reciting French vocabulary words under his breath while he helped me clear the table. I knew how hard it was to survive without an education. Even though I was teaching myself through online courses, it wasn’t enough. After dinner, I opened my textbook for my teaching certification. Bennett leaned over my shoulder, his warm breath ghosting against my neck. It made my skin crawl. “Education? You want to be a teacher?” “That’s the plan,” I said flatly. “Don’t bother with the exams. I can pull some strings, get you a position at the local elementary school. Just like that.” I shook my head and went back to my notes. Bennett hated being ignored. He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Daisy, can’t we just go back to the way it was? Like in college?” He said it like he was giving me a gift. “You did it on your own for years. It must have been hard. Let me take care of you now.” He knew. He must have known about that year in the rental. He knew I was alone. Where was he when the landlord found me on the floor, leaking amniotic fluid? The landlord told me later he thought he heard a stray cat crying in the hallway. 6. I ignored him. Bennett, frustrated, smashed a plate to make a point and stormed out. But he came back the next day. And the day after. He’d try to bribe Theo with gadgets. He’d sit on the sofa, pretending to watch TV while his eyes followed me around the room. He took the guest suite for himself, giving us our space, but his presence was a suffocating weight. Then, one day, Theo changed. He came home from school with a split lip. He wouldn’t tell me what happened. At five, he was already a vault for his own pain. I was frantic, desperate. “Theo, please. Did someone hit you?” He remained silent. When Bennett came home and saw the bruise, he nearly went through the roof. “Who did this? Tell me right now.” Theo didn’t move. Bennett scooped him up like a sack of flour. “Come on, kid. Tell your old man. I’ll bury whoever touched you.” That was the first time Theo felt the shield of a father’s protection. I could never offer that kind of reckless, violent loyalty. I was always the one apologizing, trying to keep us invisible. That night, Bennett took Theo into the study. They were in there for an hour. When they came out, Theo was different. He realized that “Dad” was a weapon he could use. It was the safety he’d never had. I remembered a parent-teacher day at his old daycare. I couldn’t go; I couldn’t risk losing my hourly pay. I’d watched through the window for a moment. Theo was sitting in the corner, watching a boy in a dinosaur costume play with his dad. He’d never complained. But later, I saw him hunched over a drawing, his small shoulders shaking with silent sobs. When he heard my footsteps, he wiped his face and hid the paper. It was a drawing of a superhero. A man who looked just like the ones on TV. His father. 7. After that talk in the study, Theo and Bennett became a team. Bennett was delighted. He thought he’d finally cracked the code. He started staying over every night. He didn’t work much; he was a “consultant” for his family’s firm, which mostly meant he spent money and played golf. He gave me a credit card with a limit that was more than most people earn in a decade. I saw the gap then—the chasm between the world I clawed through and the world he was born into. Bennett’s lifestyle was something I could never achieve through hard work alone. Sometimes I’d watch him playing video games and wonder why I ever loved him. He’d order two hundred dollars worth of takeout, take three bites, and toss the rest. I remembered Theo and me sharing a five-dollar box of rice on a park bench. Bennett was lazy, entitled, and vain. But he had the resources. I thought about taking Theo and running again. But then I looked at Theo’s new clothes, his confidence, the way he was devouring books I could never have afforded. My soul felt crooked. The parasite was thriving in the palace, while the honeybee had nearly frozen in the weeds. Theo was smart. He sensed the shift in me. He started getting even closer to Bennett, playing the role of the perfect son. He’d already tasted the cruelty of the world; he was just learning to navigate it. I stopped fighting Bennett. I started talking to him. I let him think I was still that “rom-com” girl, still hopelessly in love with my savior. He loved it. He’d never gotten that kind of devotion from Mallory. Mallory was rich, beautiful, and played men like fiddles. She used Bennett as a backup plan. When Mallory realized Bennett wasn’t at her beck and call anymore, she got petty. She called his mother. Bennett’s mother, Victoria, was a woman carved out of ice and old money. She showed up at the penthouse while Bennett was out. She didn’t bother with pleasantries. She offered me a check—a life-changing amount—to leave the city and leave Theo behind. “Bennett is a mess,” she said, looking at me like I was a stain on the rug. “But the boy has potential. He shouldn’t be raised with… your sensibilities.” She saw Theo and her eyes lit up. He was the “mini-Bennett.” A tool to win back her husband’s wandering attention. When I handed the check back, our fingers brushed. She immediately pulled out a wet wipe and scrubbed her hand. To her, I was a cockroach that had learned to speak.

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The golden boy claimed I stole his Rolex, and my sister, Becca, didn’t just believe him—she went scorched earth. She didn’t just call the police; she hired the most ruthless prosecutor she knew to ensure the charges stuck. I was sentenced to three years. I walked into that correctional facility a younger brother and came out a convicted felon. Before the sentencing, even her own lawyer had tried to talk sense into her. “Just give him a scare, Becca. If he actually goes to prison, his life is over.” Becca hadn’t even blinked. “Stealing isn’t a lapse in judgment; it’s a character flaw. He needs to learn that actions have consequences. As for his future? I’m rich enough to be his safety net for the rest of his life once he’s learned his lesson.” Three years later, I walked through the gates. She was standing there, her eyes rimmed with red, reaching out to me. “You’ve learned your lesson now, right?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Come on. Let’s go home.” I didn’t say a word. I just took a step back, letting her hand hang in the empty air. I didn’t need her home. I’d found a new sister inside. And she was the only person who actually believed me.

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The final wish of a world-renowned young pianist was for me—a man he hadn’t seen in ten years—to be the one to care for him during his final days. In the luxury hospice suite, he showed me photos of him and his wife traveling the world. Greece, the Maldives, the Swiss Alps. He looked radiant; I looked like a man who had spent a decade working double shifts. “Seriously, man, I don’t even know how to thank you. You’re a saint,” he said, his voice thinned by the cancer. He leaned back into the pillows, a smirk playing on his pale lips. “Especially considering you’re the ex-boyfriend. If you hadn’t failed Tori’s little ‘poverty test’ back in the day, I never would’ve ended up with her, would I?” He looked up at me suddenly, his eyes sharp with a dying man’s cruelty. “Tell me… once I’m gone, do you think she’ll follow me? Do you think she’d end it all just to stay with me?” He was waiting for me to break. He wanted to see a flicker of longing or resentment for Victoria Harrington. He wanted to see that she still had power over me. I disappointed him. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice as professional and sterile as the room. “As a member of the medical staff, it’s not my place to comment on a patient’s family.” Right then, the door clicked open. Victoria stood there. The bouquet in her hand hit the floor, petals scattering across the polished hardwood. She stared at me, her breath hitching in a way that felt almost practiced. … I stared at the flowers on the floor. Juliet Roses. I knew them from the trade magazines—a single bouquet of these could go for thousands at auction. In Nate’s room, there were hundreds of them, their heavy, sweet scent filling the air like a gilded cage. Victoria recovered quickly. The shock vanished, replaced by the cool, effortless mask of a woman who owned everything she looked at. She walked past me without a word, the rhythm of her designer heels clicking against the floor like a metronome. “I told you I’d hire a private nursing firm, Nate,” she said, her voice softening as she reached him. “Why did you go behind my back and hire… this?” “I didn’t want a stranger,” Nate replied, leaning into her touch as she smoothed his hair. “Besides, Sam’s the best. Isn’t that right, Sam?” Victoria didn’t look at me. She kept her eyes on her husband. “Does the Harrington heiress have room in her head for anything other than me?” Nate teased, his voice bubbling with a sickly sweet affection. “You remember Sam Miller, don’t you? You two were the ‘it’ couple back in college. Everyone was jealous.” Victoria’s gaze remained downward, her expression unreadable. “Was he? I don’t really remember. I was young and impulsive back then. I didn’t know the difference between a cheap imitation and the real thing.” The insults were contradictory—one moment I was a forgotten ghost, the next I was a “cheap imitation”—but Nate loved it. A genuine smile broke across his gaunt face. “Don’t be too hard on him, Tor. I know Sam. He’s just… realistic,” Nate said, pretending to defend me. “Not everyone has the stomach for a real test. Sam grew up fast. He saw the world for what it was earlier than we did. He just made the choice that made the most sense at the time.” He broke into a fit of coughing. Victoria was over him in an instant, her hands—manicured in a perfect nude polish—rubbing his back with practiced grace. When Nate finally caught his breath, she stood up and looked at me. Her eyes were cold. “Why are you still standing there?” she snapped. “Has the hospital lowered its standards so much that nurses don’t even react when a patient is in distress?” That familiar sense of being looked down upon, of being a servant in her presence, washed over me. But I had seen too much death and too much reality in the last ten years to be rattled by a billionaire’s tantrum. I bowed my head slightly, the picture of professional humility. “My apologies, Mrs. Sullivan. It won’t happen again. If Mr. Sullivan has any other needs, please let me know. I’m here to improve his comfort in any way I can.” Victoria’s face went blank for a second. Her brow furrowed—I could tell she was angry that she couldn’t get a rise out of me. But she didn’t say anything more. Nate reached out and took her hand, his eyes clinging to her. “See? I told you. Sam’s changed. He’s not the stubborn kid who wouldn’t admit he was wrong anymore.” He looked at me. “Remember after the breakup, Sam? You were so bitter. You stole that watch Victoria gave me. You were caught red-handed and still denied it. You almost tried to swing at me.” He chuckled, a wet, rattling sound. “Now look at him. He knows how to play the game. Most people see a face like that and can’t stay mad for long.” Victoria’s voice was like ice. “There’s no need to talk to him, Nate. You treated him like a brother back then, but people like him don’t know the meaning of the word.” They went on like that, weaving a version of the past where I was the villain and Nate was the long-suffering friend. I stayed silent. The watch. Victoria had given Nate a limited-edition Patek Philippe, and when it went missing, every finger pointed at me. I was the “gold-digging” ex-boyfriend, and Nate was the victim of a brother’s betrayal. I had spent three days and nights checking security feeds and retracing my steps, but the cameras were “broken,” and I had no alibi. Eventually, the watch was found in a hidden lining of Nate’s own backpack. Nate had just smiled that day, neither confirming nor denying anything. “Oh, it wasn’t lost after all,” he had said. “This bag was a gift from you, Sam, wasn’t it? Tori told me it was a knock-off and I shouldn’t take it on trips. I guess only you knew that pocket was there. Reasonable assumption, right? Don’t be so sensitive, man. Grow a thicker skin.” Nate finally grew tired and dismissed us. I walked out into the hallway with Victoria. She looked like she wanted to say something, her eyes dark and searching, but I kept my gaze fixed forward and walked straight into the staff lounge. The other nurses immediately swarmed me. “Is he as handsome in person as he is on TV? Is he a total diva?” I hung up my coat and took a sip of lukewarm water. “He’s a patient,” I said simply. They didn’t care. They were already back to whispering about the “Harrington-Sullivan” fairy tale. “I saw his wife today,” one girl sighed. “She’s even more beautiful than her photos in Forbes. Total boss energy. They say when she proposed, she just gave him a bouquet and a watch. Now that he’s sick, she’s moved half the world’s roses into his room. That room alone is worth more than I’ll make in a lifetime.” “It’s like a movie,” another added. “The scholarship kid meets the heiress, she lifts him up to stardom, and just as they hit the peak… this happens. It’s heartbreaking.” The voices dropped an octave. “I heard that before Nate, she was with another poor student. High school sweethearts. Then the Harringtons faked a bankruptcy to test him. The second he heard she was broke, he dumped her.” “Thank God for the test,” someone chimed in. “A guy like that would have drained her dry. He wouldn’t have treated her like Nate does.” “I don’t know,” a younger nurse murmured. “Isn’t a test like that kind of… disrespectful? Even if he passed, wouldn’t you always resent being played like that?” They turned to me, asking for my opinion. I listened to the half-truths and the polished lies. They were right about one thing: Victoria and I broke up because of that “test.” It happened overnight. One day Victoria was the girl who owned the world; the next, she was crying in my arms, telling me her father’s empire had collapsed and they were being evicted. I was young, naive, and so deeply in love that I didn’t think to check the news. I just worked. At the time, Nate and I were obsessed with mountain climbing. We were the “dirtbag” kids of the university, working three jobs each just to save up for gear to go to the Alps. When Victoria “lost everything,” I took it upon myself to carry her. I spent my meager savings on her, handled her “spoiled” outbursts with patience, and split my tiny grocery budget with her. Nate had been furious. He felt I was neglecting our “dream.” “You’re spoiling her, Sam,” he’d tell me. “We’re never going to get to Europe if you keep throwing your money at her.” Victoria would kiss my tired eyes, her own eyes brimming with tears. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I promise, things will get better.” So I worked harder. I broke my 24-hour days into fragments of labor and study. It was the hardest time of my life, but I never complained. Then came the night she picked me up from my shift at the warehouse. We ran into her “old friends”—the ones she said had abandoned her. I stepped in front of her, thinking they were there to taunt her. Instead, I heard them laughing. One girl looked at me with a mix of pity and amusement. “Wow, this one lasted a long time, Tori. I don’t know how you can stand eating at these greasy spoons every night. It’s dedicated, I’ll give you that.” She turned to Victoria. “The test is over, honey. You won. Now please, tell us you’re buying the first round of drinks tonight. I’m exhausted from playing ‘bankrupt’ for you.” The truth was laid bare in the middle of a sidewalk. I looked at Victoria, waiting for her to tell them they were lying. She didn’t. She just stood there, silent. “With someone like you,” she finally said, her voice devoid of the warmth I had cherished, “I had to be careful.” Someone like me. What was I? A gold-digger? A charity case? It had never occurred to me that people with money could be so bored, so fundamentally broken, that they would treat a human heart like a lab rat. I didn’t speak to her after that night. I didn’t even officially break up with her at first—I was too paralyzed. She had been my sun, my moon, the reason I breathed. I wanted to wake up and find out it was a nightmare. Nate was there for me. He brought me a punching bag to vent my frustration. He seemed disgusted by what she’d done. “My brother gave her everything, and she played him like a toy? Who does she think she is?” Nate had been so vitriolic that I had to hold him back from confronting her. I was so buried in my own grief that I didn’t notice the way Victoria started looking at Nate. Or the way Nate started looking back. Eventually, I told her it was over. I couldn’t look at her without seeing the “test.” Victoria stood on the quad, her designer dress fluttering in the wind, looking at me with pure derision. “So the rumors were true. You’re just like they said. You can play the hero when there’s a reward, but you can’t handle the reality of being with someone who doesn’t have a safety net.” I remembered that look for years. Because I didn’t realize until much later that the “they” she was referring to… included Nate. Three months after we broke up, Victoria proposed to Nate in front of everyone. The room was filled with Juliet Roses. It was the classic romance novel trope: the heiress and the scholarship student. When we were together, I rarely accepted gifts from her. Before the “bankruptcy,” I didn’t want her to think I was there for the money. After, I thought she couldn’t afford them. For every anniversary, I gave her a bouquet of daisies I’d picked from the roadside. She said she loved them. I couldn’t understand how she and Nate ended up together. Nate was unremarkable back then. He was average, stressed, and gray from the weight of poverty. He only became “vibrant” when he was defending me against Victoria. It turned out that his “defense” of me was their secret language. Every time they argued about me, they were actually bonding over me. I pulled away from Nate, but he kept trying to bridge the gap. He’d invite me to basketball or to work shifts, saying he didn’t want a girl to come between us. I avoided him until one winter evening when he cornered me. He was holding the bouquet of Juliet Roses Victoria had given him. “Tori says these are worth a fortune,” he said. “I know you’re struggling with rent. Take them. Sell them.” “I don’t want them,” I said, turning to leave. “Take them!” he snapped, shoving them into my chest. “I know it hurts that we’re together, but you can’t control feelings, Sam. You were with her; you know how it is. It’s just a bunch of flowers. Don’t be so proud. She gives me so many, I have plenty to spare…” Something in his tone snapped. I swiped the flowers away, and they hit the slushy pavement, their scent—sweet and arrogant—wafting up at me. Just like her. “You want me to understand your ‘true love’? Fine. I’ve been trying to stay away. I didn’t want to hurt either of you because you were the most important people in my life. Why do you keep pushing?” I looked at him. “Nate, this isn’t how friends act.” He leaned back, crossing his arms, a slow, ugly smirk spreading across his face. “Who said we were friends?”

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I died in the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway of the very hospital my wife built, shortly after being forced to undergo a “procedure” for the sake of the man she truly loved. Before I took my last breath, my six-year-old son, Toby, begged her three times. The first time, Toby reached out and caught her hand. His voice was trembling, telling her that I was coughing up blood. Madeline just sneered, her eyes cold as flint. “You’re getting better at this,” she said, looking down at our son as if he were a stranger’s dog. “Teaching a child to lie for you? That’s a new low, Ben.” With a flick of her wrist, she signaled her security detail to haul the boy out of the private wing. The second time, Toby grabbed the hem of her designer coat. He was hysterical, crying that I was drifting in and out of consciousness, mumbling nonsense from the pain. Madeline didn’t even look back. She just checked her watch, her brow furrowed in minor irritation. “It was a standard procedure. The doctors said he’d be fine. Stop being so dramatic.” Once again, the guards stepped in, dragging Toby away while his sneakers skidded across the polished marble floor. The third time, Toby didn’t stand. He collapsed on the floor, burying his face in the fabric of her trousers, his small body racking with sobs as he told her I wouldn’t wake up. That was when Madeline finally snapped. She didn’t kneel to comfort him. Instead, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, her face contorted with rage, and shoved him toward the exit. “I told you, Ben isn’t going to die! If you come back here one more time and disturb Sebastian’s rest, I will have both of you thrown out of this hospital and onto the street. Do you understand me?” Desperate to save me, Toby did the only thing a six-year-old could think of. He went to the nursing station and took off the heavy silver locket he’d worn since the day he was born—the one my mother had given him for protection. “Please, ma’am,” he whispered to the nurse, holding out his only treasure. “I don’t need to be lucky anymore. I just need my daddy to stay alive.” The nurse, moved by the sight of the bruised, tear-streaked boy, took the locket and agreed to move me to the last available recovery room. But Sebastian—Madeline’s “great lost love,” the man who had occupied her heart long before I ever stepped into the frame—had other plans. He sat in his wheelchair, clutching his designer French bulldog, and blocked the doorway. “I’m so sorry, little guy,” Sebastian said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “But your mommy was worried I’d get lonely without my dog. This room is reserved for Princess.” 1 To make room for Sebastian’s dog, my gurney was pushed out into the drafty, crowded service corridor. As the heavy mahogany door clicked shut, Toby stood there, his hands empty, his locket gone. His knuckles were bruised and purple from pounding on the doors. He didn’t stop. He hit the wood again and again, his voice small and cracking. “Sir? Please. Please give the room back to my daddy.” “Sir, it’s Toby! Please open the door!” His high-pitched voice echoed through the hallway, but it couldn’t pierce the thick insulation of the VIP suite where Sebastian was busy cooing at his pet. The louder Toby cried, the louder Sebastian turned up the television, laughing as he played with the dog. “Good girl, Princess. Don’t listen to the noise outside. It’s just trash.” Toby’s voice began to fail him, turning into a raspy, jagged whisper. This was the boy who used to cry and run for a hug if he so much as scraped a knee. Now, he just used the hem of his dirty t-shirt to wipe the blood from his split knuckles. His eyes were red-rimmed and full of a hollow, haunting hatred. “You’re a monster!” he croaked at the closed door. “I bought that room. I gave them my locket! You can’t give it to a dog!” “You monster!” But his voice was too thin now. It was a ghost of a sound, fragile and breaking. I lay on that thin hospital mattress in the hallway, watching him. Tears mixed with the copper tang of blood in my throat. I’m so sorry, Toby. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m so, so sorry. 2 The door never opened. Toby eventually slumped back to my side, his eyes swollen nearly shut. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold metal rail of the bed. “I’m useless. I let the bad man take the room.” “I’m sorry, Daddy.” I could feel the heat leaving my body. I knew the end was seconds away, not minutes. But I couldn’t let Toby see me go like this. I couldn’t let his last memory be the light fading from my eyes in a hallway. Summoning the very last of my strength, I forced a weak, trembling smile. “Toby… hey, buddy. Daddy’s a little cold. Could you… go find me a blanket? Just a warm one?” Toby froze for a second, then wiped his face frantically, hope flaring in his eyes. “Yes! Okay! I’ll get one. I’ll get the warmest one they have.” “Daddy, you have to stay awake until I get back! Promise me! Stay right here!” I watched his small silhouette sprint down the long, white corridor. As he turned the corner, I let my eyes drift shut. Toby, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can wait. When I opened my eyes again, the pain was gone. The heavy, suffocating weight in my chest had vanished. I was standing in the hallway, but my body—the pale, broken shell of it—remained on the gurney. I was a ghost, tethered to the only person I had left in this world. I followed Toby. He was smart; he knew the gift shop was too far, so he scanned the open doors of the regular wards. He spotted a room where the door was ajar and ducked inside. Inside, a young man sat up in bed. His wife was tucked beside him, meticulously smoothing a thick, navy-blue fleece blanket over his legs, ensuring every corner was perfect. Their son, a boy about Toby’s age, sat on the edge of the bed holding a warm cup of cocoa. For a moment, Toby just stared. His eyes filled with a sudden, sharp longing. But he shook it off. He had a mission. The young couple looked up, startled by the disheveled, bruised child in the doorway. The woman stood up, her face softening with concern as she brushed the dust off Toby’s shoulder. “Sweetie? Are you okay? Where are your parents?” Toby’s hands were shaking as he gripped his shirt. He swallowed hard. “Ma’am, my daddy is sick. He’s so cold. Could I borrow a blanket? I… I don’t have my locket anymore, but I’ll do anything. Please help him.” The woman didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a brand-new, wrapped blanket from the bedside cabinet and pressed it into Toby’s arms. “Take it, honey. I hope your father feels better soon.” Maybe it was the sudden kindness after a night of cruelty, but Toby lost his words. He just clutched the plastic-wrapped blanket to his chest and bowed his head, over and over. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” The woman waved him off gently. “Don’t thank us. We didn’t buy it.” “The hospital’s founder, Mrs. Madeline Santiago—she ordered them for everyone. She’s celebrating her husband’s successful surgery today. Every family got one as a gift.” “Look, there’s even a card with a photo of her and her husband on the front. If you want to thank someone, wish them a long and happy life together.” Toby froze. His eyes dropped to the small card tucked into the plastic. There was Madeline, glowing and beautiful, leaning her head on Sebastian’s shoulder. They looked like the perfect American power couple. Then he remembered her hand around his throat, throwing him out into the hall. He remembered her laughing as she walked away from his dying father. The tears started again, silent and hot. “I’ll… I’ll be sure to thank Mrs. Santiago,” he whispered. My spirit felt a phantom ache in my chest, sharper than any surgical knife. I remembered when Madeline used to love us. I remembered how she stayed up for three nights straight when Toby was born, obsessing over the perfect name. How she once bought out an entire FAO Schwarz display because Toby smiled at a train set. How she used to read him fairy tales while I fell asleep against her shoulder. All of that died the day Sebastian came back into the country. He used his “weak heart” as a leash. He staged fainting spells, played the victim, and slowly poisoned her against us. He even tricked Toby into putting a jar of caterpillars in his bed, then faked a panic-induced cardiac event just as Madeline walked in. From that day on, we weren’t her family. We were the obstacles to her “true” happiness. Back in the room, the woman asked gently, “Where is your mom, Toby? Why isn’t she with you?” Toby looked down at the photo of Madeline and Sebastian. A single tear fell onto the plastic. “My mommy,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “She’s dead.” 3 Toby ran back toward the main elevators, clutching the blanket like it was a holy relic. But as he reached the lobby, he ran straight into Sebastian. Sebastian wasn’t in his wheelchair anymore. He was standing, holding his dog, looking perfectly healthy. When he saw Toby, his face twisted into a mask of pure loathing. “Get out of my way, you little brat.” He looked down at his pristine cashmere sweater. “Do you have any idea what this costs? If you get your filth on me, I’ll sell you to pay for the dry cleaning.” “Just like your father. Pathetic. A bottom-feeding loser.” Before Toby could even react, Sebastian pulled back his foot and kicked him—hard—right in the stomach. Toby crumpled. The blanket slid across the floor. Gasping for air, he tried to crawl toward it, but Sebastian’s expensive leather loafer came down on his hand. He ground his heel into Toby’s small fingers. “Listen to me, you little sh*t,” Sebastian hissed, leaning down, his eyes gleaming with malice. “If you ever try to pull that ‘sad orphan’ act in front of Madeline again, I will make sure you and your loser dad are dumped in a ditch. Do you hear me?” He looked like he wanted Toby to simply cease to exist. I screamed. I lunged at him, trying to wrap my spectral fingers around his throat, trying to shove him off my son. Leave him alone! Take it out on me! Don’t you touch him! I roared until my throat felt like it was tearing, but Sebastian heard nothing. He just watched with sadistic pleasure as Toby’s face turned red from the pain. Toby’s arm began to spasm, but he didn’t cry out. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and fierce, staring directly into Sebastian’s soul. “My daddy isn’t a loser. He’s the best man in the world.” “You’re the monster. Don’t you dare talk about my daddy.” Then, Toby leaned forward and bit Sebastian’s ankle as hard as he could. Sebastian let out a yelp of pure fury. He lost his grip on the dog and delivered a brutal, heavy kick to Toby’s ribs. “You little bastard!” I screamed again, throwing myself over Toby’s body to shield him. But the kick passed right through me. Toby was thrown back against the marble wall with a sickening thud. He spat out a mouthful of dark blood. Even then, he didn’t wail. He just reached out, his hand shaking, searching the floor. “The… the blanket…” he wheezed. “Dad needs… the blanket…” Sebastian wasn’t finished. He stepped toward the boy and raised his hand to strike him again. “Sebastian?” Madeline’s voice cut through the lobby like a blade. Everyone froze. Toby’s eyes flickered with a desperate, dying hope. “Mommy…” he whimpered through a split lip. Madeline started to move toward him, but Sebastian was faster. He intercepted her, his face instantly transforming into a mask of fragile distress. He leaned into her, hiding Toby’s broken form with his body. “Madeline! Oh, thank God you’re here.” He guided her into an embrace, subtly signaling the guards to move in front of Toby. Madeline frowned, sensing something was wrong. “Sebastian, was that Toby on the floor? Did you hit him?” Sebastian’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Madeline, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. While you were upstairs, Toby… I don’t know who’s been talking to him, but he came into my room and said such horrible things about us. I tried to calm him down, but then he just… he lunged at me.” He clutched his chest, breathing shallowly. “You know what the surgeon said about my recovery… my heart…” Madeline’s face hardened. The concern for her son vanished, replaced by a cold, protective rage for the man in her arms. “Ben is a worse father than I thought. He’s poisoning that child’s mind.” “You’re fragile right now, Sebastian. If his antics cause you a relapse, I will never forgive them. Either of them.” I stood inches from her face, screaming the truth. He’s lying! Madeline, look at your son! He’s bleeding! Sebastian is a sociopath! From behind the guards, Toby managed one more broken plea. “Mommy…” A guard’s hand immediately clamped over his mouth. Madeline paused. She looked toward the guards. “Did he just call for me?” Sebastian’s expression darkened for a split second before he pulled away, looking “bravely” wounded. “Go to him, then. I’ll be fine. I’ll just go back to my room and try to forget that his father almost killed me by proxy today… I forgive him, Madeline. He’s just a child.” That did it. The mention of the “heart attack” Sebastian had faked weeks ago cemented her resolve. Madeline let out a sharp, disgusted breath. She turned her back on Toby and began to walk away. “If Ben won’t discipline him, then you do it, Sebastian. He needs to learn. Spare the rod, spoil the child… if he isn’t taught a lesson now, he’ll grow up to be just as pathetic as his father.” “I’ll wait for you upstairs.” As she disappeared into the elevator, Toby’s struggles became frantic. Sebastian turned back to him. The “frail” act was gone. He delivered three sharp, stinging slaps to Toby’s face. Toby’s cheeks swelled, his lip splitting further, blood dripping onto the floor. But the boy wouldn’t let go of that blanket. Sebastian leaned down, his long nails digging into the skin near Toby’s eye, drawing a thin line of red. “You’re just like your father,” he whispered. “Garbage.” I tried to strangle him. I tried to set the building on fire with my mind. Nothing worked. I was forced to watch, a ghost of a man, as my son was systematically broken. I fell to my knees, begging the empty air, begging Sebastian, begging God. He’s just a baby. Please. Stop. The abuse only stopped when Sebastian’s dog began to bark, startled by the violence. “Oh, did we scare you, Princess?” Sebastian cooed, smoothing the dog’s fur. He seemed bored now. He stepped back and signaled the guards to drop the boy. Then, he placed the heavy heel of his shoe directly onto Toby’s bruised cheek, pressing him into the cold tile. “Look at that,” Sebastian mocked. “Even your mother doesn’t want you.” “Pathetic.” 4 The elevator doors slid shut. Toby was left in a heap on the cold porcelain floor. I knelt beside him, trying—uselessly—to gather him into my arms. I tried to lift him, to warm him, but I was nothing but a shadow. The hospital doors were locked. No one dared to help Madeline Santiago’s son without her permission. The blood on Toby’s lip began to dry. He tried to open his eyes, but the swelling was too much. He just curled into a ball around the blanket, the plastic crinkling softly in the silence. The silver locket was gone, leaving only a faint red mark on his neck where it had once rested—a reminder that he had once been a precious, protected child. I don’t know how long I knelt there crying. My heart felt like it had been turned to ash. Then, the clicking of high heels returned. Madeline was back. She stood in the center of the lobby, looking down at Toby’s unmoving form with a look of profound boredom. “Done playing the martyr?” she asked, her voice echoing. “Is this what Ben taught you? How to fake an injury for sympathy?” “You really think if you lie there long enough, I’ll feel bad? You’re dreaming.” Every word was a needle in my soul. I wanted to scream: Are you even human? How can you look at your own flesh and blood and see a conspiracy? He’s a good boy! He’s the best boy! My tears fell onto Toby’s face. For a moment, his eyelashes fluttered. Madeline grew slightly uneasy at his lack of response. She took a step closer. “Toby? Stop it. Get up.” “I’m not falling for it. I see through you.” Her voice wavered, getting faster, more urgent. But as she got within a few feet, Toby’s hand twitched. She stopped. The flash of concern on her face was instantly replaced by a fresh wave of anger. She took out her phone, snapped a few photos of his battered back, and sent them to my number. Ben, you’re really going for it, aren’t you? Using our son as a pawn? Fine. If you want him to play dead, let’s see who breaks first. She turned on her heel and walked away. When the lobby was silent again, Toby finally opened his eyes. He coughed, a wet, hacking sound that brought up more blood. He saw the red stains on the plastic bag of the blanket and panicked, trying to wipe them off with his sleeve. He struggled to his feet, swaying, and began the long, agonizing trek back to the service corridor. He found my gurney. He touched my hand, and his face went pale when he felt the ice in my skin. With the last of his strength, he tore open the plastic, shook out the navy-blue blanket, and draped it carefully over my body. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he whispered, his voice disappearing. “You have the blanket now. You won’t be cold anymore.” Then, he collapsed on top of me and went still. The next morning, an intern’s scream shattered the hospital’s silence. “Code Blue! Someone get over here! We have a DOA in the hallway!” Madeline pushed through the gathering crowd, her face a mask of annoyance. “What is this circus? If you wake Sebastian, I’ll have your licenses—” She stopped. She saw the man on the gurney. She saw the small, broken boy draped over him like a discarded doll. And for the first time, the ice in her heart began to crack.

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It was my daughter’s fifth birthday, and after months of begging, my workaholic wife finally agreed to take our very first family portrait. I was ecstatic. I woke up at dawn, my heart racing with a kind of nervous energy I hadn’t felt in years. I had pulled every string I possessed to book a session at The Silver Frame, the most exclusive photography boutique in the city—the kind of place where the waiting list usually stretched into the next year. But as the appointment hour ticked closer, the world went quiet. My wife and daughter simply vanished. I sat in that plush, velvet-lined studio until the “Closed” sign flipped on the door. Finally, a text lit up my screen. It was from Mallory. [Forgot to tell you—the company organized a year-end retreat. I decided to take Sophie along for the trip. We’re already on our way.] A second later, a voice note from Sophie arrived. Her high-pitched, sweet voice echoed in the empty studio: [Daddy, the trip is so much fun! We’ll take the picture when we get back, okay? Bye!] I didn’t get angry. Not yet. I just stared at the phone and typed back a single word: Okay. Then, I turned my attention to a different chat. I pulled up the contact for the Chairman of Mallory’s company—a man who also happened to be one of my oldest friends. [Funny,] I messaged him. [I didn’t realize the firm was hosting a retreat today. As the majority shareholder, you’d think I would’ve received the memo.] … My phone rang almost instantly. When I picked up, Luke’s voice was thick with confusion. “What retreat? Nate, are you dreaming? It’s the end of the quarter. We’re all buried in spreadsheets and coffee. I haven’t seen sunlight in three days, let alone a beach. Everyone is in the office except for your wife—she took personal leave starting today.” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning a ghostly white. “I see.” “Wait, Nate. What’s going on? You sound… off.” I bit my lip, catching my reflection in the studio’s vanity mirror. I was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, my hair styled to perfection, looking every bit the successful man—yet I looked like a complete and utter fool. Standing there alone, I was a punchline to a joke I hadn’t realized I was in. “Come pick me up,” I said, giving him the address. “Five minutes. Stay put.” I sat back down at the vanity. The staff was beginning to pack away the lighting rigs and umbrellas. I could feel their eyes on me. Earlier, they had looked at me with envy—the man who had paid triple the standard rate to buy out the entire studio for the afternoon. Now, that envy had curdled into pity. I heard the whispers behind the heavy curtains: “Stood up,” “Poor guy,” “All that money and he can’t even get his wife to show up.” The studio manager walked over, clutching a heavy, leather-bound portfolio. “Sir, please don’t be too discouraged. I’m sure your wife had an emergency,” she said, her voice dripping with that professional kindness that feels like sandpaper on a wound. “Since we couldn’t shoot today, why don’t you look through our sample gallery? You can pick a style for next time.” I had no interest in looking, but out of some ingrained sense of politeness, I flipped open the first page. And the world stopped spinning. There, on the very first page—the “Gold Standard” family portrait used to market the studio—was a massive, high-definition photograph. The background was a warm, sun-drenched library. A woman in a silk cream dress was smiling with a radiant, soft warmth I hadn’t seen in years. Beside her, a man in a perfectly tailored navy suit looked at her with adoration. Between them sat a little girl in a tulle tutu, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons as she clutched a bouquet of daisies. That was my five-year-old daughter, Sophie. That was the woman I shared a bed with, Mallory. But the man… the man wasn’t me. The manager, seeing me freeze, assumed I was impressed. She leaned in, her tone brimming with pride. “Exquisite, isn’t it? This is our ‘Model Family.’ They’ve been loyal clients of ours since the little girl was just a month old. They come in every single year to document her growth.” She continued, oblivious to the fact that she was dismantling my life word by word. “The mother is a high-level executive, very successful. And the father—oh, he’s just a dream. He’s famous in the studio for how much he dotes on them. And the little girl? She’s a natural. She loves the camera. She’s always so happy to be here.” “In fact,” the manager added, “they’re celebrating her birthday today at the Grand Regency Hotel. Our lead photographer was actually hired to cover the party.” Each word was a jagged blade, flaying me alive. Years ago, I had stepped away from the spotlight to let Mallory chase her dreams of being a power player. I had secretly used my influence to get her into Luke’s firm. I had funneled anonymous investments into her projects, ensuring her “stellar performance” made her the youngest Managing Director in the company’s history. I wanted her to have the world. And then, there was Sophie. Every time I tried to take a photo of her at home, she would scowl. She would hide behind Mallory or slap the camera away, screaming, “Go away, Daddy! I hate pictures!” Mallory would always shield her, throwing me a look of cold disdain. “Just leave her alone, Nate. Don’t force her. Besides, your photography skills are mediocre at best.” Looking at the photo of my daughter beaming at the camera, my blood turned to ice. She didn’t hate pictures. She just hated taking them with me. I shifted my gaze to the man in the photo. He looked familiar—vaguely, like a ghost from a past life. Then it clicked. Dominic Vance. (Wait, Vance is a forbidden name. Let’s call him Dominic Thorne. No, Thorne is forbidden too. Let’s go with Dominic Black.) Dominic Black. He was the “charity case” I had personally sponsored through four years of university. I had seen a hardworking kid from the streets and paid his entire tuition. When he couldn’t find a job after graduation, I had made a few calls and landed him a prestigious role at a government-affiliated firm. I had funded his education. I had built his career. And apparently, I had provided him with a family. The manager was still talking. “Sir? If you like this style, we can book you for—” The roar of a high-end sports car outside cut her off. A moment later, the door swung open. “Nate!” Luke burst in, looking around the empty studio. “Damn, look at you. You look like you’re heading to the Oscars. Where are Mallory and Sophie? Are we done already?” I snapped the portfolio shut. The shame was a physical weight in my chest. “Nate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I looked at him and forced a smile that felt like breaking glass. “Take me to the Grand Regency. I hear my daughter is having a birthday party.” Luke didn’t ask questions. He saw my face and drove like a man possessed. The Grand Regency wasn’t just the most expensive hotel in the city; it was one of the crown jewels in Luke’s family portfolio. We stood before the grand ballroom. A massive welcome banner stood at the entrance. It featured the same family portrait I’d seen in the studio. Mallory leaning into Dominic’s chest, Sophie perched on Dominic’s shoulders. The gold lettering read: [Happy 6th Birthday to our darling Sophie] Sixth birthday? I went numb. Sophie was five. She had to be. Luke’s face went purple with rage. He was the owner of this building. He reached for his phone to call security, but I put a hand on his arm, stopping him. I pushed open the double doors. The roar of the party died instantly. A hundred pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance. Most of the people there were Mallory’s employees. I didn’t show my face at her office often, but I’d dropped off lunch for her a few times. They recognized me. “Wait, isn’t that Manager Cross’s stay-at-home husband?” someone snickered. The whispers began, a rising tide of mockery. “What a buzzkill. Why is he here on such a big day?” “I heard he’s basically a maid. Cleans, cooks, lives off her paycheck. Total embarrassment of a man.” “Look at that suit. He probably put it on her credit card.” Mallory was standing in the center of the room, her hand on a long silver knife, poised to cut a towering cake. Dominic’s hand was resting firmly over hers. They looked like the picture of domestic bliss. Seeing me, Mallory didn’t look guilty. She looked annoyed. “Nate? What are you doing here? I told you to stay home. Don’t come here and make a scene!” She didn’t even bother coming down from the stage. She just barked at me from her pedestal. I walked toward the stage, one heavy step at a time. “Make a scene?” I pointed at the banner, at the giant number six. My voice was a jagged rasp. “Mallory. Is Sophie five, or is she six?” Mallory’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second before hardening. “What does it matter? Five, six, she’s a child.” Dominic stepped forward then, wearing a smug, practiced grin. He looked every bit the successful executive I had helped him become. He raised his champagne flute toward me—a gesture that was meant to look polite but felt like a slap. “Look, Nate, since you’re here, grab a plate and find a corner. Mallory and I wanted to give Sophie the best day possible, and the team is also celebrating my recent promotion. Don’t ruin the mood.” “Go away!” A small figure darted out and shoved me with all her might. It was my daughter. The girl I had stayed up with through every fever, the girl whose hand I had held as she learned to walk. She was wearing a dress that cost more than a mid-sized car, and she was glaring at me like I was a monster. “Don’t you dare bully Daddy Dominic! He said you’re just a useless loser! You’re just a burden to Mommy!” My heart didn’t just break; it disintegrated. “Sophie… I’m your father…” “No, you’re not!” She grabbed Dominic’s leg, tilting her chin up with a cruel pride. “Daddy Dominic is my real daddy. He makes lots of money and buys me whatever I want. He said I have his ‘elite blood,’ not the blood of a failure like you!” The room erupted in laughter. “Wow, talk about a reality check!” “Imagine raising another man’s kid for five years. This guy is the king of losers.” The very employees who used to call me “Sir” out of politeness were now vying to see who could insult me louder to please Mallory and Dominic. I realized then: six years ago, while I was paying for Dominic’s senior year of college, Mallory had “met” me. She had cried about a bad breakup and her need for a stable man. From day one, I had been nothing but a free meal ticket for her and Dominic’s child. “Mallory,” I said, breathing through the searing heat in my chest. “So, these five years… it was all a performance?” Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved past me and pointed at the executives. “You blind idiots! Do you have any idea who I am? And the man you’re mocking—Nathaniel Cross—is the majority shareholder of—” “Security!” Mallory cut Luke off, her voice cold and sharp. “Get these two lunatics out of here. Especially that one next to Nate—he looks like a common street thug. Probably some low-life relative of yours, Nate?” Before the actual security could arrive, a few of the larger department managers, eager for a bonus, stepped forward, rolling up their sleeves. “Don’t you touch me!” Luke roared. He usually stayed at the corporate headquarters and rarely visited this subsidiary. Combined with his casual clothes today, these idiots actually didn’t recognize the Chairman of the board. “Is this guy for real?” a manager laughed, shoving Luke hard. “Do you know who Manager Cross is? She could crush you like an ant!” Dominic stood on the stage, holding Sophie in one arm and pulling Mallory close with the other. He watched the chaos with a smirk. “Listen up, everyone. Whoever gets this trash out of my sight so it doesn’t spoil the night for Mallory and me—I’ll personally see to it that your year-end bonus is doubled.” Money is a powerful motivator. The shoving turned into a frenzy. Someone kicked Luke in the back of the knee, and he buckled. I lunged to help him, but a heavy fist caught me in the kidney, sending black spots dancing across my vision. “Nate, did you really think you were someone?” I spat out a mouthful of blood and looked up at Mallory. “The fallout for infidelity and fraud… are you ready for it?” Mallory stepped off the stage and stood over me, her eyes full of pure, unadulterated disgust. “Since we’re being honest, I’ll let you in on a secret.” She reached into her clutch, pulled out a document, and threw it at my face. It was a marriage certificate. Mallory and Dominic. The date was a full year before she and I “married.” My pupils shrunk. “Don’t bother looking,” she sneered. “The certificate we signed? Fake. A prop. Dominic was just starting out back then, and we were broke. I needed a ‘nice guy’ to pay the bills and provide for us while he built his career. You were an orphan with no family to ask questions. You were easy to control.” “Fake,” I whispered. My internal organs felt like they were being shredded. Every night of the last five years, every sacrifice—it was all built on a void. “There’s no need for a divorce because there was never a marriage.” Dominic walked over and ground his heel into the back of my hand. “Thanks for the tuition, ‘Big Brother Nate.’ And thanks for raising my kid. But I’m a big man now. It’s time for the help to leave.” I tried to stand, but a boot to my chest sent me sprawling. Luke tried to shield me, but someone shattered a wine bottle over his head. Blood poured down his face. “You… you’re going to regret this…” Luke choked out. “Regret?” The manager who hit him spat on him. The crowd roared with laughter. “Hit them! Hit them until they can’t walk! Manager Cross will handle the fallout!” Luke and I were curled on the floor, a rain of blows falling on us. The smell of copper filled my nose. My vision was fading. Mallory just watched, then reached over to cover Sophie’s eyes. “Don’t look, sweetie. It’s just trash being cleared out.” Just as a manager lifted a heavy wooden chair to bring it down on my head— BOOM. The ballroom doors were slammed open so hard they hit the marble walls like cannon fire. A squad of elite security detail swarmed the room. Behind them, a middle-aged man in a sharp suit and gold-rimmed glasses ran in, looking frantic. He was the Executive Assistant to the Chairman. When he saw Luke lying in a pool of blood, he turned gray. “Chairman?!” Then he saw me. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “Mr. Cross…”

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The deal I’d spent six months nursing was finally ready for ink. Then my wife—the CEO of the company—had HR cancel my flight and booked me a twenty-hour ticket on a cross-country Greyhound bus instead. When I confronted her, she didn’t even look up from her laptop. She just accused me of being “fiscally irresponsible.” “The flight exceeded the standard reimbursement cap for senior staff,” Brooke said, her voice like dry ice. “I know you’re my husband, Nate, but I can’t go breaking company policy for you. It sets a bad precedent for the rest of the team.” She finally looked at me then, her eyes full of a cold, shimmering disdain. “A bus isn’t going to kill you. Stop being so fragile. You’re a grown man.” I didn’t have time to argue. I spent twenty-four hours cramped in a seat that smelled like stale coffee and diesel, my joints screaming, only to arrive at the client’s office and be told the contract had already been signed. I pulled out my phone. Tyler, the new intern, had just posted an update on LinkedIn. The photo showed two first-class boarding passes and a blurred-out copy of the contract I had built from the ground up. His caption: “Mission accomplished. So grateful to my incredible CEO for trusting me with the heavy lifting. #GrowthMindset #Blessed” — It was early summer. The sun was draping itself lazily over the city, but I couldn’t feel the warmth. My blood felt like it had turned to slush in my veins. The truth was out. “Company policy”? Give me a break. Brooke hadn’t changed my travel plans to save money. She’d done it to bury me in a bus for twenty-four hours so Tyler would have a head start. She’d handed him my victory on a silver platter. The project I’d sweated over, the late nights, the missed dinners—she’d wiped it all away with a single keystroke, turning my hard work into his fast-track to a promotion. She was obsessed with him. He was a few years younger, a “protegé” from her alma mater, and her favoritism was becoming a sickness. But why the bus? If she wanted him to sign it, she could have just told me to stay home. Why make me suffer through the ride? “That was my suggestion, actually,” Tyler said. I was back at the office, and he was leaning against my desk, a jagged, ugly smirk on his face. “I told Brooke that even though you almost fumbled the deal at the goal line, you’d worked hard. I told her you needed a little ‘slow travel’ to clear your head. Consider it a company-funded retreat, Nate. You should really work harder to repay Brooke’s kindness.” I wanted to put my fist through his teeth. I really did. But the whole office was watching, and I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a meltdown. Tyler only acted this way because Brooke allowed it. She didn’t just open the door for him; she laid out the red carpet. I took a sharp breath, turned on my heel, and walked into Brooke’s office. “Tyler, babe, do you have more of those funny—” She stopped. The moment she realized it was me and not her golden boy, her voice dropped an octave into a snarl. “You don’t know how to knock anymore? Get out and try again.” Tyler never knocked. I’d seen him barge in a dozen times, and she always met him with a smile. I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my chest. For the first time in seven years of marriage, I didn’t play along. I didn’t go back out. I stayed right where I was and made the first non-work request I’d made in years. “I’m taking my vacation days. Starting tomorrow.” A designer pen flew across the room, grazing my earlobe before thudding into the carpet behind me. My skin stung, a sharp, hot heat. Brooke slammed her hands on the desk, standing up. “Do you have any idea how busy we are? You’re my husband. Instead of stepping up to help me, you’re trying to bail? You want a vacation?” She scoffed, her lip curling. “Tyler was right. I’ve spoiled you these last few years. You’ve gotten soft.” “Spoiled me?” I repeated, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Is that what you call giving my project to an intern?” Her face flickered—just for a second—before hardening back into a mask of corporate logic. “I did that for your own good. You’ve been exhausted. I didn’t think you could handle the execution phase of a contract this size. Tyler needs the experience, and you need the rest. It was a win-win. Don’t let your petty jealousy get in the way of what’s best for this company.” If she really believed that, she wouldn’t have had to lie about the bus. She tapped her manicured nails on the desk. “You’re not the lead anymore, but I still expect you to put in the hours. Tyler is green. He has the instinct, but he lacks the technical depth. You need to mentor him through the transition.” She wanted me to bleed so he could drink. I watched her face. When she mentioned Tyler’s name, there was a softness in her eyes, a spark of genuine light that I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. My wife had found someone else to love. Or at least, someone else to admire. I looked down at the floor, hiding the hollow ache in my chest. “I haven’t taken a day off since we launched this startup. Between my accrued PTO and my seniority, I have four weeks coming to me. I’ll submit the request through the portal this afternoon. I’m gone tomorrow.” Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll tell HR to reject it.” I threw her own words back at her. “It’s company policy, Brooke. You can’t go breaking the rules.” We were months away from an IPO. For the last year, I’d been the first one in and the last one out, working until the stars were the only things left in the sky. Walking out of the building at 5:30 PM felt illegal. I stood on the sidewalk, the sun still high, and realized I had no idea what to do with myself. My phone buzzed. Two notifications hit the screen back-to-back. Company-wide: “Team dinner tonight at Delmonico’s to celebrate the new contract. All hands on deck!” Personal: “Nate, honey, the blackberries are heavy on the bushes back home. I’m going to pick some this weekend and mail a jar of jam to you and Brooke.” The first was from Brooke. The second was from my mother. Two images flashed in my mind: Brooke looking at Tyler with that doting, prideful gaze, and my mother, standing in a sun-drenched garden in Virginia, thinking of a son who barely called anymore. Spousal love can evaporate. It can shift, sour, and vanish. But a parent’s love? Even when you’re distant, even when you’re a ghost, it stays. I realized with a jolt of guilt that as Brooke’s ambition had grown, our visits home had dwindled to nothing. Maybe a frantic forty-eight hours at Christmas. Lately, I’d been going alone. Whenever I’d asked Brooke to come, she’d just sigh in exasperation. “You go. I have a company to run. Do you really think I have time to sit on a porch and talk about the weather?” Even when I was there, she’d call me every hour, demanding I come back to work. But it wasn’t always like that. In the early days, when we were working out of a garage, she was the one who insisted we visit my parents. She said it kept us grounded. I guess she didn’t need grounding anymore. She wanted to fly, and she wanted Tyler to be her co-pilot. I hadn’t planned on actually leaving town, but the impulse hit me like a physical wave. I needed to go home. I packed a bag, bought a train ticket—a real one this time, in a sleeper car—and headed south. By the next morning, I was breathing in the humid, sweet air of the Blue Ridge foothills. As I stepped off the platform, a voice cut through the morning quiet, sharp and dripping with sarcasm. “Well, look at that. Nate Miller, returning to the scene of the crime. Alone, as usual.” I didn’t have to turn around. Cassidy. My childhood best friend, the girl next door who’d grown up to be a shark of a corporate lawyer with a tongue like a straight razor. I managed a weak smile and tossed my bag into her trunk. “Nice to see you too, Cass. I heard your last date ended in a restraining order.” She rolled her eyes, pulling out of the station. “Hardly. Men just don’t like dating lawyers. They’re terrified that if we break up, I’ll take the dog, the house, and his dignity in under thirty minutes.” I leaned back against the headrest. “I thought you did M&A, not family law.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, hitting the gas a little harder than necessary. “I don’t. But for you, Nate? I’d make an exception. I’d take her for everything she’s worth.” I stayed silent. She glanced at me, her expression softening. “Wait. You’re quiet. Usually, you defend her. Is it… is it actually happening?” The truth is a blade. “Just drive, Cass. I’m not in the mood for an autopsy of my marriage.” “Right. Got it.” She went quiet, but the air in the car felt heavy, vibrating with all the questions she wasn’t asking. Before we got to my parents’ place, she asked, “Are we telling them?” I sighed. “Not yet. Let’s just let them have a nice weekend.” Three years of dating, seven years of marriage. Unless I caught Brooke in a room with a smoking gun, I wasn’t ready to pull the trigger on a divorce. Not yet. But parents have a sixth sense. They want you home, but they can tell when you’re staying because you have nowhere else to be. By the fifth day, my mom was practically pushing me out the door. “It’s a beautiful morning, Nate. Go for a walk. Go see the world. You’re moping around this kitchen like a lost puppy.” I stepped out onto the porch just as Cassidy was heading to work. I felt like a teenager caught playing hooky. “Rough morning?” she teased, leaning against her car. “Look, I have to visit a few clients today. If you’re bored, you can play chauffeur. It beats sitting here and letting your mom interrogate you.” I didn’t have anything better to do. I hopped in. We spent the whole day on the road. By the time we pulled back into her apartment complex that evening, my ankles were sore. I watched her hop out of the car, looking perfectly poised despite being in three-inch heels all day. “How do you do that?” I asked, gesturing to her feet. “I’m exhausted just watching you.” “Practice,” she said, but as she stepped onto the curb, her ankle gave way. I moved instinctively, catching her by the waist before she hit the pavement. “See?” I muttered, steadying her. “Tough talk and sharp heels. This is why you’re single.” “What the hell is this?” I froze. Brooke was standing ten feet away, her face a mask of cold, vibrating fury. She marched toward us, her designer handbag looking like it was about to become a weapon. “I actually believed you came home to see your parents. I thought, Maybe he just needs a break. But you’re out here reliving your high school glory days. How could you do this to me, Nate?” I frowned, letting go of Cassidy. “It’s not what it looks like, Brooke. What are you even doing here?” “I see you two wrapped around each other, and you ask me what it looks like?” Tyler stepped out from behind a parked SUV, trailing Brooke like a loyal golden retriever. He looked at us with a slow, knowing smile. “I mean, she did just get out of the passenger seat,” Tyler noted, his voice dripping with faux-concern. “And she looks a little… disheveled. I guess we know why Nate’s been so tired lately.” Then, he did a little mock-shudder, hiding behind Brooke’s shoulder. “Oh, man. Nate, did I say that out loud? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. I’m just guessing here!” If his eyes weren’t gleaming with pure malice, I might have believed he was just an idiot. Cassidy had found her footing by then. She smoothed her skirt, her lawyer persona clicking into place like a loaded gun. “Under state law, defamation can lead to a very messy, very expensive civil suit,” she said, her voice cool and rhythmic. “If you want to keep talking, kid, I’d suggest you bring a checkbook.” She glanced at Brooke. “And as for you, Brooke—I’d keep your ’employee’ on a shorter leash. Or is he a ‘business expense’ now? Honestly, since you’re paying for him with marital assets, I should probably thank you for the entertainment.” Brooke went scarlet. “Don’t you dare. Tyler is a dedicated employee who was worried about me. He came along to make sure I was okay.” Cassidy just let out a short, bark-like laugh. She didn’t need to say another word. Brooke turned her fire back on me. “The office is drowning, Nate. I’ve had enough of this tantrum. Get in the car. We’re going back. Now.” “No,” I said quietly. “I’m on vacation.” Brooke’s jaw set. “The games are over. I’m here, I’m giving you a chance to save face. Don’t push me.” Tyler chimed in again. “Nate, look, Brooke just likes having me around because I’m a fast learner. If my being on the team makes you this upset, I’ll apologize. I just want Brooke to be happy. If you come back, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.” “Whatever it takes?” I repeated. I looked at Tyler, then at my wife. “Fine. Fire him. If Tyler resigns and leaves the firm, I’ll come back tonight.” Tyler’s face crumpled. He looked like I’d just kicked a puppy. He turned to Brooke, his eyes glistening. “I… if that’s what it takes for you to have your husband back, Brooke… I’ll write my resignation tonight.”

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My mother was dying. I begged my fiancé to advance our wedding settlement so I could afford her surgery. He didn’t even look back. Instead, he went straight to Gemma’s engagement party. In my darkest hour, my childhood best friend, Xavier, knelt in the sterile hospital hallway and proposed. He handed me a check for a million dollars—no strings attached, just the price of a life. I said yes without a second thought. I rushed to get the paperwork signed for my mother’s operation. But in the end, she never made it off the table. I was paralyzed by grief. Xavier stepped in, handling the funeral and the aftermath with a tenderness that convinced me I’d found my savior. We married shortly after, just as planned. Five years later, I accidentally overheard him talking to a doctor behind a heavy mahogany door. “Xavier, you kept the truth from Nora. You used her mother’s organs to save Gemma’s mother. Did you ever stop to think what happens if she finds out? You’re willing to ruin your life for Gemma?” “If I’m ruined, I’m ruined,” Xavier’s voice was cold, resolute. “I’d do anything for her. It was one life for another. I’ve spent the last five years paying Nora back with this marriage. That should be enough.” The tears hit the floor before I could catch my breath. I finally understood. My marriage—the house, the “love,” the security—was nothing but a curated lie. A penance. His heart had only ever belonged to Gemma. Fine. If he wants to be with her so badly, I’ll get out of the way. 1 The library door was a thin barrier between my life and the abyss. Inside, Xavier’s voice was thick with a regret that wasn’t for me. “Since she didn’t choose me, the only thing I could do was make sure she didn’t lose her mother. I wanted Gemma to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. As for Nora… I’ve given her five years of my life. I’ve compensated her. It’s enough.” I heard Tyler, his oldest friend, let out a sharp, jagged breath. “Compensation? Xavier, that was a human life. If anyone finds out you forged those transplant consents, you’re spending the rest of your life in a cell. Is she really worth it? A woman who doesn’t even love you?” “My heart says she is,” Xavier replied, the sound of a lighter flicking open punctuating his words. “I’d do anything to see her smile. I didn’t care if it was Nora’s mother or my own heart—I wouldn’t have blinked.” “Don’t mention this again,” Xavier continued, his voice muffled by a cloud of smoke. “It’s in the past. She’s living her perfect life now, and that’s what matters.” “And Nora? She actually loves you, Xavier. If she ever finds out you’re the reason her mother is dead, you two—” Silence stretched like a wire about to snap. Then, Xavier gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “Then I’ll owe her my life, too. The money I’ve made these years… it’s enough to keep her comfortable forever.” “Man… I don’t get you. Nora is a good woman, and you’re obsessed with a phantom. Whatever. Do what you want.” Footsteps approached the door. I scrambled back, retreating into the shadows of the hallway and slipping into our bedroom. I was holding a cup of tea. It splashed onto my hand, scalding and hot, but I felt a bone-deep chill that no heat could touch. My mother didn’t die because the surgery failed. She died because she was a harvest. A sacrifice at the altar of his devotion to Gemma. Five years ago, when Harrison broke our engagement and left me as a public laughingstock, I thought Xavier’s proposal was my redemption. I thought he was pulling me out of the fire. I didn’t realize he was the one who had lit the match. All these years, I’d been parading my “happy marriage” like a trophy, oblivious to the fact that I was just a guilt-offering. The front door clicked. Tyler was gone. A moment later, Xavier stumbled into the bedroom. He smelled of expensive bourbon and tobacco. He reached out, cupping my face with hands that felt like ice, and kissed my forehead. His eyes were soft, filled with a mimicry of devotion. “Why are you standing by the door, Nora?” “Nothing,” I whispered, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. “I just spilled some tea. I was about to clean it up.” “Let the maid do it,” he murmured, pulling me closer. “You’re delicate. You need to rest. It breaks my heart when you’re tired.” He leaned in, kissing my lips with that same gentle, protective rhythm he’d used for half a decade. 2 I felt nothing. The warmth was gone. The man holding me wasn’t my husband; he was a stranger who had hollowed out my life to build a shrine for someone else. I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip. He thought it was affection. I helped him into bed and tucked him in. The alcohol took hold quickly, and soon his breathing leveled out into a deep sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his phone. I only had to guess the passcode once. I tried Gemma’s birthday. The screen glowed to life instantly. I started scrolling through his files. Contract after contract. Every single one was a partnership with Harrison Cole’s firm—Harrison, the man Gemma had chosen over him. I wasn’t a corporate expert, but even I could see the patterns. Xavier was bleeding his own company dry, handing over lucrative projects and taking massive hits just to ensure Gemma’s husband stayed successful. Just to ensure Gemma stayed rich. The brand ambassadors he hired? Gemma’s favorite actors. The project locations? Places Gemma had mentioned in passing on social media. Even the final payment amounts on the invoices were codes: her birthday, her wedding anniversary, the day they first met. My hands shook as I opened his private photo vault. A thousand photos. All of them were of Gemma. There she was at a gala. There she was laughing at a cafe. There she was celebrating a success with Harrison. In every photo, Harrison had been meticulously cropped out, leaving only Gemma. A digital obsession spanning five years. I checked the records from the major auction houses. Millions of dollars in jewelry, all shipped anonymously to Gemma’s address, disguised as “corporate gifts from a silent partner.” The “White Moonlight” trope wasn’t just a story. It was my husband’s religion. I looked at the necklace on my own nightstand. It was a “gift” he’d given me last month. I realized now it was a promotional freebie from the same auction house where he’d bought Gemma a five-carat diamond. I laughed, a quiet, broken sound. I didn’t need to see any more. I picked up my laptop and booked a one-way ticket out of the country for three days from now. I began the process of deactivating my accounts and filing for a name change. Three days to erase five years. It was more than enough. I didn’t sleep. When the sun rose, I went to the bathroom to wash my face. My phone buzzed on the counter. Xavier’s voice came from the doorway, curious and groggy. “Nora? What’s this notification about an identity deactivation?” I snatched the phone away, my face a mask of calm. “Nothing. My ID is expiring. I’m just making an appointment at the DMV to get it renewed.” “Don’t you have a meeting today?” I added, turning the faucet on. “You should get going.” He didn’t suspect a thing. He just wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, nuzzling into my neck. “Thank you, honey. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have a wife as graceful as you.” I smiled at his reflection in the mirror. I said nothing. “As a reward, I’m going to bring you home something special today, okay?” “Okay. I’ll be waiting.” As soon as Xavier left, his assistant arrived with a gourmet breakfast from my favorite bistro. For five years, he had ordered this for me every single morning. I used to think it was love. Now I realized it was just a routine to keep me occupied, a way to keep the “compensation” flowing so he could focus on Gemma. If he truly loved me, wouldn’t he have learned to cook at least one thing I liked in five years? I dumped the expensive pastries into the trash and walked out the door. This five-year masquerade was over. I filled out my paperwork at the government office and then headed straight to a lawyer. The divorce papers were standard—I wanted nothing. No alimony, no assets, no house. I just wanted my name back. I took the envelope to Xavier’s office. As I walked through the lobby, I heard the whispers of the staff. “Is that Mrs. Knight? She’s so elegant. No wonder the boss keeps her hidden away like a treasure.” “Definitely her. That necklace she’s wearing? I personally delivered the paperwork for it a week ago. Five hundred thousand dollars! I’d have to work three lifetimes to afford that. She’s so lucky.” 3 “I heard they’re childhood sweethearts,” another girl sighed. “She was his first love. He’s a billionaire and he’s only ever had eyes for one woman. It’s like a movie.” I reached the executive floor. I stood outside the heavy double doors of his office, but I didn’t knock. A familiar voice was already inside. “Is Harrison treating you well?” Xavier asked. His voice was strained, a low, vibrating chord of suppressed longing. “Yes, he’s great,” Gemma replied. I could hear the smirk in her voice. “He just bought me an island for our anniversary. He’s like a child, really, always trying to outdo himself…” Xavier’s voice dropped even lower. “That’s good. As long as you’re happy… that’s all I need to know.” “You’re too much, Xavier. Why did you send such an expensive gift again? If Nora finds out, she’ll be upset.” Gemma had always been like this. Taking everything and then using it as a weapon to mock me. Five years ago, when Harrison broke our engagement, she was the one who came to the hospital. She stood by my mother’s bed and told her the news, knowing my mother’s heart couldn’t take the shock. That was what sent her into the final, fatal surgery. Xavier and Harrison had both taken her side then, telling me I was being “dramatic” and “immature” for yelling at her. That day, I lost my mother and my fiancé. Xavier became my only tether to the world. And now, I realized he was the one who had cut the rope. A secretary rushed toward the door with a stack of papers, swinging it open before I could move. Xavier looked up, his eyes widening in a flash of panic. “Nora? What are you doing here? Don’t get the wrong idea—Gemma is just here for a meeting. She’s the lead on the Cole project…” “Nora, it’s been a while,” Gemma said, standing up. She was draped in the latest couture, making me feel like a ghost in my own life. I forced a smile. I pushed down the scream rising in my throat. “It’s fine. I was just in the neighborhood shopping and thought I’d drop by. Since you’re busy, I’ll go.” Xavier chased me into the hallway, explaining himself for ten minutes. Watching him scramble was almost funny. He had intentionally sabotaged his own company’s profits just to secure this contract with the Coles, just to have an excuse to see her. And now he was performing for me? “Don’t worry,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m not going to be ‘immature.’ Do your work. I’ll be at home.” He visibly relaxed. He had the secretary escort me to the elevator. As the doors closed, I saw the employees looking at me with thinly veiled pity and mockery. They knew. Everyone probably knew. I went home and started packing. Five years of gifts, jewelry, and clothes went into a large trunk. I dragged it down to the driveway and lit a match. As the flames began to lick at the silk and velvet, a car pulled up. Gemma stepped out. She kicked the trunk over, sparks flying onto her expensive shoes. She didn’t care. She was smiling. “Nora, after all these years, you’re still so pathetic.” “You couldn’t protect your mother back then, and you can’t protect your marriage now. You’re a joke.” My blood turned to fire. “You knew?” I whispered. “You knew what he did to my mother?” She laughed. I didn’t think; I just acted. I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. It wasn’t even that hard, but she stumbled back, falling toward the burning trunk. 4 I froze. Before I could even reach out to grab her, a shadow blurred past me. Xavier shoved me aside. I hit the pavement hard, the skin on my palms tearing. He gathered Gemma into his arms like she was made of glass. He looked at me, and for the first time in five years, the mask of the doting husband was gone. His eyes were full of pure, unadulterated rage. “Nora! What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?” “Gemma just came here to talk to you, to try and clear up the misunderstandings from the past! How could you lay a hand on her?” He looked like he wanted to kill me. There wasn’t a shred of love left in his gaze. I let out a cold, jagged laugh. “She brought up my mother, Xavier.” “The ‘misunderstandings’ from the past? Don’t you think I deserve an explanation for those?” His brow furrowed. A flicker of guilt—or perhaps just fear of being caught—crossed his face. “What explanation? Your mother was sick and the surgery failed. You know that. Whatever happened back then is no excuse for being a violent psychopath.” “Nora, apologize to her. Now.” Before I could speak, Gemma leaned into his chest, her voice a fragile whisper. “Don’t… don’t be hard on her, Xavier. It’s my fault. We hurt her when Harrison left her. Just let this be my penance…” “Since she hates me so much, maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I don’t want to be the reason your marriage falls apart.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood. I watched them walk away, watched him carry her to his car. I knew then. It was over. I stood up and restarted the fire. I watched five years of “love” turn to ash. An hour later, Xavier sent a text. Gemma is the lead on the Cole project, Nora. Hurting her is bad for the company. I only made you apologize to keep the peace for the cameras. Don’t overthink it. I’ll come home tonight and make it up to you, okay? I have that gift I promised. Don’t be mad. He wasn’t performing for Gemma. He was still trying to manage me, to keep his “compensation” project under control. I sat in the dark living room with the divorce papers until midnight. He never showed up. Instead, a tabloid headline popped up on my phone: Billionaire Xavier Knight Rushes Local Socialite to ER After Domestic Dispute. Gemma had a tiny scratch on her arm, but Xavier had called in every specialist in the city. He’d donated a million dollars to the hospital wing on the spot just to ensure she got the best suite. In the photos, he was holding her. His eyes held a tenderness I had never, ever seen directed at me. The hospital was lit up like a fortress that night, all for a woman’s bruised ego. At dawn, I called him. He didn’t answer at first. I could hear him in the background, barking orders at his secretary. “Sir, are you sure about the contract revision? We’re going to lose over a hundred million on this deal!” “Just do it,” Xavier snapped. “It’s the compensation I promised her. And draft another document—I want to transfer half of my personal shares in the holding company to Gemma.” The secretary left, and Xavier finally realized the line was open. “Nora? Sorry, I’ve been swamped. I’m coming home soon. Did you need something?” I looked down at the burns on my hands. “Nothing. Keep working. I won’t bother you.” “Good girl. Wait for me at home. I’m on my way.” I didn’t wait. I signed the divorce papers and left them on the kitchen island. I took my suitcase and walked out of the house. I made one final stop: the hospital where my mother died. I requested a copy of the organ donation consent forms from five years ago. There it was. My signature at the bottom. Except I had never signed it. Xavier had forged my handwriting perfectly. 5 I made a copy of the forged agreement and mailed it to Xavier’s office. By the time it arrived, I’d be in the air. Twenty-four hours passed. I didn’t go back. Neither did he. Just as I was about to board my flight, a flurry of messages arrived. Nora, I sent my assistant with your gift. Why aren’t you answering the door? Are you still throwing a tantrum? Stop playing games. Behave. I’m coming home now. He was still lying. Thirty minutes earlier, a lifestyle blogger had posted a “secret” livestream of him and Gemma shopping. He was currently picking out a gala dress for her to wear to the upcoming shareholders’ meeting. I didn’t reply. I received a text confirming my identity deactivation was complete. I deleted his contact info, blocked his number, and stepped onto the plane. Back in the states, on the livestream, the secretary suddenly burst into the boutique. He was pale, clutching an envelope. “Sir! Something’s wrong! Mrs. Knight found out about the surgery from five years ago! I can’t reach her!”

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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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On April Fool’s Day, my sister and I moved into our new apartment. Mr. Johnson Mr. Johnson’s fridge was covered with notes containing bizarre rules. One of them read: Never eat anything from the neighbor in 404—she’ll consume parts of your memory. I dismissed it as Mr. Johnson’s holiday prank. That afternoon, the neighbor from 404 knocked on our door and brought over a freshly baked tiramisu. I thanked her with a smile and immediately put it in the fridge. The next morning when I woke up, my sister pointed at me in terror and asked, “Who are you?” “Chloe, what are you talking about? I’m your sister.” I stepped forward to take her hand, but Chloe backed away, grabbing a throw pillow and clutching it tightly to her chest. “I don’t know you! Who are you! How did you get into my home!” I froze in place. The fear and resistance in Chloe’s eyes didn’t look like an act. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Chloe, calm down. We just moved in together yesterday, don’t you remember?” Chloe shook her head frantically, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember having a sister!” I pulled out my phone, opened my photo album, and handed it to her. “Look, this is us at the beach last month. You forgot?” In the photo, we were smiling brightly, her arm linked intimately with mine. A flash of confusion crossed Chloe’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by wariness. “Photos don’t mean anything—they can be AI-generated!” “Then look at our chat history.” I opened SnapChat, hundreds of messages, scrolling up endlessly. Chloe glanced at it and pushed the phone back. “My phone was stolen. How do I know you didn’t fake this?” I was stunned. She was right—her phone had been stolen a few days before we moved. It was precisely because our old rental had such a chaotic environment that we’d decided to move. I looked at Chloe, my mind in turmoil. Could memories just vanish like that? She knew her name was Chloe, knew her phone had been stolen, but she’d forgotten me entirely. I suddenly remembered yesterday’s note on the fridge. I spun around and rushed into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door. The tiramisu was gone. My hands were shaking. How could something so coincidental and bizarre happen in this world? I suppressed the panic rising in my chest and called Mr. Johnson. The phone rang for a long time before someone answered. A drowsy voice came through. “Hello?” “Sir, this is Aria, I just moved into your place yesterday.” “I want to ask about the rules you posted on the fridge. My sister ate something from the 404 neighbor, and now she doesn’t recognize me!” The voice on the other end paused for two seconds, then burst into laughter. “Young lady, don’t you know what day yesterday was? April Fool’s Day! I just wrote those notes for fun. Is your sister upset with you about something?” “She’s not upset. She genuinely doesn’t recognize me.” My voice cracked with urgency. But Mr. Johnson still treated it as a joke. “Come on, nobody loses their memory after one night’s sleep. You young folks just love pranking each other.” The call ended. I rushed to door 404 and pressed the doorbell. The door opened quickly. Mrs. Patterson was wearing an apron, holding a spatula, looking at me with confusion. “Young lady, it’s so early. Is something wrong?” “Ma’am, what did you put in that tiramisu box you gave us yesterday?” “My sister doesn’t recognize me after eating it!” Mrs. Patterson looked stunned, then showed an innocent, amused expression. “How is that possible? It’s just regular cake. I ate some myself.” She stepped aside slightly. “I still have some left from yesterday. Why don’t you come in and try it?” “Maybe your sister hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Sometimes poor sleep can cause hallucinations. Should I help you schedule a doctor’s appointment?”

When I returned to the apartment, Chloe was standing in the living room. Two police officers sat on the sofa, taking notes. Chloe looked up at me, her eyes filled with unfamiliar wariness. I stood at the door without moving. The officer spoke first. “Are you Aria?” “Yes, I’m her sister, Aria.” The officers spread photocopies of our IDs and household registration on the coffee table, exchanging glances. “Ladies, is there some misunderstanding? You are indeed biological sisters. It’s written clearly here.” The younger officer tried to mediate. But Chloe wouldn’t listen. She stubbornly insisted I was a stranger who’d broken into her home. “There’s no misunderstanding. I just don’t know her. Take her away!” The officers had no choice. They quietly told me, “Why don’t you stay somewhere else tonight? Wait until her emotions stabilize, and if that doesn’t work, contact your parents.” I sat on the stairwell steps, my mind in chaos. I didn’t dare go far. I found a budget hotel nearby. I called my mom. She seemed to be playing cards. I kept it brief, not mentioning the prank notes, just saying Chloe didn’t seem to recognize me. Mom sighed. She said, “Aria, is your sister still angry with you?” I didn’t understand. “Angry about what?” Mom said, “About Zachary.” “You forced her to break up with him, made her block him. Chloe hasn’t been quite right since then.” Zachary was Chloe’s boyfriend of three years. Three months ago, Chloe caught him with another girl. They were being intimate. Chloe called me, crying so hard she couldn’t form a complete sentence. I told her to break up immediately, block him, leave no way back. “She might have mentally linked you to that painful period, so she doesn’t want to remember you at all.” I hung up, my mind a tangled mess. Was this really a psychological issue? I searched online for a well-reviewed counseling center. The doctor listened and nodded. “Your sister has amnesia specifically about you, correct?” “Yes.” “This is called dissociative amnesia, a form of selective memory suppression.” “Her brain isn’t damaged, and the memories exist intact. Her psychological defense mechanism has simply sealed off that part, preventing her from accessing it. She hasn’t truly forgotten.” I was silent for a moment. “Can she remember again?” “Yes.” The doctor spoke with certainty, no hesitation. “But she needs a trigger point, something to give that sealed memory an outlet.” He paused. “Was the starting point of your sister’s amnesia the trauma within that relationship, or how it was handled after the breakup?” “I don’t know.” “Then you need to find out.” He picked up his pen again. “You could try finding her ex-boyfriend. If that relationship can reach true closure in a meaningful sense, it might be a breakthrough.” “If your sister is willing, she could also come here so we can talk.”

The one who tied the bell must untie it. But could that bastard Zachary really untie this knot? I found Zachary’s number and called. No answer. I sent a message on SnapChat: [This is Aria. I need to talk to you. 3 PM, Countryside Café on South Street.] I arrived half an hour early. I chose a window seat with a view of the street corner. Three o’clock. Zachary didn’t show. Three-thirty. Zachary didn’t show. Four o’clock. The coffee had gone completely cold, and Zachary still hadn’t appeared. I tried calling him again. The line wouldn’t connect. Then my phone buzzed on the table—an unknown number. “Hello, is this Ms. Aria?” “Yes.” “This is the Criminal Investigation Unit of the City Police Department.” I thought something had happened to Chloe. My hand shook, nearly knocking over the coffee cup. “Do you know Zachary? We received a report that he was found in an alley in the west district with severe head trauma. He’s in the hospital now, unconscious.” I didn’t catch the next few words. My ears were ringing. “We checked his recent communications. Both you and Chloe contacted him recently. Please return to your apartment now to assist with the investigation.” I left the café. The cold wind outside jolted me awake. Back at the apartment, Chloe was curled up on the sofa, arms wrapped around her knees, making herself as small as possible. The officers said there was no surveillance at the crime scene, no witnesses, and no weapon found. Zachary’s phone was also missing. Chloe shook her head to every question. “Zachary? Who’s that? I don’t know him.” “I don’t remember him contacting me. I don’t remember meeting him.” “I’ve been home these past few days. I haven’t gone anywhere.” Her answers were airtight. Naturally, the police couldn’t get anything from me either. After all, Zachary hadn’t answered my call—I’d only sent a SnapChat message and never met him. The officers told us to keep our phones available for further assistance with the investigation. After the police left, I pulled Chloe onto the sofa. “Chloe, tell me the truth. Did you go see Zachary these past two days?” Chloe looked up, her eyes red and full of confusion. “I don’t remember. I really don’t remember who Zachary is.” But I knew her too well. When she was nervous, she’d unconsciously wring her fingers. From the moment the police entered until now, her hands hadn’t stopped that small gesture. My doubts grew stronger. But I didn’t press further. After she fell asleep, I quietly entered her room. In her nightstand drawer was a diary with a combination lock. I tried several of her common passwords. None worked. I hesitated, then entered my birthday. The lock opened. I flipped it open. The first few pages were in her usual handwriting. Further in, the writing became messy. The last few pages made a chill run down my spine. “Zachary says he owes a lot of debt. The creditors will kill him.” “He says he wronged me and wants to see me one last time before he leaves.” “I don’t know if I should agree.” “If Aria finds out I’m still in contact with him, she’ll definitely yell at me. I can’t let her know.” I closed the diary and sat in the darkness for a long time without moving. My mind was even more chaotic. Had Chloe gone to see Zachary? Did Zachary’s injury have anything to do with Chloe? I didn’t dare think further. Each question pressed down on me until I could barely breathe.

I looked up and found Chloe already awake, watching me quietly. I walked over and placed the diary in front of her. “Chloe, do you really not remember at all?” Tears silently fell from Chloe’s eyes. She didn’t wipe them, just let them drop onto the blanket. “You went to see him, didn’t you?” But she bit her lip and said nothing. “You were there, weren’t you?” Still no response. I shouted sternly, “Chloe!” She jerked her head up, crying. “I don’t remember. I really don’t remember anything.” “I read what I wrote, but I don’t remember what I did that night. My mind is blank. I’m not lying. I don’t even remember you.” “When I heard he was hurt, I thought maybe I did something, which is why I forgot. I’m so scared.” “Don’t cry yet. Listen to me. There’s only one thing you need to do now.” She looked up, eyes blurred with tears. “We’re going to the police station. You need to tell them everything you know.” Her body stiffened. “I…” “Chloe, we still don’t know who hurt Zachary, but I believe you wouldn’t do something like that.” I gripped her hand. “If you keep hiding and saying nothing, that’s when there’ll be real trouble.” “Trust the police. Let them find the truth.” Chloe bit her lip, silent for a long time, then nodded. I accompanied Chloe to the Criminal Investigation Unit. Chloe handed over her diary. She explained everything from start to finish, including Zachary contacting her and the gap in her memory. The officers’ expressions changed after hearing it all. Police further retrieved all surveillance footage from our apartment complex that night. The footage clearly showed that Aria had indeed never left the apartment that night. But after I fell asleep, Mrs. Patterson had visited our apartment. She stayed in our apartment for a while, then hurriedly left the complex and took a taxi. After a considerable amount of time, she returned looking anxious. The officer looked at me and Chloe. “We’ve made another major discovery. Zachary’s ex-girlfriend—besides Ms. Chloe—there’s also a woman named Rachel.” “Her mother is someone you know—this Mrs. Patterson.” I gasped. “Mrs. Patterson?” From the prank notes, to Mrs. Patterson from 404 bringing cake, to Chloe’s amnesia after eating the cake, to Zachary’s injury—didn’t everything start after the cake was delivered? My mind raced through all the recent details. These fragmented details were like scattered beads suddenly strung together on a thread, and the other end of that thread seemed to point to the same person. The moment this thought emerged, I felt cold all over.

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On the day of my wedding, I knew perfectly well that the cup of chamomile tea my half-sister handed me was laced with sedatives. Still, I smiled and drank every last drop. I watched her eagerly slip into my custom bridal gown and climb into the wedding limousine belonging to Tristan Vance, the golden boy of Manhattan’s elite. In my previous life, I woke up hysterical. I tore apart her innocent facade, ruined her reputation, and had her banished from New York. Meanwhile, I married Tristan. Using my father’s authority as a Four-Star General at the Pentagon, I helped Tristan wash his family’s dirty money clean and pushed him to the absolute pinnacle of power. It wasn’t until I was lying on my deathbed after a critical surgery that the truth came out. Tristan dismissed my doctors, wrapped his arm around my sister, and held their one-month-old son. He looked down at me with cold, calculating eyes. “Chloe, if it weren’t for the Sterling family’s military connections, I would have sent you to your grave years ago for the way you treated Harper. Now that your father is under federal investigation and can’t even save himself, it’s time you give up your seat.” My sister ground the heel of her stiletto into my fingers, her smile twisted and cruel. “Sister, the empire you built? My baby and I will enjoy it to the fullest. From now on, the title and glory of Mrs. Vance are finally returning to their rightful owner.” Amidst the agonizing pain and soul-crushing betrayal, I took my last breath. Then, I opened my eyes. I was reborn, right back on the morning of my wedding. …… Outside the window, the faint, melodic notes of the wedding march drifted into the room. I sat up, waited in the silence for about fifteen minutes, and then massaged my temples before pushing the door open. My mother was just turning to walk down the hall, the unshed tears still glistening in the corners of her eyes. She looked up, freezing when she saw me leaning against the doorframe. A loud gasp escaped her lips. Hearing the noise, my father turned around and froze. “Chloe? Didn’t you just get in the car?” He pointed a shaking finger toward the front gates in absolute shock. “Then who the hell was wearing the wedding dress and just got driven away?” I placed a hand over my chest, feigning panic and confusion. “No way… Last night, Harper told me how much she was going to miss me. She brought me a cup of warm chamomile tea. After I drank it, my head felt so heavy, and I slept right through until just now…” The joyous, celebratory atmosphere of the estate instantly plummeted to freezing. The gathered high-society guests exchanged subtle, knowing glances. My mother’s chest heaved violently. She nearly collapsed before her voice rang out like a whip, “Bring Ruby to me right now!” Ruby, the mistress, was dragged out of the crowd by my father’s military aides. She was clutching a designer suitcase, clearly having tried to slip away in the chaos. “No wonder you were crying harder than me earlier,” my mother sneered. “I thought you were actually heartbroken to see my daughter leave. Turns out, you were crying tears of joy because you personally sent your own daughter into the Vance family’s limousine!” Ruby’s eyes darted around nervously, but she forced a brazen look onto her face. “What do you mean, Madam? The eldest Miss overslept and missed her own wedding. How can you pin this on my poor Harper?” Before she could finish her sentence, the estate butler hurried over, his voice hushed but urgent. “General, Madam, the motorcade from the Hayes family has arrived at the gates for the Second Miss.” My mother’s face was covered in frost. “Which car did Harper get into? Chase her down and bring her back!” A cold smirk ghosted across my lips. It had been almost half an hour. By now, she was definitely already inside Tristan Vance’s Upper East Side penthouse. And knowing Tristan, he had probably been unable to keep his hands off her the second the doors closed. My eyes swept over the poorly concealed triumph at the corners of Ruby’s mouth. Everything clicked into place. This mother and daughter had played a brilliant hand. Years ago, Ruby was planted by my father’s political rivals. She drugged him, got pregnant with Harper, and my father—to protect his military reputation—had no choice but to let them into the estate. Now, Harper was using the exact same playbook. She drugged me, swapped our places, and stole my groom. Even if I realized it now, the damage was done. The rice was already cooked. There were only two choices laid out before me: swallow this ultimate humiliation, or take her place and marry into the Hayes family. The Hayes family wasn’t old money or a massive political dynasty, but Carter Hayes was young, fiercely capable, and already my father’s most trusted Colonel. His military record was decorated with honors, and his future in Washington was limitless. My father had personally arranged Harper’s marriage to him because he admired Carter’s steadfast and resilient character. But Harper had stolen the sky and swapped the sun. She took the billionaire heir she coveted and tossed the military arrangement she despised right into my lap. If I accepted this, within half a day, the news would spread across all of New York: the eldest Sterling daughter was tossed aside like garbage by the Vance family, forcing her to marry the Hayes boy instead. I would become the laughingstock of the entire elite social circle. 【Chapter 2】 In my past life, Harper had relied on Tristan’s backing to brazenly steal my marriage. At the time, with my parents’ furious support, I led our security detail to crash the lavish Hamptons wedding venue. Tristan, terrified of my father’s authority in the Armed Forces, flat-out denied knowing about the bride swap. He stood by and watched as my father’s men dragged Harper away in tears. Naturally, I proceeded with the ceremony. After the wedding, Tristan treated me like a queen. I had been naive enough to believe he was genuinely kept in the dark that day. Little did I know, he and Harper had been sleeping together for months. He was simply waiting for the perfect moment, using my family’s military influence to expand his illicit empire, before mercilessly throwing us into an abyss of despair. “The Second Miss isn’t in her room!” the butler reported urgently. “The wedding dress sent by the Hayes family was left on her bed, but all of her personal belongings and passports are gone!” He handed over a sealed manila envelope. “We found this hidden in a false bottom of the Second Miss’s drawer.” My father’s face was stormy as he tore it open. Inside were several passionate, sickeningly sweet love letters written in Tristan’s own handwriting, along with pieces of breathtakingly expensive jewelry. The veins on my father’s forehead throbbed. He violently slammed the envelope right into Ruby’s face. “This is your precious daughter! Seducing her own brother-in-law! You and your spawn have dragged the Sterling family name through the mud!” Harper had obviously treasured those tokens of affection. But the moment I woke up, I knew exactly where to find them and expose them to the light of day. I wanted everyone to see clearly that they had been carrying on an illicit affair long before today. Just as expected, whispers instantly erupted among the high-society guests, their voices dripping with disdain. “The daughter of a homewrecker. The General showing them mercy and letting them stay was already a massive favor, and she repays it by drugging the rightful heiress? Stealing a marriage to climb the Vance social ladder? She’s begging for death!” “That Vance boy is a piece of trash, too. He was engaged to the eldest Miss Sterling, yet he still messed around with that unpresentable side-piece. Shows exactly what kind of character he has!” Ruby calculated the time in her head. Assuming the deed was already done and the wedding finalized, she actually straightened her spine and looked my father in the eye. “General, Harper is still the Second Miss of the Sterling family! Why not just give them your blessing? It would make things much easier to explain to the Vance family…” My mother trembled with rage. She raised her hand and delivered a sharp, echoing slap across Ruby’s face. “Give them my blessing?! You and your bastard daughter use vile, disgusting tricks to steal my daughter’s marriage, and you have the audacity to ask for my blessing?!” “Guards! Lock this woman up. We are handing her over to the NYPD later today!” Ruby collapsed onto the floor, screeching at the top of her lungs, “You wouldn’t dare touch me! I am Tristan Vance’s mother-in-law now! When my son-in-law finds out, he won’t let any of you get away with this!” “I only have one daughter, and her name is Chloe,” my father said, his voice dropping to a glacial chill. “Taking you in all these years was the absolute limit of my mercy. Since you dared to plot against my real daughter, don’t blame me for what happens next.” He waved his hand. Two military aides immediately dragged Ruby away without an ounce of hesitation. 【Chapter 3】 The butler looked conflicted. “General, the Hayes motorcade is still waiting at the gates. They are asking what time they can come in to receive the bride.” My father’s face was dark as iron. He spoke with absolute finality. “Gather the men. We are heading to the Vance estate! We will tie that wretched girl up, drag her back here, and force her to marry into the Hayes family immediately!” “Dad, don’t.” I took a step forward, calmly placing a hand on his arm. “If Tristan Vance’s heart belongs to Harper, then I, Chloe Sterling, have zero interest in fighting over a two-timing, unfaithful piece of trash.” My eyes were steady and resolute. “Carter Hayes is a man you mentored yourself. He is brilliant, capable, and fiercely loyal. If we reject his motorcade today because of this mess, how will he and the Hayes family ever show their faces in society again? I am willing to marry him.” My mother grabbed my hand in shock. “Chloe, don’t speak out of anger. How could you possibly…” “Mom, I’m not acting out of spite.” I squeezed her hand back. “Carter is young and promising. He’s climbed the ranks through his own military merit, and his future is bright. I trust my father’s judgment, and I trust Carter’s future.” Hearing this, the surrounding guests looked at me with deep admiration and respect. “The eldest Miss Sterling truly has an incredible grace and vision. So rare to see!” “Compared to her, that illegitimate daughter who uses dirty tricks is like mud next to a diamond.” My mother pulled me into a heartbroken embrace, her voice choking with sobs. “I just don’t want you to be wronged…” My father took a deep, shuddering breath. “That Vance boy dared to humiliate my daughter like this. From this day forward, he can forget about getting even a shred of protection from me! Those gray-area businesses he runs on the coasts? Let’s see how well they do without my cover!” His tone was ruthless. “But right now, I must go to the Vance family and demand an explanation. Otherwise, that arrogant punk will really think the Sterling family is weak and easy to manipulate!” By the time our convoy arrived at the Vance family’s breathtaking Upper East Side penthouse, the wedding reception was in full swing. The elite guests paused, turning their heads and whispering furiously as our imposing group stormed into the ballroom. “Isn’t that the eldest Miss Sterling? Wasn’t she supposed to be today’s bride? Why is she just walking in now?” “Wait, then who was the woman who exchanged rings with Mr. Vance and was just taken upstairs?” An uncle who had accompanied us let out a cold scoff. “Just a bastard daughter born from a mistress. She used underhanded drugs to steal her older sister’s wedding!” The ballroom erupted into a tidal wave of shocked gasps and gossip. As the commotion grew louder, Tristan finally descended the grand staircase. Seeing me, he immediately took the offensive, scolding me before I could speak: “Chloe, haven’t you made enough of a scene? You can’t blame Harper for all of this!” “If you want to blame someone, blame the fact that your family scheduled your weddings on the exact same day. She simply got confused and got into the wrong limousine. And I,” he paused, his eyes completely devoid of guilt, “had a few too many drinks earlier. I was caught up in the moment and mistook her for you. What’s done is done. I have to take responsibility for her now.” He looked down at me from the stairs. “But don’t worry. With my status in New York, I won’t just toss you aside. I’ll make sure there’s always a place for you by my side.” 【Chapter 4】 I almost wanted to clap and cheer for his shameless, breathtaking audacity. Leave a place for me by his side? What century did he think we were living in? Did he really think he was some king who could have a wife and a harem? If it weren’t for the massive shadow of the Sterling family protecting him, his shady, borderline-illegal empire would have been eradicated by the feds ages ago. He wouldn’t even have the platform to stand here and spew this garbage. Did he seriously believe the daughter of a high-ranking General would settle for being his side-piece? My father was so furious he actually laughed. “Tristan Vance, say that one more time? You want my daughter to be your mistress? Who the hell gave you the nerve?! Have you forgotten who keeps you out of federal prison?!” Just then, Mr. Vance—Tristan’s father—hurried out of the VIP lounge. “General, what’s all this…” He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. “Chloe? What are you doing down here?” My mother violently threw the stack of love letters directly at his chest. “Read them yourself, Richard Vance! Your precious son has been sleeping with that illegitimate wretch behind our backs. They conspired to drug my daughter and steal her wedding! Today, your family owes the Sterlings an explanation!” Mr. Vance’s face turned a sickening shade of purple. He raised his heavy walking cane and cracked it viciously across Tristan’s back. “You ungrateful bastard! Explain yourself! What is the meaning of this?!” Before Tristan could defend himself, Harper stumbled out of the elevator. She was clutching a silk bathrobe that wasn’t even fully buttoned, tears streaming down her face as she threw herself in front of Tristan to shield him. “Mr. Vance, it’s not Tristan’s fault! It’s all my fault. I just couldn’t control my feelings for him. If you have to hit someone, hit me!” She then turned her tear-streaked face to my father. Her voice was trembling, but every word was a calculated trap. “Dad, it’s already done. If you make a massive scene, the Sterling family’s military reputation will be ruined. Think of the press. You’ll lose face…” My mother’s fingertips shook with rage. “You didn’t care about the Sterling family’s face when you drugged my daughter and stole her groom! And now that we are demanding justice, we are the ones ruining the reputation?! You shameless little bitch!” I stepped forward, my voice eerily calm. “Harper, if you had just been honest with me from the beginning, I might have simply let you have him. Why did you have to use such dirty, underhanded tactics on the morning of my wedding? Did you want to humiliate me, or did you want to turn the entire Sterling family into a joke across New York?” Her face went stark white as I hit the nail on the head. “Tristan and I are truly in love…” she whimpered, looking up at Tristan like a helpless doe. The elite crowd wasn’t stupid. They saw right through the theatrics and began whispering loudly: “Like mother, like daughter! Her mother climbed into the General’s bed using dirty tricks, and the daughter is even better at it!” “If she were my daughter, I’d break her legs!” Someone even called out sarcastically to Mr. Vance: “Richard, if your son pulls a stunt like this and your family doesn’t make it right today, you’re going to have a very hard time doing business in this city.” 【Chapter 5】 Mr. Vance looked ready to die of humiliation. He threw his cane to the marble floor with a loud clatter and delivered two stinging, back-to-back slaps right across Tristan’s face. “You piece of trash! Get on your knees and apologize to your father-in-law, your mother-in-law, and to Chloe! Then we are re-doing this ceremony, and you are marrying Chloe today!” Tristan took the blows without flinching. When he looked at me, his eyes were dripping with raw, undisguised malice—the exact same look he gave me right before I died in my past life. In his twisted mind, I was the villain of this story, not the victim. He let out a dark sneer. “Dad, the only woman in my heart is Harper. Chloe is a stuck-up, arrogant princess. I’m sick of just looking at her, and I will never marry her!” “If she’s willing to lower her head and be obedient, maybe I’ll take her out to social events once in a while. Otherwise, let me make this clear right now: I will never give her the title of my wife! I’d love to see who in New York would dare take a woman that I, Tristan Vance, have publicly discarded!” The sheer audacity of his words left even the hardened socialites in the room gasping in horror. No one could comprehend where this man—who relied entirely on the Sterling family’s military umbrella to survive the criminal underworld—was getting the courage to act so arrogant. Ever since Mr. Vance retired, Tristan had become increasingly reckless. He stole territory from rival syndicates and offended countless dangerous men. It was me who begged my father to deploy resources to save his life when the cartels came for him. Tristan had literally dropped to his knees in front of my father, swearing on his life that he would never betray me. But now, with his wings slightly hardened and a little bit of street cred to his name, he dared to trample on the very people who built him! Seeing my silence, Tristan thought I was intimidated. He pushed his luck even further: “Since you clearly can’t let me go, I’ll give you one last chance. We can do it the old-fashioned way. You can move in as my mistress.” “Pour a drink for Harper, apologize properly to the true Mrs. Vance, and if you behave yourself, I might consider letting you bear one of my children.” The ballroom erupted into sheer pandemonium. Even the elders of the Vance family looked away in absolute disgust at his shamelessness. My father’s rage had reached its absolute peak, and it suddenly settled into a terrifying, dead calm. He spoke slowly, his voice echoing in the massive room: “Mr. Vance, you certainly think highly of yourself. The Sterling family cannot reach your lofty heights. And my daughter will certainly not accept your generous offer of being a mistress.” He turned his piercing gaze onto Harper. “As for this wretch, as of today, I, Arthur Sterling, have no second daughter! From this second onward, Harper is completely severed from the Sterling family! Whatever she does, whether it brings glory or ruin, it is solely the Vance family’s burden to bear!” 【Chapter 6】 Harper forced a few fake tears to fall. “Dad, you always favored my sister anyway. Now you finally get what you want.” “But Tristan and I are truly in love. Sister is the real third party here.” She turned her chin up to look at me. “I’m going to post on Instagram and let all of New York know that Tristan dumped you! Don’t come crawling back begging for him later.” I raised a hand to stop my father, who looked ready to explode. “Don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “Only you would treat a piece of garbage like a prized treasure. Oh, and by the way, the three trucks of dowry sitting in the motorcade outside? I’m taking every single box back.” Harper instantly lost her mind, shrieking, “That’s my dowry! You have no right to take it!” I let out a cold laugh. “Your pitiful share is still sitting at the estate. I can be generous and have a servant drop it off for you later. But my belongings? Don’t even think about touching a single thread.” She lunged at me, screaming and trying to tear at my clothes. “You bitch, those are mine!” My mother moved lightning fast, shoving her hard in the chest. My father immediately signaled his military aides to go start the trucks. Tristan snapped his fingers. Instantly, dozens of burly, suited bodyguards swarmed forward, forming a massive wall around my family. “Nobody moves,” Tristan sneered. “I gave you an out, and you threw it in my face. Since that dowry followed Harper’s car here, it belongs to her. If you try to take it today, you’re declaring war on me!” Faced with this mafia-style intimidation, my father didn’t even blink. “Tristan Vance, touch me and see what happens.” Tristan laughed like a maniac. “Old man, don’t think those stars on your shoulder mean everything! If I didn’t keep the underground in check, those cartel psychos would have bombed your Pentagon office by now! If you know what’s good for you, leave your oldest daughter here for my bed. Otherwise, none of you are walking out of those doors!” My father’s chest heaved violently at the disrespect, his face draining of color. My mother quickly held onto him, rubbing his back to calm his breathing. Harper leaned into Tristan’s chest, giggling mockingly. “See? Your family is so stubborn and blind to reality!” “Leave the dowry here for me. Who knows, maybe when you inevitably get in trouble later, I’ll put in a good word for you with Tristan.” My mother was so furious she tried to lunge forward to slap her, but Harper actually raised her foot and kicked my mother in the shin. “Back off, you old hag! I’m sick of looking at your miserable face!” I immediately stepped in front, shielding my parents with my body. But Tristan shot his hand out, gripping my jaw painfully and forcing my face up to look at him. “Chloe, it’s not too late to regret it. For the sake of our past, I can let you stay here tonight.” “As for these two old fossils, since they disrespected me, they can drop to their knees, kowtow to apologize, and I’ll let them leave.” He gestured. Two of his thugs grabbed my parents by the arms, twisting them painfully, while two massive bodyguards stepped toward me, preparing to drag me upstairs by force. My father’s military aides were hopelessly outnumbered and blocked by Tristan’s mob of men. They couldn’t break through. Just as the situation was about to turn violently ugly, a booming, authoritative voice echoed from the grand entrance: “NYPD! Nobody move!”

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