Category: English

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, I waited for Carter at City Hall for four hours. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t show. When I texted him, demanding to know where he was, his response came through as a blistering barrage of venom: “Who the hell do you think you are, keeping tabs on me?” “My patience has a limit, Tina. If you don’t drop this right now, we are done!” I was in a daze when I stepped off the curb. I never even saw the drunk driver speeding through the red light. As the paramedics rushed my stretcher through the chaotic ER doors to treat my injuries, my eyes caught a familiar silhouette. It was Carter. He was half-kneeling on the linoleum floor, gently holding Mia’s hand as he pressed a small Band-Aid to her knuckle. His voice was a soft, reverent murmur. “Thank God it’s just a scrape. It won’t scar.” I tore my eyes away. With a chilling, hollow calm, I pulled out my phone and dialed my boss. “I’ll take it,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “I’ll take the transfer to head the foreign trade division in the London office.” 1 “That is fantastic news, Tina. With your fluency in four languages, having you anchor things in London is a massive relief.” The moment I hung up, the ER doctor began his examination. A few minutes later, his brow furrowed. “The muscle tear in your calf is manageable,” he said gently, “but there are clear signs of a miscarriage. I strongly recommend we proceed with a D&C surgery immediately.” My whole body went rigid. A baby? Seeing the sheer terror on my face, the doctor’s expression softened into pity. “You didn’t know you were pregnant?” A single tear hot-tracked down my cheek. I gave a numb, trembling nod. He offered a heavy sigh and a few gentle words of comfort I couldn’t process. I took his advice. My leg required twelve stitches, and that same afternoon, I underwent the surgical abortion. By the time I limped back into our apartment that evening, Carter was slouched on the sofa, bathed in the blue glow of his phone. A dopey, irrepressible smile played on his lips. I didn’t have to guess; he was texting Mia. He didn’t even bother to look up when the door clicked shut. “Where have you been? It’s late.” I told him the truth. I told him how I left City Hall, got hit by a car, needed twelve stitches, and had to have a minor surgery. Not a single muscle twitched in his jaw. No flicker of concern. He just gave a distracted grunt of acknowledgment and kept his eyes glued to his screen. I knew it then. He hadn’t heard a single word I’d said. Tears prickled like crushed glass in my eyes. It felt as though someone had taken a hunting knife to my chest, twisted it, and then plugged the wound so the blood couldn’t escape. The pressure was suffocating. “Well, don’t just stand there,” he muttered. “Go make dinner. I’m starving.” I balled my hands into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms until my knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white. It was the only way to keep the tears from falling. I didn’t have the energy to scream at him anymore. “I already ate. Order Postmates.” I dragged my bad leg toward the bedroom. Suddenly, Carter’s hand clamped down on my wrist like a vice. For the first time all night, he actually looked at me. “Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum because I forgot your birthday?” he demanded. “It was weeks ago, Tina. Are you really going to be this petty?” A pale, broken smile stretched across my face. “You’re right. It is petty. Which is why I won’t be sweating the small stuff anymore. You don’t need to worry about me. You just focus on playing nurse to your fragile little assistant.” I wrenched my arm out of his grasp and took a step forward. “What has Mia ever done to you?” he barked, stepping into my path. “Why do you have to be such a bitch to a young girl who looks up to you? Have you lost your damn mind?” “How many times do I have to tell you that she and I are strictly professional? Tina, I didn’t tell you you could walk away!” He shoved me. Hard. Off-balance and favoring my torn muscle, I crashed heavily to the hardwood floor. The sudden, violent bend of my knee ripped the new stitches open. Hot blood instantly soaked through the pristine white gauze, blossoming into a dark stain on my light jeans. My purse hit the floor, spilling its contents. My passport and my birth certificate—the documents I’d carefully gathered for City Hall—scattered across the rug. Carter’s eyes went wide. It was as if the sight of the documents finally jolted his memory. He had promised we’d get our marriage license today. Panic flashed across his face. He scrambled to help me up, dragging me onto the sofa. His tone instantly shifted, softening into damage control. “How did you get hurt?” he stammered. “Look, I had a massive crisis to handle at work today, that’s why I missed City Hall. We’ll just go tomorrow.” A massive crisis. A scraped knuckle on Mia’s hand was a massive crisis. Deep in my pelvis, the fresh trauma of the D&C began to throb—a vicious, hollow cramping. I curled my arms around my stomach. My body was in agony, but my heart was utterly decimated. A sheen of cold sweat broke out across my forehead. “Tomorrow is Saturday,” I whispered. “City Hall is closed.” Carter stared at me, flustered and entirely out of his depth. “Carter,” I breathed out. “Can you just get me a glass of hot water?” “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He sprang up like a man pardoned from death row, grabbing my mug to head to the kitchen. But just then, his phone chimed. He glanced at the screen. Instinctively, he set the mug back down. The corners of his mouth tilted up into that familiar, sickening smile. He was entirely consumed. He turned, walked into the guest bedroom, shut the door behind him, and never came back out. I curled into a tight ball on the sofa, the taste of bitter ash coating the back of my tongue. 2 For my birthday last month, Carter had promised to drive upstate with me to see my parents and officially ask for my hand. My parents had been over the moon. They’d spent days preparing. They woke up at dawn, went to the farmer’s market, scrubbed the house from top to bottom, and cooked a massive, beautiful feast to welcome him. The food grew cold. I couldn’t reach him. I had cried out of sheer humiliation, but my parents—always so gentle—just patted my back and made excuses for him, assuming he was caught up in an emergency. Later that night, I found his “emergency” on Mia’s Instagram story. He had vanished all day to take her to a pier carnival to watch the fireworks. When I finally confronted him, screaming until my throat was raw, asking how he could humiliate my parents like that, he had just looked at me with cold detachment. He called me a lunatic. “Dinner is just dinner. You can eat anytime. The fireworks were a one-night-only event,” he had reasoned, perfectly calm. “Besides, your parents would have cooked anyway. Stop being so dramatic.” After a week of icy silence between us, he declared that today was an “auspicious date” and told me to get dressed for City Hall. I knew it was his twisted version of an olive branch. And because we had survived the trenches of our twenties together, building a life for eight years just to finally reach the altar, I had spinelessly agreed. Usually, I was the one to break first after a fight. This time, because he had disrespected my parents, I held out for a week. Because I loved him, I had compromised. Again and again. I had drawn lines in the sand, only to let the tide wash them away the moment he smiled at me. I had inadvertently taught him that there were absolutely no consequences for hurting me. Our relationship had degraded from a partnership of mutual respect into a psychological game where he held all the cards. A slap in the face followed by a piece of candy. He had me entirely under his thumb. And then came Mia. It was as if she had a sixth sense. Whenever I needed Carter, she would miraculously face a crisis, cleanly extracting him from my life. Just like today. I had sat there clutching my passport, watching the numbers on the screen tick by for four agonizing hours. He was “handling an emergency.” In reality, he was escorting her to a clinic for a Band-Aid. It was almost poetic in its cruelty. But the well of my disappointment had finally run dry. The moment corporate processed my visa for London, I was a ghost. The next morning, Carter emerged from the guest room and tossed a small, velvet-wrapped box into my lap. “Consider it compensation for missing yesterday.” I popped the lid. Resting on the silk was the new limited-edition Bulgari necklace. I had been obsessed with it, dropping hints for months that I wanted it for my birthday. But before I could speak, he sneered, “It’s such a gaudy piece anyway. Honestly, even if you wear it, people are just going to assume it’s a fake.” The insult hit me like a physical blow. But then, the pieces clicked together. I had seen that exact necklace resting against Mia’s collarbone in her latest post. I weighed the pendant in my palm. The metal felt just slightly off. It was a replica. A high-tier knockoff. In his eyes, I simply wasn’t worth the real thing. In that split second, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel the familiar sting of betrayal or the urge to weep. Instead, a profound, sweeping clarity washed over me. It was the liberating relief of sunlight breaking through a long, suffocating storm. I carelessly tossed the box onto the corner of the sofa. Carter’s brow pinched in irritation. I didn’t make his customary Sunday breakfast. Instead, I ordered a heavy delivery brunch for one, and a pharmacy drop-off of medical supplies. When the food arrived, Carter scowled. “Delivery again? I told you to stop eating that garbage. It’s loaded with sodium.” I ignored him. My abdominal cramps had been blinding last night, leaving me completely unable to tend to my ruptured stitches. I dry-swallowed a heavy painkiller and waited for the edge to blunt. The blood-soaked gauze had dried and adhered to my skin. As I slowly peeled it back, I had to gasp for air through my teeth to ride out the searing pain. Carter caught a glimpse and slammed his coffee mug down. “Jesus, Tina, I’m trying to eat! That is repulsive. Can’t you do that in the bathroom?” I gritted my teeth and gave the gauze a final yank. Before I could formulate a response, an automated Siri voice chirped cheerfully from his phone on the counter: “Reminder: Mia’s menstrual cycle begins today.” I froze, lifting my eyes to meet his. A flash of genuine panic crossed his face. He quickly flipped his phone over, clearing his throat. “Don’t read into that. She got horrible cramps last month and ended up in the ER. I just wanted to track it so I could remind her to take it easy, so her work doesn’t suffer.” I stared at him in the heavy, suffocating silence. Finally, I asked, “Carter, we’ve been together for eight years. Do you have any idea when my period is?” He shot up from his stool, defensive and annoyed. “Are you seriously picking a fight over this? You’re tough as nails. Why would I need to track yours?” He waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. Make me a thermos of ginger tea before I leave.” 3 A memory unspooled in my mind. A torrential downpour last spring. He had promised to pick me up from work but never showed. I had walked to the subway, soaked to the bone. When I finally dragged myself into our lobby, shivering violently, I ran into him. He hadn’t picked me up because he was busy driving Mia home so she wouldn’t have to take a cab in the rain. I was on my period that day. The freezing rain had triggered debilitating cramps. I had begged him to run down to the pharmacy on the corner for ibuprofen. He had rolled his eyes, calling me dramatic. “It’s downstairs, Tina. The walk won’t kill you. I’m not your errand boy. I’m just grabbing a jacket, I have to head right back out.” He had slammed the door in my face. I found out later he was rushing out to catch a movie premiere with Mia. Good, I thought now. I’m glad you’re leaving. I don’t want to look at your face anyway. Fighting through the dull ache in my pelvis, I boiled a pot of ginger tea. I skimped on the honey but dumped in enough raw ginger to strip the enamel off his teeth. I hoped it burned that manipulative little bitch’s throat. The moment the front door clicked shut behind him, I pulled out a suitcase. I started packing my essentials, arranging for a courier to ship them directly to my company’s temporary corporate housing. Once I landed in London, my coworkers would forward the rest. By 11 AM, I had purged the apartment of my existence. Anything I couldn’t pack, I tossed into the building’s incinerator in two agonizing trips. My phone buzzed. It was Carter. He ordered me to whip up a massive lunch. He was having “the boys” over. A cold fury settled in my chest. “Carter, you know my leg is injured. I can barely walk. And even if I were fine, look at the time. The fridge is empty. What exactly do you expect me to serve them?” Silence hung on the line. Then, a heavy, condescending sigh. “Is there literally anything I can count on you for?” He hung up. I was zipping up my suitcase, ready to walk out forever, when he texted me a pin to an upscale hotel downtown. “Bring the two bottles of vintage Bordeaux from my wine fridge. Pick up some high-end snacks. Leave it all at the front desk.” I let out a long, shuddering breath. The hotel was on the way to my corporate housing. If I didn’t bring the wine, he would blow up my phone all day, and I just wanted a clean getaway. Assuming his friends had brought their kids, I stopped at a boutique grocer and bought a massive bag of imported snacks. When I reached the hotel lobby, another text lit up my screen: “Don’t leave it at the desk. Bring it up to the suite.” When I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the private dining room, the first thing I saw was Carter peeling a shrimp and feeding it directly into Mia’s mouth. The table, packed exclusively with young women, erupted into obnoxious squeals. “Oh my god, Carter is literally the sweetest! Peeling shrimp for you, Mia? We’re so jealous!” Behind Mia sat a mountain of designer shopping bags, jewelry boxes, and a massive, tiered birthday cake. It was Mia’s birthday party. The guests were all her friends and former interns. When Carter saw me standing there, a flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by a dark scowl. “What are you doing inside? I told you to leave it at the desk.” Before I could answer, Mia gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest. “Oh, Carter, don’t be mad at her! It’s my fault. I texted her that I was craving snacks. You’re not mad at me, are you?” She blinked up at him, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely devoid of guilt. The ice in Carter’s expression melted instantly. He reached out, affectionately tapping her nose. “You little glutton.” As he turned away, Mia’s gaze flicked to me. A smug, triumphant smirk played on her lips. Carter waved a hand at me like I was the help. “You dropped it off. You can leave now.” I turned on my heel, but Mia’s sugary voice called out. “Wait, Tina!” She bounded over to me like a sprightly little bird, holding a porcelain plate with a massive slice of cake. “It’s my birthday! Have a bite of cake and wish me a happy birthday before you go.” I didn’t have the patience for her theater. “I’m busy. I’m leaving.” But she grabbed my elbow, her voice amplifying into a performative pout. “Are you refusing my cake, Tina? Or do you just not want to wish me well?” She turned back to the table. “Please, Tina, just make my birthday wish come true.” Carter stood up, puffing his chest out to defend her honor. “Tina, just eat the damn cake. Don’t ruin her day.” I stared at him, the chill in my veins turning to absolute ice. “Carter. You know I am severely allergic to buttercream.” He rolled his eyes. “A single bite isn’t going to kill you. You’re always saying you’re allergic, but no one’s ever seen you have a reaction. Who knows if you’re even telling the truth.” Mia leaned in, her voice dripping with honey. “He’s right, Tina. This is a custom cake Carter ordered specifically for me. You couldn’t buy this anywhere.” She didn’t break eye contact. Her expression was a taunt. She was daring me to fight back. Leaning closer, she whispered so only I could hear: “If we make a scene right now… who do you think he’ll side with?” 4 “Let go of me.” I tried to pull my arm away, but Mia’s grip was surprisingly tight. My patience snapped. “I said, let go! I don’t have time for your pathetic little games!” “Are you just scared of losing to me, Tina?” I yanked my arm back with force. This time, her grip slipped, and the porcelain plate tumbled from her hand. The garishly colored cake smashed directly onto her chest, sending globs of heavy buttercream splattering into her face and eyes. Mia shrieked, stumbling backward in a perfectly choreographed swoon. Carter lunged forward, catching her firmly by the waist before she hit the floor. Fat, crocodile tears began to spill down Mia’s cheeks. “I just… I just thought you were so lucky to have such an amazing boyfriend, Tina. I just wanted some of your good luck. Why are you screaming at me?” Carter’s face twisted into a mask of pure rage. “Tina, you are out of your goddamn mind! I knew bringing you up here was a mistake!” “Apologize to her! Right now!” I stared at him, my face completely deadpan. “Did you even see what happened, Carter? And you’re demanding I apologize to her?” He pulled a sobbing Mia tighter against his chest. “Do you think I’m blind?! I saw you push her! Mia is the sweetest girl in the world, you think she’d frame you? You’re just insanely jealous of her, so you came here to ruin her night!” Hearing those words, I realized I was looking at a total stranger. The man I had loved for eight years did not exist. The fight drained out of me, leaving only a bone-deep, exhausted apathy. I looked him dead in the eye and delivered the eulogy of our life together. “You’re not just blind, Carter. You’re hollow. You don’t deserve a fraction of the love I gave you. We are done.” I turned to walk out the door. He lunged, grabbing my arm in a brutal grip. “Done?” he hissed. “Fine. Apologize to Mia, and I’ll accept the breakup.” “Go to hell.” Shock flashed in his eyes, instantly swallowed by a terrifying, violent fury. “I’m giving you one last chance, Tina. You are going to apologize to her, and you are going to eat a slice of this cake, or you’re not leaving this room.” Tears of sheer rage blurred my vision. “I didn’t do anything wrong! I’m not apologizing to her! And who the fuck do you think you are, telling me whether I can leave?” I wrenched myself toward the door, but he yanked me backward with a terrifying amount of force. “Don’t make me do this the hard way!” The sudden torque sent a jagged, blinding spike of pain through the torn muscle in my leg. Running on pure adrenaline, I spun around, raised my hand, and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. “You’re a monster, Carter!” I had never embarrassed him in public. For eight years, I had been the perfectly compliant, supportive partner. I had been his loyal dog. His face flushed a violent, mottled red. He grabbed me by the throat, dragging me backward until the edge of the dining table dug into my spine. Pinning me down with one hand, he grabbed a fistful of cake from the table. “You need to learn your place, Tina. A little punishment is exactly what you need to fall back in line.” I thrashed against him, beating my fists against his arms, but his grip on my throat was suffocating. I couldn’t make a sound. My eyes blew wide with terror as the mass of dairy and sugar descended toward my face. I managed to choke out a single, raspy plea. “Carter… please… it’ll kill me…” “Scared now?” he sneered. “Too late.” He jammed his fingers into my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and shoved the heavy lump of buttercream past my teeth. Grabbing a glass of red wine, he poured it directly over my face, forcing me to swallow the sickeningly sweet mass to keep from drowning. Satisfied, he threw me to the floor. “Look at that,” he panted, wiping his hands on a napkin. “No allergic reaction. You’re almost thirty years old, Tina. Is throwing tantrums for attention really all you have to offer? And now you’re using breakups as a threat?” Ignoring the bruising on my neck and the agonizing pain in my leg, I crawled toward the hallway, jamming my fingers down my throat, desperately trying to gag the buttercream back up. Disgusted, Carter dragged me by the collar out into the corridor. “Let’s see how long you keep up the act when you don’t have an audience!” He slammed the heavy oak door shut. Collapsed on the carpet, I caught a final glimpse through the closing crack of the door. Mia was looking down at me, a brilliant, victorious smile plastered across her face.

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My mother always said that taking things from your own daughter isn’t stealing. It’s just… borrowing without asking. My husband, Mark, had been drowning in a depression that lasted all through the holidays. His startup had imploded, leaving us gasping for air financially. I made a decision. I was going to be the life raft. “Mark,” I said, trying to inject some hope into the stagnant air of our living room. “Gold is at an all-time high. I’m going to sell my investment bars. All of them. It’s enough to clear the debts and give you a fresh start.” Hope flickered in his eyes for the first time in months. But when I spun the dial on the safe and pulled the heavy handle, my stomach dropped through the floor. The shelves were bare. The two pounds of gold bars I had been accumulating for years—my safety net, my emergency fund—were gone. The light in Mark’s eyes died instantly, replaced by the cold, hard glint of a man who feels he’s been played. “Natalie!” He roared, his face flushing crimson. “If you didn’t want to help, just say so! Why drag me through this charade? Do you get off on humiliating me?” Right on cue, my mother rushed out of the guest room, her face twisted into a mask of exaggerated disappointment. “Oh, Natalie, not again,” she sighed, shaking her head as if I were a toddler who had spilled juice on the carpet. “You’ve been like this since you were a little girl. Always losing things. Remember when you lost your birthday money under your own pillow? And now this? You can’t even keep track of gold bars? When are you going to grow up?” I stood there, mouth open, paralyzed. I had no defense. … I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Gold doesn’t just walk away. It was in a locked safe. That night, sleep was impossible. I tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around my legs like vines. Finally, I gave up and grabbed my phone, aimlessly scrolling through Poshmark to numb my brain. The algorithm, cruel and efficient, pushed a listing into my feed. “My daughter is too sweet, she insists on buying me gold jewelry, but the style is just too young for me. Sadly letting it go. Serious buyers only.” The comments section was a chorus of envy. “You’re so lucky! Your daughter is an angel.” “Is this the limited edition chain? I’ve been looking for this forever!” “I’ll take it! Maybe some of your daughter’s good karma will rub off on me.” The blood rushed to my head, dizzying and hot, before draining away to leave me ice cold. My fingers went rigid. That bracelet. The clasp. The specific link pattern. It didn’t just look like the one missing from my safe. It was the one missing from my safe. My hands trembling, I clicked on the seller’s profile: ThriftyMom_55. She had thousands of followers. A “trusted seller.” I scrolled through her sold listings, and it was like walking through a museum of my missing memories. Last Valentine’s Day. “Daughter insisted on buying me these preserved roses. I don’t get the hype. $30 takes them.” The photo showed the limited-edition Venus et Fleur arrangement Mark had waited three hours in line to get me. I remembered placing it on the mantle, feeling so loved. I went to the kitchen for water, came back, and it was gone. Mark and I had a screaming match that night. “Did you lose it? Did you misplace it? Your mom is right, you don’t appreciate anything!” he had yelled. I remembered my mother helping me tear the house apart, looking for it. “Oh dear,” she’d said, checking under the sofa. “You really need to be more careful.” She had sold it for thirty dollars. I scrolled down. Mother’s Day. “Happy Mother’s Day to me. Told my daughter not to spend money, but she bought this bag anyway. Not my style. Is it worth anything? Selling cheap.” It was the vintage Louis Vuitton I had tracked down for my mother-in-law’s 60th birthday. I had wanted to buy one for my own mother too, but she had waved me off, saying she preferred cash. So I wired her the money. But on the morning of the party, the bag for Mark’s mom vanished. Mark went from excited to confused to absolutely furious. “Natalie! If you didn’t want to buy it for my mom, just own it! Don’t lie to me and say it’s lost! Do you think I’m an idiot?” I had cried in the bathroom, feeling like I was losing my mind. My mother had come in with a fruit platter, soothing and toxic all at once. “Mark, go easy on her. Natalie has always been scatterbrained. She probably left it in a cab or something. Let’s not ruin the day.” She was gentle, but every word was a nail in the coffin of my credibility. Mark had exploded. “A three-thousand-dollar bag? Just ‘lost’? How much money has she flushed down the toilet over the years?” In the end, I drained my personal savings to give his mother two thousand dollars as an apology. Now I saw the truth. My mother had sold that bag for a grand. And my two thousand dollars? That just bought me the title of “careless spendthrift” in my husband’s eyes. Suddenly, a knock on the bedroom door made me jump. My mother peeked her head in. “Natalie? You awake? I need to talk to you.” I stared at her, my phone clutched tight against my chest. “What is it?” She didn’t notice the ice in my voice. She was too focused on her performance. “Sigh. I’ve been thinking. I’ve been staying here too long. I’m just a burden. Maybe after New Year’s, I should go back to the old house.” I almost snorted. She wasn’t leaving because she felt like a burden. She was leaving because she had successfully heisted my gold—worth nearly a hundred grand—and she needed to move the merchandise somewhere safe to sell it off piece by piece. When I didn’t respond, she sighed again, playing the martyr. “I see how Mark yells at you. It’s because I’m here, isn’t it? I’m cramping your style. I can’t be the reason your marriage fails. I’ll go.” Burden. Dragging me down. I almost laughed out loud. I grew up in a single-parent home. Just me and her against the world. When I married Mark, she refused a dowry, refused any financial help, and only asked for one thing: to live with us. Mark was touched. He thought she was a saint, unlike those “nightmare in-laws” you read about. He agreed instantly. But after the wedding? Expensive gifts Mark bought me vanished into thin air. We fought constantly. Mark thought I didn’t value his love. I felt like I was going crazy, gaslighted by my own reality. “I swear I put it right here…” I would say, over and over, sounding more unstable every time. And all along, it was her. My mother. orchestrating my insanity from the guest room. The front door slammed. Mark was home, and he reeked of whiskey. He didn’t even look at me. He walked straight to the bedroom, dragged his suitcase out of the closet, and threw it onto the floor. My heart hammered against my ribs. “What are you doing?” I grabbed his arm. He shook me off. “Natalie, I’m done. I want a divorce. I can’t take it anymore. You’re irresponsible, you’re careless, and I can’t build a life with someone who loses our future because she’s ‘forgetful.’” I froze. Before I could speak, my mother stepped out of her room. The timing was impeccable. “Natalie! Look what you’ve done! You’ve broken Mark’s heart again! You’re a grown woman, how can you be so messy?” She turned to Mark, her voice dripping with sympathetic reason. “Mark, please, calm down. This is my fault. I didn’t raise her right. She’s always been clumsy, butterfingers, I’ve told her a million times but she just won’t change.” She pivoted back to me, her face a mask of disappointment. “Hurry up! Apologize to Mark! Tell him you’ll change!” The script. It was always the same script. She frames me. She confirms my guilt by citing my “history.” She plays the long-suffering mother. I looked at her face—that face that claimed to love me while selling my life on a discount app—and something inside me snapped. The dam broke. “Yeah,” I said, my voice trembling with rage. “It’s hard to keep track of things when there’s a thief living in the house.” The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bones. Mark’s face darkened. “Excuse me? Are you accusing me? Are you saying I stole my own gold? Are you insane?” My mother’s face went pale for a split second before she recovered her composure. “Natalie! How can you say such a thing? Is that how I raised you? Marriage is about trust! Apologize to Mark right now!” She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh, trying to physically silence me. I ripped my arm away. I turned my blazing eyes on Mark. “Trust? You want to talk about trust?” I screamed, my voice raw. “Since the day we got married, whenever something went missing, did you ever once ask, ‘Hey, let’s look for it together’? No! You immediately assumed it was me! You assumed I was stupid! You assumed I didn’t care! You assumed I was trash!” For years, Mark listened to my mother. He never listened to me. Mark frowned, his eyes cold and distant. “Fine. If you think someone stole it, call the cops. File a report.” “No!” My mother shrieked. It was a sound of pure panic. “No police! We don’t air our dirty laundry! Think of the neighbors! Think of your reputation!” Her panic was the final proof. I didn’t just suspect it anymore. I knew. She saw the look on my face and switched tactics instantly. She turned the attack back on me. “Are you sure you even bought two pounds of gold? That’s a lot of money, Natalie. Maybe you just… imagined it? Or maybe you spent that money on something else and you’re afraid to tell Mark?” There it was. The gaslighting. I remembered being seven years old. My grandma gave me a twenty-dollar bill for my birthday. It was a fortune. I hid it under my pillow. Two days later, it was gone. I cried for weeks. I felt so guilty, so stupid. A month later, I heard my mother on the phone with Grandma: “Why did you give her cash, Mom? If I hadn’t taken it, she would have just wasted it on candy.” She stole my birthday money and let me hate myself for a month. “Okay,” I said, my voice deadly calm. “Let’s call the police.” My mother’s face twisted. “Natalie! Why do you have to be so difficult? If you really had that gold, why didn’t you give it to Mark weeks ago?” She was scrambling. Throwing mud to see what stuck. Mark looked at me, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “She has a point. Where did the gold go, Nat? Or did you never intend to help me? Was that your secret exit strategy?” My heart turned to ash. My mother sighed, turning to Mark with a sorrowful smile. “Mark, I’m so sorry. I failed as a mother. She’s been like this forever. Pencils, erasers, backpacks—she’d lose them in a week. I beat her, I scolded her, but she never learned.” I tried to pull away from the narrative she was spinning, shaking with humiliation. “That’s not true—” “Not true?” My mother cut me off, her voice shrill. “What about the anniversary watch Mark bought you? Gone in a month! What about the ring? Mark saved for six months for that, and you lost it on a vacation! And his mother’s bag? I warned you to put it away! But no, you lost it and embarrassed Mark in front of his whole family! I had to sell my own jade bangle—my grandmother’s bangle!—just to buy a replacement so his mother wouldn’t be offended! I’m not bringing up the past to hurt you, Natalie, I’m trying to save you! How can any man build a life with a woman who bleeds money like a wounded artery?” “Are you finished?!” I screamed. The sound tore from my throat, raw and animalistic. “My whole life! Everything that goes missing is my fault! I’m the screw-up! I’m the waste of space!” I stumbled back, tears blurring my vision as I looked at Mark. “And you believe it. You think I’m just a heartless, careless woman who threw away your hard work? You think I hid the gold to watch you suffer?” Mark looked away, his jaw tight. He believed her. My mother saw my breakdown and smirked, a tiny, fleeting thing. Then she put her concerned mask back on. “Natalie, calm down. We’re trying to help. If the gold is gone, it’s gone. I have a little money saved up for my funeral expenses… maybe I can—” “Funeral expenses?” I let out a jagged, bitter laugh. “Mom, are your ‘funeral expenses’ funded by my gold necklace? My designer bags? Mark’s gifts?” Mark’s head snapped up. “What?” I wiped my face. I stood up straight. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “Mom,” I said softly. “What’s the username for your Poshmark account again?” My mother’s face went rigid. Her pupils contracted to pinpoints. “Natalie! We’re talking about gold bars! Why are you bringing up my silly little shopping app?” Mark looked between us, confused.

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I was a girl raised on dirt roads and dollar-store hand-me-downs. After eight years of dating the heir to one of the wealthiest families in the state, I broke up with him. The final straw? He called out my name. “You’re throwing eight years away just because I drove to your campus and called your name?” “Yes.” Carter’s lips twisted into a mocking, exasperated smirk. “Alright, spit it out. What do you want this time?” I shoved past him, stepping out into the biting evening air. “I don’t want anything. I just want you to leave me alone.” Because as long as he stayed away, I could finally have the one thing I truly wanted. My dignity. … 1 Carter didn’t even dignify my demand with a response. His gaze slid right past me, landing on my roommate, Peyton, who was standing a few feet away. Without missing a beat, he slung an arm loosely over her shoulder. His tone was a lazy drawl. “Tessa, your temper is getting out of hand. I literally just called your name.” “You didn’t seem to mind when I was buying you all those gifts. Why didn’t you ask for a breakup then?” He paused, letting his eyes drift back to me before turning his attention fully to my roommate. “Look at her. You’re way more reasonable than she is. How about it? Want to be my girlfriend instead?” My heart seized in my chest. Peyton didn’t shove his arm away. Instead, she leaned into his side, offering a breathy, placating laugh. “Tessa’s just throwing a tantrum, Carter. Don’t be mad at her.” Carter chuckled, pitching his voice just loud enough to ensure I caught every syllable. “Mad? Why would I be mad? If someone doesn’t know how to appreciate what they have, there are plenty of others lining up for the job.” He looked down at Peyton, his fingers casually kneading the tension in her shoulder. “Be my girl, and I’ll buy you that new Chanel bag that just dropped next week. Deal?” Peyton’s eyes lit up instantly. She opened her mouth to speak, but Carter suddenly tipped his chin in my direction. “So?” he challenged me. “Swallow your pride right now, and I’ll pretend this never happened. Otherwise…” He let the threat hang in the air, his hand sliding deliberately down Peyton’s arm until his fingers wrapped around her wrist. I took a shaky breath, the cold air stinging my lungs. I looked at that hand—the same hand that had held mine a thousand times—and suddenly, the tears I’d been fighting completely evaporated. When I spoke, my voice was steadier than I could have ever imagined. “No thanks. We’re done.” “Good luck to both of you.” I turned on my heel and walked away. Behind me, Carter’s arrogant smile cracked, replaced by a harsh scoff. “Keep playing hard to get! You’ll be crying outside my door in three days.” “But for tonight,” he added, dragging the words out so they’d hit my retreating back, “I guess I’ll just have to spoil my new girl.” He kept his eyes on me. I knew it. He was waiting for me to turn around. Instead, I kept walking, letting Peyton’s giggles and the low rumble of his voice fade into the campus background noise. I didn’t break down until I unlocked the door to my empty dorm room. It was the weekend; everyone was out. I slumped into my desk chair and let the tears fall, hot and heavy, until my chest ached. Once the sobbing subsided, I grabbed a cardboard box. I packed away the Tiffany necklace, the stuffed bears, the little expensive trinkets he’d showered me with over the years. I taped it shut and shoved it by the door. I’d mail it back to him in a few days. By the time I finished, the sun had set. I picked up my phone to check the time, only to be confronted by his latest Instagram post. It was a selfie. Peyton was sitting in the passenger seat of his Porsche, holding up an iced matcha latte and beaming. The caption read: New beginnings. Hanging from the rearview mirror in the background was the custom acrylic charm he’d bought to appease me after our last fight. It still read: Tessa’s Seat. I stared at the screen for two agonizing seconds. My chest felt dangerously tight. I called my best friend, Jade, powered off my phone, and walked out into the night. Jade was already waiting in a booth at our favorite diner. She took one look at my swollen eyes, asked absolutely zero questions, and just started shoving an excessive amount of fries onto my plate. Halfway through the meal, when the tremor in my hands had finally stopped, she gently rested her chin on her hand. “So, why’d you actually end it? Was it really just because he showed up on campus?” I kept my head down, stirring a pool of ketchup with a soggy fry, and slowly shook my head. “No.” 2 When I first met Carter, I had absolutely no idea who he was. He had rolled up to my family’s rundown porch in a beat-up, sputtering Chevy van, looking so sketchy that my younger brother actually tackled him to the dirt, thinking he was trying to kidnap me. It wasn’t until much later that I learned his actual car—a brand-new Bentley—had been sideswiped by a tractor, and he’d just borrowed the rusty van to get out of town while his ride was in the shop. He ended up crashing at our place for a few days to nurse his bruised ribs. Sometimes, he’d pick wildflowers from the overgrown weeds by the ditch and hand them to me. One afternoon, while I was out in the brutal humidity picking corn, he leaned against the fence post, grinning. “You look pretty out there. Be my girl, and you’ll never have to do manual labor again.” I thought he was joking. I said yes, laughing it off. It wasn’t until he drove back to our rural county a month later in a gleaming Bentley to take me on a date that I realized I was dating trust-fund royalty. Jade set her fork down. “So what changed?” “He started parking his sports cars right outside my lecture halls. People started whispering. They called me a gold digger, a sugar baby. He heard them, Jade. He never once defended me. Worse, he’d laugh with his frat brothers and say, ‘She threw herself at me, what was I supposed to do?’” I bit my lip, dropping my gaze as the familiar burn returned to my eyes. “Last month, I saved two months of waitressing tips to buy this gorgeous dress for his fraternity formal. I spent two hours getting my makeup perfect. When he saw me, he didn’t even look at my face. He just dragged me back to his hotel room. And when the dress snagged on the clasp of his Rolex, he didn’t help me unhook it. He got annoyed and just ripped the silk.” “He does this every time. He treats me like garbage, then buys me a designer teddy bear or a diamond bracelet to make up for it, as if paying the toll makes it okay.” I stared into the cold, half-eaten food. “When he shouted my name outside the library today, everyone stared at me like I was a piece of property he was coming to collect. It was like I suddenly woke up. It’s been eight years. I am so tired of being his pet.” Jade let out a long, heavy sigh. She didn’t press for more details. After we paid the bill, she dragged me to a karaoke bar. I gripped the cheap plastic microphone and screamed lyrics until my vocal cords felt like sandpaper, but I didn’t shed another tear. I had two cheap beers in the dimly lit booth, and by the end of the night, my head was spinning. Seeing how out of it I was, Jade packed me into an Uber by ten. The dorm hallway was pitch black. I fumbled for the doorknob, pushing the door open to an empty room. Peyton’s bed was unslept in. My heart sank, plummeting straight to the linoleum floor. Thankfully, I was too physically exhausted to spiral. I stripped off my jacket and collapsed into bed, dead to the world. I didn’t wake up until noon the next day, jarred out of sleep by my ringtone. I answered without checking the caller ID. The frantic voice on the other end belonged to one of Carter’s frat brothers. “Tessa, you need to get to Carter’s penthouse, right now! He drank half a liquor cabinet last night. Kept screaming that he couldn’t live without you. He’s barely breathing, Tessa, he’s not gonna make it!” A high-pitched ringing erupted in my ears. My heart slammed against my ribs. I hung up, didn’t bother brushing my hair, didn’t even change out of my sweatpants. I grabbed the keys to my electric scooter and flew down the stairs. I took every shortcut to his downtown high-rise. I was so panicked I took a wrong turn, narrowly avoiding the front bumper of a delivery truck. The driver laid on the horn and screamed something out the window, but I just gripped the handlebars tighter, pushing the throttle to the max. By the time I reached his floor, I was gasping for air, praying to a God I barely believed in that I wasn’t too late. I shoved the heavy oak door open—and froze. The penthouse was packed. At least a dozen people were lounging around the massive sectional, roaring with laughter. Right in the center sat Carter. He looked perfectly fine. Peyton was straddling his lap, holding a cluster of green grapes, popping one into his mouth as he casually leaned forward to accept it. He used to tell me he hated grapes. He used to make me peel mangoes for him, and when I brought him the perfectly sliced plate, he wouldn’t even eat them. He’d just pat my head and say, “Good girl.” Carter noticed me standing in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He turned to his friends. “Told you. I win the bet.” 3 Someone laughed and tossed a thick envelope of cash across the table. Carter caught it, slipped it into Peyton’s lap, and then turned his mocking gaze back to me. “Tessa, Tessa. You really are obsessed with me, aren’t you? Heard I was in trouble and came running before you even washed your face?” The room erupted into jeers. One of the guys hollered, “Damn, Tessa! Carter already said he’s sick of you. You guys are done. Why are you still throwing yourself at him? Got nowhere else to go?” Another chimed in, “Look how desperate she is, man. Probably came rushing over to grovel. Thinks she can get her spot back!” “Right? Playing the tragic, independent heroine yesterday, and today she’s practically begging.” “Breakup? Please. She was just playing hard to get, and she completely folded.” I stood glued to the hardwood floor. Despite my best efforts, a single, humiliating tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek. Seeing me cry only deepened the vicious amusement on Carter’s face. He nudged Peyton off his lap, stood up, and closed the distance between us in three long strides. He pinched my chin, forcing my face up so I had to look him in the eyes. “What are you crying for?” He leaned in close. I could smell the stale alcohol on his breath. He brushed his lips against mine, a degrading, fleeting touch. “Regretting it already? Beg me. Say the words, and I’ll—” Smack. The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed through the penthouse. The laughter died instantly. The entire room collectively inhaled. Carter’s face went rigid. The amusement vanished from his eyes, replaced by a dark, glacial fury. He swatted my hand away, his jaw clenching. “Tessa. You dared to hit me? Over this petty bullshit?” Peyton scrambled off the couch, rushing over to cling to his arm. “Carter, don’t be mad. She’s just jealous. She’s completely lost her mind.” She shot me a venomous glare. “She’s always like this in the dorms, you know. Constantly flirting with the guys in our study groups, trying to get attention. She just wants everyone orbiting around her. Don’t let her play the innocent victim.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand, my eyes burning red. When I spoke, my voice rang out loud and clear. “Carter, I was completely blind for the last eight years. From this second on, I will never, ever look for you again. You could drop dead, and I wouldn’t even blink.” Carter flinched. For a fraction of a second, genuine panic flashed in his eyes. But he quickly masked it with a cruel scoff. “Remember the last time you threw a tantrum? It took you three days to come crawling back, clutching that stupid bear I bought you.” “You want to play this game? Fine. I’m waiting.” “Just don’t come crying to me when you realize what you threw away.” He turned his back on me, dropping heavily onto the sofa and pulling Peyton into his side. He whispered something into his friend’s ear, looking entirely too smug, utterly convinced I’d break. He didn’t even grant me a backward glance. I didn’t stay to watch the circus resume. I turned and walked out. When I reached the street, I found my electric scooter toppled over against the curb. Both tires had been slashed flat. I dragged the heavy metal frame all the way back to campus. The streets were pitch black, save for the flickering streetlights. A few drunk stragglers shouted obscenities as they passed. My skin crawled with every step, and I pushed the broken scooter faster, my breathing ragged. When I finally made it back to the dorm, the cardboard box was still sitting by the door. The sight of it made my blood boil. I kicked it viciously into the corner, threw myself onto my mattress, and passed out from sheer exhaustion. 4 The next morning, I lugged the heavy box to the campus post office. When the clerk scanned the barcode for shipping, I tapped my phone to pay. The screen flashed: Card Declined. I frowned, opening my banking app. My stomach plummeted. Yesterday afternoon, Carter had used the joint-pay feature we set up years ago to drain my checking account. He took exactly $2,350—every last cent I had earned from two months of grueling waitressing shifts. “Miss, are we doing this or not? You’re holding up the line!” The clerk’s voice was laced with impatience. The students behind me leaned in, whispering. I caught snippets of the gossip. “Wait, isn’t that the sugar baby who just got dumped? I heard she survived off Carter’s credit cards. Guess she’s broke now.” Another girl scoffed, raising her voice on purpose. “Sugar baby makes it sound glamorous. She was basically an escort. Didn’t she just win some academic award, too? Wonder how she paid for that.” The words felt like razor blades scraping against my eardrums. I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Give me five minutes,” I told the clerk, practically fleeing to the alley behind the post office. I dialed the only number I had left. “Mom… I need to borrow a little cash…” My mother’s voice exploded through the speaker, so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “You ungrateful little bitch! I told you not to mess around with those rich city boys! You didn’t listen! Now he throws you out with the trash and you come begging me for money? You deserve it! You worthless—” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, hanging up the phone without a word. Defeated, I picked the heavy box back up. Without money for postage, I had no choice but to walk it all the way to Carter’s luxury apartment complex. The sharp cardboard edges dug violently into my forearms. A few smaller items spilled out as I tried to readjust my grip; I stooped down, shoved them into my pockets, and kept walking. Just as I reached the gated entrance of his building, a familiar engine purred. Carter’s Porsche rolled to a stop right in front of me. Peyton was in the passenger seat, buried under a mountain of glossy luxury shopping bags. When she saw me, she deliberately hoisted a Chanel bag higher so it caught the sunlight. Carter rolled down his window. His eyes drifted to the cardboard box in my arms. A subtle, almost invisible wave of relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by that trademark arrogant smirk. “Told you you couldn’t stay away.” He pointed lazily to a wrought-iron bench near the gate. “Here, wait on the bench. Peyton and I are running down the street to grab a purse she wants. I’ll deal with you when I get back.” Before I could even open my mouth to say, I’m just returning your garbage, he gunned the engine. The car shot forward. Peyton leaned out the window, offering me a sickeningly sweet, victorious wave. … I dumped the box directly on the pavement outside his building’s front door and walked away. I needed to make money. Fast. The two grand he stole could just count as back-pay for all the dinners he’d bought me. I considered it the cost of severing the tie. That afternoon, an urgent email went out to our department. An emergency assembly was being held to honor the recipient of the “University Honors Grant.” My advisor had called me the day before, telling me to prepare a speech because I was going to be the student representative. But when the time came, the person walking across the stage to accept the plaque… was Peyton. She was wearing a designer dress I recognized as one of Carter’s favorites, her skin glowing with expensive treatments. She clutched the certificate to her chest, making a deliberate detour to walk past my row as she exited the stage. She leaned down, her voice a poisonous whisper. “Tessa, someone filed an anonymous report about your moral character. Such a shame. Guess the committee had no choice but to give the grant to me.” When I glared at her, her smile only widened. “I failed five classes last semester, you know. But Carter made a few calls to the dean. How else was I ever going to graduate?” She straightened up, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, and Carter told me to pass along a message. He said, ‘All her hard work isn’t worth a single word from me.’” 5 I sat in the auditorium, my fingers crushing the speech I had stayed up all night to write. The injustice of it made my chest ache. The moment the assembly ended, I marched straight to the department head’s office to demand answers. The dean wouldn’t even look me in the eye. “Tessa… Carter’s family just fully funded the new STEM wing. Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill, alright?” I opened my mouth to argue, but my phone vibrated violently. It was a FaceTime call from my mother. “I’m at your campus gates, get out here right now!” I could see students pausing to stare at her in the background. Panicking that she was going to cause a scene, I abandoned my argument with the dean and sprinted across the quad. “What the hell did you do to Carter?!” The second I was within reach, she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “He came to the house yesterday. He said you owed thirty thousand dollars in back tuition! He said you got caught sleeping around with other boys!” My brain short-circuited. I opened my mouth to explain, but she violently shoved a heavy canvas bank bag into my chest. “This is the money we made selling the harvest. It’s eight thousand dollars. You take this right now, go find Carter, and beg him not to tell anyone in the county about this! Your brother needs a down payment on a house next year to marry that girl, and if her family hears about you acting like a whore, they’ll call off the wedding!” Suddenly, Peyton materialized from the crowd of onlookers. She offered my mother a sweet, sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am. Carter is just a little hurt. Tessa is always throwing tantrums over the smallest things.” Hearing this, my mother’s face twisted in rage. She raised her hand, aiming a sharp slap at my face. “You stupid, ungrateful girl! He treats you like a queen and you pull this nonsense?!” I flinched backward, dodging her hand. The canvas bag slipped from my grip, hitting the concrete. Rolls of cash and loose bills scattered across the sidewalk. I dropped to my knees to gather it. Peyton casually stepped forward, using the toe of her designer heel to kick a wad of cash further away. “Oh, by the way, Tessa,” Peyton chirped. “Carter said if you crawl back and beg for forgiveness, he might consider putting your name back on the Honors Grant next year. And he’ll take care of your brother’s down payment.” “But,” she paused, kneeling down so only I could hear her, “you have to apologize to me first. Tell me you were faking being so high and mighty all along.” When I didn’t say anything, she leaned even closer, her perfume choking me. “Oh, and he also wanted you to know… he just bought out that coffee shop where you work. So when you show up tomorrow, consider yourself fired.” I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. Was I sad? Not really. I just felt an overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion. I methodically picked up every last dollar, stood up, and shoved the canvas bag back into my mother’s hands. “Take this home. Carter is lying. I don’t owe tuition, I haven’t been sleeping around, and I am absolutely never apologizing to him.” My mother panicked, grabbing the fabric of my jacket. “Are you crazy?! If you don’t ask him for help, how is your brother going to pay for his wedding?!” “That is his problem.” I shoved her hands off me, took a step back, and walked toward the bus stop. I didn’t look back. I ignored the relentless buzzing of my mother calling me again and again. I knew what Carter was doing. He was systematically barricading every exit, isolating me, starving me out until I had no choice but to crawl back to him on my hands and knees. But he missed one path. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I’d saved from a flyer downtown.

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My brother-in-law went into sudden cardiac arrest, and the attending physician made it clear: the specific, high-risk surgery required to save him could only be performed by his sister. It was an emergency. When I finally managed to get through to her, it wasn’t her voice I heard. It was Carter’s—her childhood best friend, the one she never really let go of. “We’re setting up camp,” he said, casual and dismissive. “We won’t be back tonight.” Panic clawed at my throat. “Toby’s heart gave out. He needs surgery now. Get her to the hospital.” But then came my wife’s voice, sharp and impatient, cutting through the background noise. “Are you done yet? Stop cursing my brother just to get attention.” Before I could explain, before I could beg, the line went dead. When I tried to call back, her phone was off. In the end, we missed the surgical window. My brother-in-law died. And my wife? She lost her mind. 1 The nightmare started the moment I walked into the office. I barely had my coat off when my phone rang. It was one of Nora’s colleagues from the hospital. “Cole, we can’t reach Dr. Hall,” the voice said, tight with urgency. “Her brother collapsed. He needs immediate surgery. Can you find her?” The world tilted. I didn’t care about work; I sprinted for the elevator and drove to the hospital like a madman. The entire drive, I called Nora. Over and over. Nothing. When I burst into the ER, Dr. Lewis met me, shaking his head, his face grim. “This specific valve repair… only Nora has the technique for it. You have to get her back here, Cole. We’re running out of time.” Toby had been battling heart issues since he was a kid. It was the whole reason Nora went into medicine. She was a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon, and she had spent her entire career perfecting the procedures that would keep her little brother alive. Desperation took over. I dialed her number again. Ten times. Twenty. Finally, it connected. But instead of Nora, I heard Carter. “Cole? What do you want? We’re about to hike up. We aren’t coming back tonight.” I ignored the smugness in his tone. “Toby had a heart attack. He needs surgery immediately. Put Nora on the phone, she needs to get to the hospital!” Then I heard her. Nora. “Cole, do you ever stop?” Her voice dripped with annoyance. “Toby is fine. How dare you curse him like that?” I knew this wasn’t the time to fight. I swallowed my pride. “Nora, please. Come back. Toby really needs you…” Click. She hung up. When I redialed, it went straight to voicemail. Beside me, Toby’s fiancée, Emily, collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably. A nurse was trying to hold her up. “Cole… what about Toby?” she choked out. “Get Nora. She has to save him!” Their engagement party was tomorrow. It was supposed to be the happiest weekend of their lives. I loved Toby like my own blood. As long as there was a breath of hope, I wasn’t giving up. I forced down my own terror and put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Nora is his sister. She loves him. She wouldn’t abandon him. I’m going to go get her.” 2 I knew exactly where they went camping—a trail about an hour out of the city. I drove fast, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. When I screeched into the trailhead parking lot, I saw them. Nora and Carter were at the base of the mountain, packs strapped on, laughing. Nora looked radiant. The stern, clinical mask she wore with me was gone, replaced by a softness I hadn’t seen in years. I didn’t have time to be jealous. I ran toward them. “Nora!” Her smile vanished instantly. “Cole? What are you doing here? Can I not have a single moment of personal space?” The warmth she’d just shared with Carter evaporated, leaving only cold irritation for me. “Toby needs surgery,” I panted, out of breath. “You have to come back with me.” Her expression darkened into disgust. “I saw Toby this morning. He was fine. You’re seriously going to lie about him dying just to drag me home?” She was convinced I was manipulating her. She turned to leave with Carter. I grabbed her arm. “He’s in critical condition! I’m not lying!” I pulled out my phone and shoved the screen in front of her face. It was a video I’d taken right before I left—Toby, pale and hooked up to machines, gasping for air. “Look! Please, Nora. Just come back and operate.” She slapped the phone out of my hand. It hit the pavement with a sickening crunch. The screen shattered. “Enough, Cole!” she screamed. “Stop using my brother as a pawn. I’m warning you.” Since their parents died, Nora and Toby had been inseparable. The idea that I would use his health as leverage was offensive to her. In the past, I would have apologized, backed down, begged for forgiveness just to keep the peace. But a life was at stake. “It’s real,” I pleaded. “Call the hospital. Ask Dr. Lewis!” She hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing her eyes. That’s when Carter chimed in, smooth and poisonous. “Toby just texted me about the engagement party tomorrow, Nora. Your husband is clearly unhinged.” He looped his arm through hers. “Come on. The meteor shower is tonight. Once in a lifetime, remember? If we don’t start hiking, we’ll lose the best spot.” I saw the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I snapped. “Shut up!” I roared. “Is a meteor shower worth a human life?” Slap. Nora’s hand connected hard with my cheek. She gave me her answer. The camping trip mattered more. “I am so sick of you,” she spat. “After Toby’s wedding, I want a divorce.” She didn’t look back. She grabbed Carter’s hand and they walked into the woods. 3 I stood there, stunned, my cheek stinging. I wanted to chase her, to tackle her, to drag her to the car. But my shattered phone started ringing on the asphalt. It was Emily. “Cole… did you find her? The doctors say… they say he’s fading. You need to come back.” My legs gave out. I fell to my knees. If Nora had just come with me, Toby would have lived. But she walked away. I screamed at her retreating figure, my voice raw. “Nora! If you don’t go to the hospital today, you will regret this for the rest of your life!” She didn’t even pause. I drove back to the hospital in a daze. In the ICU, Toby looked like a ghost. He lifted a trembling hand when he saw me. “Cole… where’s… where’s my sister?” I took his hand, tears blurring my vision. “I’m sorry, Toby. I couldn’t bring her back.” He managed a weak, heartbreaking smile. “It’s not your fault. She doesn’t… she doesn’t know what she has until it’s gone. You’ve put up with so much.” I broke down, burying my face in the bedsheet. He patted my head, his touch light as a feather. His voice was barely a whisper. “My phone… I left something for you. Cole… if you want to leave her… I support you.” His hand went still. The monitor flatlined. A long, high-pitched tone filled the room. “Toby!” Emily screamed and fainted. Nurses rushed in. Dr. Lewis put a hand on my shoulder, whispering condolences I couldn’t hear. I sat there for a long time, numb. Yesterday, Toby was nervous about his speech for the party. We had plans to take a family trip next month. I couldn’t process that he was gone. Eventually, a nurse gently asked me to move. I realized I needed to call Nora, to tell her about the funeral arrangements. I pulled out my phone, avoiding the cracks in the screen, and opened social media. There it was. Posted thirty minutes ago. A photo of Nora and Carter, huddled together under the stars, looking intimate and peaceful. Something inside me froze. The last ember of love I had for my wife turned to ash. I watched the orderlies wheel Toby’s body away. I prayed that in his next life, he’d have a heart that didn’t break. Then I sent Nora a text. Let’s get a divorce. 4 She didn’t reply that night. The response came the next morning. Two words, cold and sharp. Fine. Agreed. It was ironic. Toby’s body was in the morgue, and his only living relative, his sister, was agreeing to divorce me while camping with another man. I was about to text her about the funeral arrangements when she called me first. “Is Toby with you?” she asked, her voice brisk. “Don’t be late for the engagement party today.” She sounded completely normal. As if yesterday hadn’t happened. She must have tried calling Toby, couldn’t get through, and decided to call me. She hadn’t even read the text I sent with the time of death. She refused to believe it. Exhaustion washed over me. “Nora…” She cut me off. “I’m running late coming down the mountain. You go to the venue and handle the guests.” The party was at 3:00 PM. She had taken the day off for it, but chose to squeeze in extra time with Carter instead. She was going to be late to her own brother’s engagement party because she wanted to hike. I stayed silent. “Are you listening?” She sounded annoyed again. “Make sure Toby is up. He’s not answering his phone. I bet he overslept.” I hadn’t eaten or slept in twenty-four hours. My voice was a wreck. “Just come to the hospital. You can tell him yourself.” I sent her the location pin and turned off my phone. I spent the next hour packing up Toby’s things in the hospital room. In his backpack, I found the engagement ring and his handwritten speech. It was supposed to be a celebration. Now it was a crime scene of broken dreams. Toby was three years younger than Nora. When their parents died in that car crash, Toby had thrown his body over Nora’s. He took the brunt of the impact. That was the year Nora changed. She swore she’d become a doctor to fix him. And now, she had killed him. She chose a camping trip with Carter over the promise she made to herself. I wept again, holding his backpack. I cried for Toby, and I cried for the cold, empty shell of a woman Nora had become. My eyes fell on Toby’s phone on the bedside table. I remembered his dying words. I unlocked it. It was open to the voice memo app. I was about to press play when the door to the room banged open. 5 Nora stood in the doorway, still wearing her muddy hiking gear. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. She scanned the empty room, panic flashing for a second before hardening into anger. “Cole, are you done with this sick game?” she snapped. “Where is he?” Carter walked in behind her, breathless. “God, Cole. Nora saw the hospital pin and thought something actually happened. We rushed down. We almost crashed the car!” He looked at Nora, shaking his head. “I told you he was lying.” So you could rush back, I thought. You just chose not to do it yesterday. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to hit him. Nora looked at me with pure disappointment. “I’m so tired of this, Cole. Really.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She reached into her bag and threw a folder at me. It hit my chest and slid to the floor. The divorce papers. “Sign them. I’m done. You don’t deserve to be at Toby’s party today.” She was seething. “I don’t want you poisoning his happiness with your jealousy.” She was rewriting history. Ever since Carter came back from overseas, she’d been gaslighting me. He’s just a friend. We’re soulmates. You’re insecure. I had compromised because I loved her. But looking at her now, I felt nothing. “Did you read the message I sent you?” I asked, my voice dead flat. “I don’t care what you sent!” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the death certificate. I threw it at her. “I don’t deserve to go? You don’t deserve to go. Toby needed you. And now…” She didn’t even look at the paper. She snatched it out of the air, tore it in half, and threw the pieces back at me. “Stop it! It’s his big day! Why do you have to be so morbid?” She grabbed Carter’s arm. “Let’s go. I can’t stand looking at him.” Suddenly, Carter’s phone rang. “What?” Carter frowned. “The engagement party is cancelled?” Nora froze. She grabbed the phone from him. “Who cancelled it?” She hung up, her face twisting in rage. She lunged at me, hitting my chest with her purse. “You cancelled it? You told me he was dead yesterday, and now you cancel his party? Are you trying to ruin his life?” I was too weak to defend myself. Carter stepped in, pinning my arms back, while Nora screamed. “You’re pathetic, Cole! Taking this out on Toby!” Carter shoved me. “You’re a piece of work, man. That venue is my family’s hotel. You don’t get to pull stunts like this.” The commotion was loud enough that Dr. Lewis ran in. “Dr. Hall! Stop!” he shouted. “What are you doing?” Nora stopped, breathing hard. Dr. Lewis looked at her with pity. “Nora… Toby passed away yesterday. His heart failed.”

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We had been together for six years. We were weeks away from the altar. And then, Carter told me to wait. He needed to give his childhood best friend and her son a home first, he said. Only then could he marry me. His reasoning? Her son, Toby, was terminally ill and wanted to know what it felt like to have a father before he died. Carter simply couldn’t bear the thought of the boy leaving this world with regrets. So, standing by the hospital bed, with tears welling in his eyes, he had promised the boy that he would be his daddy. Forever. But Carter forgot one thing. Our IVF embryos were already at the clinic, waiting for transfer. My body was still bruised from the hormone injections. I stared at him, the air suddenly too thin to breathe. “And what about our child?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking at me like I was a difficult employee rather than his fiancée. “Can you have a little empathy, Maddie? You’ve waited six years. You can’t wait six more months? Even if the embryo takes, you’ll just have to get an abortion. It’s not a good time.” I told him my mother’s health was failing, that my parents were desperate to see me married and starting a family. In response, he pulled out his phone right in front of me and booked a courthouse appointment to marry Natalie. “Perfect timing, then,” he said without missing a beat. “I marry Natalie, you become Toby’s godmother. It’s basically the same as your mom getting a grandson. Tell her to get a nice gift ready.” I watched him turn his back on me and walk toward his office. The man I had loved, the man I had fought my family for, reduced to a stranger’s silhouette. My hands were shaking, but my mind was terrifyingly clear. I picked up my phone and dialed my brother’s number. “Harrison,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “The wedding is in ten days. I need you to find me a new groom.” 1 When Harrison heard I wanted to swap out the groom, his shock quickly curdled into a protective rage. “Did that son of a bitch do something to you? Is Carter backing out? Don’t tell Mom and Dad yet, their hearts can’t take this kind of shock.” That was exactly why I went to Harrison first. By some cruel stroke of luck, Carter had managed to avoid meeting my parents for the entirety of our six-year relationship, claiming he was intimidated by our family’s wealth. Aside from Harrison, no one in our social circle actually knew who the groom was supposed to be. “He’s not backing out, Harry,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I am. I don’t want to marry him anymore.” I braced myself for a lecture about treating marriage like a game. Instead, the line went quiet for a long second before Harrison exhaled a breath of profound relief. “Good,” he said fiercely. “I asked him to look out for you years ago, and he ended up taking you to bed and keeping you a secret from our parents. It was a coward’s move. If you’ve finally woken up and seen him for who he is, I couldn’t be happier for you.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Honestly, Mom and Dad were just talking yesterday about how they wished you’d agreed to marry into the Kensington family. Rumor has it Sebastian Kensington is prepping for a wedding, though nobody knows who the bride is…” A second later, Harrison let out a loud curse. “Holy shit. That quiet bastard. He actually did it. Sebastian texted me yesterday asking if your fiancé was a deadbeat, and if you’d mind if he crashed the wedding to steal you away.” Harrison’s shout didn’t startle me. Oddly, it made my shoulders drop. It felt like a release valve. Years ago, when my parents first tried to set me up with Sebastian Kensington to merge our families’ companies, I had already been secretly dating Carter for two years. My entire world revolved around Carter. I had flat-out refused the arrangement. When Carter found out about Sebastian, he had thrown a massive fit of jealousy. He dragged me to his apartment, making me swear on everything I loved. “Maddie, you’re mine. You will never marry another man.” He had gone down on his knees, holding my hands, swearing we would be together forever. He even finally faced Harrison, taking the punches and the yelling, promising he would cherish me more than my own family ever could. Forever. What a remarkably short amount of time that turned out to be. With the ceremony only ten days away, time was a luxury I didn’t have. “Tell Sebastian to be the groom, then,” I said into the receiver. “Walking down the aisle with me is a lot more dignified than crashing the ceremony, don’t you think?” “Crashing the ceremony?” I froze. Carter had walked back into the living room, his posture stiffening as he caught the tail end of my conversation. He stared at me like I was a threat to national security. “Let me warn you, Maddie,” Carter sneered, his tone dropping an octave. “Even if you pull some crazy stunt and try to ruin my wedding to Natalie, I won’t leave with you. Stop playing these pathetic games. If you do anything to ruin my image as a father to Toby, don’t blame me for turning ugly.” I hadn’t even said a word to him, yet in his mind, I had already morphed into the vindictive, hysterical ex-girlfriend. Turning ugly? Hadn’t he already done that the moment he decided to marry Natalie to play daddy? For six years, during every holiday and family gathering, he had promised me we would get married “next year.” But next year became the year after, and he always had an excuse. Every excuse was masterfully spun as being “for my own good.” He bought me expensive jewelry to placate me, and because I loved him, I blindly believed he was building our future. I spent hours talking Harrison down from beating him to a pulp. It took him six years—and relentless mocking from his own tech bros about his commitment issues—to finally propose. And now, days before the wedding, he still refused to fly to New York to meet my parents, claiming he wanted to give them a “massive surprise” at the ceremony. Oh, it was a massive surprise, alright. Natalie returned from Europe with a sick child, and in the blink of an eye, I was discarded. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I reached into my purse, pulled out his ID, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “You’re overthinking it, Carter. I have zero interest in being the other woman.” The phrase seemed to physically sting him. His brow furrowed deeply. “Are you deaf? I told you, I have to swap the bride for Toby’s sake. I already promised I’ll marry you afterward. Why are you being so passive-aggressive?” 2 “I’m not being passive-aggressive,” I said, my voice shockingly steady. “Go. Get your marriage license. Be the loving father. Your son is waiting for you.” The absolute sincerity on my face made Carter’s hand twitch as he reached for his ID. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “I’ll divorce her and marry you right after,” he rushed to explain, sounding defensive. “Just be patient, Maddie. I promise—” Promises. The currency he’d been paying me in for six years, completely bankrupt. “Okay,” I said. My sudden compliance seemed to choke him. The rest of his words died in his throat. He took a step forward, reaching out to pull me into a hug. “Carter!” Natalie’s frantic voice shattered the quiet. “The nurse just called. Toby isn’t feeling well. Can you take me to the hospital, right now?” She came sprinting over the threshold, but her foot supposedly caught on the rug. She stumbled, falling directly toward me. Instinctively, I reached out to grab Carter for balance. But he forcefully swatted my hand away, diving to catch Natalie securely in his arms. Already off-balance, the force of his shove sent me crashing hard onto the hardwood floor. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my tailbone, bringing instant tears to my eyes. Natalie curled into Carter’s chest, her cheeks flushed. In a voice dripping with coy vulnerability—just loud enough for me to hear—she whispered, “Your reflexes are still so good, Carter…” Carter glanced down at Natalie’s slipped camisole strap, coughing awkwardly to mask his flushed face. Gently, intimately, he pulled the strap back up her shoulder, then scooped her up bridal-style, carrying her to the sofa to inspect her ankle. “Oh, Maddie, I’m so sorry,” Natalie gasped, looking at me with wide, doe-like eyes. “I was just in such a panic, I didn’t mean to make you fall.” The sight of them, so deeply entwined in their little domestic drama, turned my stomach. I planted my hands on the cold floor, forcing myself to stand, ignoring the throbbing in my spine. “I’ll give you two some space,” I said, grabbing my coat. “Please, don’t rush on my account.” Carter’s face darkened, a mix of misplaced embarrassment and sudden rage. “Maddie! Why does your mind always go to the gutter?” My mind? She practically purred against his chest, but I was the one in the gutter? I didn’t answer. I just walked out and quietly pulled the door shut behind me. While I was waiting for the elevator, the door down the hall clicked open. Natalie hurried out, her cheeks still flushed, blocking my path. “Maddie, please, I’m so sorry. There is absolutely nothing going on between Carter and me. If Toby wasn’t so obsessed with him, if he didn’t insist on calling him Daddy, I would never impose like this. Please, have a heart. Can’t you just let my baby have his dream?” She grabbed my sleeve, her eyes brimming with calculated tears. “I swear to you, in six months, I will divorce Carter and give him right back to you!” She actually made a move to sink to her knees. Right on cue, Carter burst out of the apartment, looking perfectly composed again. He sprinted over, wrapping his arms around Natalie and glaring at me like I was a monster. “Maddie, you’re going to be a mother yourself soon,” he snapped. “Can’t you build up some good karma for your own child?” Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out his phone and called Davis, his executive assistant, barking at him to come over and “keep an eye” on me so I wouldn’t cause a scene. Then, checking his Rolex, he practically carried Natalie into the elevator to go see Toby. As the steel doors slid shut, I didn’t miss the triumphant, mocking smirk that ghosted across Natalie’s lips. Nor did I miss Carter’s gentle reassurance to her. “Don’t worry, Nat. The clinical trials for the new biologic are finishing up. Once Toby is cured, I’ll be his dad for the rest of his life.” Davis arrived quickly. Finding me calmly putting on my shoes to head out, he couldn’t hide his sneer. “Miss Maddie, you couldn’t keep your man, so what’s the point of going to pick up the wedding bands?” I ignored him. I had spent months working with a boutique jeweler in San Francisco to custom-design those rings. They meant something to me. But when I arrived at the jeweler, the manager looked at me in utter confusion. “Your fiancé came and picked them up a few days ago,” he said. “Weren’t you two together? The woman with him was trying them on, and he proposed right here in the store…” Seeing the blood drain from my face, the manager hurriedly pulled up the security footage. 3 On the tablet screen, the grainy video played out my worst nightmare in high definition. Natalie and Carter stood by the display case. She was wearing the ring I had designed. They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Carter’s face held a look of profound, tender devotion—a look he had never, not once, given me. “I regret it, Carter,” Natalie whispered in the video, tears slipping down her cheeks. “If only I had married you back then… how different things could be.” Carter’s face twisted in anguish. He leaned in, gently kissing the tears off her cheeks. Then, he turned to the manager, bought the most expensive diamond necklace in the case on the spot, and dropped to one knee. “Nat. Will you marry me?” Off to the side, little Toby clapped his hands, jumping up and down, yelling for “Mommy and Daddy” to kiss. The manager watched the screen, his face burning red with secondary embarrassment. He looked at me, horrified. “Miss Maddie… I am so, so sorry. We assumed she was… I’ll call him right now and demand the rings back!” The manager had clearly never seen a cheating fiancé act with such brazen audacity. He dialed Carter’s number immediately. Carter, likely already tipped off by Davis, answered with a roar. “Maddie! It’s just a pair of rings! Do you have to be this petty?” I wouldn’t let those two keep my rings even if I threw them into the San Francisco Bay. Before I could speak, my phone buzzed. A wire transfer notification from Carter. “That’s enough to buy rings for all ten of your fingers,” his text read. “Take the money and stop throwing tantrums.” The sheer shamelessness of it took my breath away. He knew exactly what those rings symbolized, the hours I put into them, yet he used them to propose to Natalie just to humiliate me. Six years together, and I realized I was looking at a complete stranger. I scrolled through my feed and saw his latest post—a picture of his and Natalie’s marriage certificates, posted out of sheer spite. I thought my chest would cave in, but… nothing. I just felt numb. Mutual friends flooded my DMs, offering awkward condolences or telling me to “hang in there.” I didn’t bother replying. I went to my office, finalized my resignation and project handovers, and went back to the apartment. When I unlocked the door, the sound of bright, happy laughter echoed through the hallway. Natalie was sitting on the couch, drinking tea with the distinct air of the lady of the manor. I didn’t have the energy for her. I walked straight to my bedroom to pack my things. When I opened the closet, my bags were already packed. Neatly zipped up and waiting for me. Carter, a man who had never so much as boiled water in the six years we lived together, was currently in the kitchen wearing an apron, making a heart-shaped omelet for Toby. “Maddie,” Carter said, stepping out with a spatula. “The doctor said Toby can come home today. Do you mind staying somewhere else for a bit?” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and started rolling it toward the door without a backward glance. As I reached the entryway, a sudden panic seemed to hit Carter. He rushed over, grabbing my wrist, his face a mask of awkward placation. “Hey, why don’t you stay for dinner before you go?” I glanced at the dining table. It was perfectly set. Two adult plates, one child’s plate. I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “No thanks. Enjoy your family dinner.” He couldn’t wait to erase me from this apartment. Why would I stay and beg for scraps? Seeing Carter hesitate, Natalie immediately scooped Toby into her arms and started toward the door. “Carter, I’ll take Toby to a hotel. This is supposed to be your home with Maddie. It’s not right for us to intrude…” Carter glared at me, then immediately turned to coddle Natalie. “Don’t be silly, Nat. I make the rules in this house. You can stay as long as you want. A family shouldn’t be separated.” Toby ran up and pushed my leg. “You’re a bad lady! This is my house with my mommy and daddy! Get out!” Natalie raised a hand, pretending she was going to scold him, but Carter caught her wrist. “Toby is right. This is our home.” Natalie shot me a triumphant smirk over Carter’s shoulder. I felt absolutely nothing. I opened the door and walked out. I checked into a hotel, slept for twelve hours straight, and went to the fertility clinic the next morning to sign the paperwork to destroy the embryos. As fate would have it, I walked out of the elevator and saw Carter. He was holding Toby in his left arm and holding Natalie’s hand with his right. To anyone watching, they were the picture-perfect American family. The doctor had asked me if I was absolutely sure about my decision. Looking at them, I knew I had made the right choice. Not long after I left the clinic, my phone rang. It was a coordinator. My bone marrow had matched with a critically ill pediatric patient. The doctor asked if I would be willing to donate. Before I could even process the question, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth and nose. A foul-smelling rag pressed into my skin. I was dragged backward into a van. Just before the darkness took me, I caught a glimpse of the man’s face. He looked terrifyingly like an older version of Toby. “I don’t care if you’re willing,” the man hissed. “You’re going to save my son.” 4 When I woke up, the pain in my lower spine was agonizing, a deep, throbbing ache that radiated down my legs. Remembering the man’s final words, a sickening realization hit me. I had been forcefully harvested for my bone marrow. I turned my heavy head. Across the dim, concrete-walled room, little Toby was tied to a chair, his face pale and tear-stained. The anesthesia was still thick in my blood. I forced myself to crawl toward Toby, my fingers scraping against the floor. Before I could reach him, the heavy metal door was kicked open. Carter stormed in, flanked by two security guards. Natalie shrieked when she saw Toby. “Toby! Oh my god, baby, are you okay? Don’t scare Mommy…” She frantically untied the ropes binding her son, then whipped her head toward me, her face contorted in rage. “Maddie, why would you kidnap my baby?! What did you do to him? People said you took him, but I couldn’t believe it…” Carter didn’t ask a single question. He marched over and delivered a brutal kick squarely to my ribs. I gasped, all the air leaving my lungs. “How can you be this evil, Maddie?” he roared. “I didn’t,” I choked out, clutching my chest. “His father… his father dragged me here…” Carter’s eyes blazed with a manic fury. He dropped to his knees and slapped me hard across the face, twice. “Toby’s father has been dead for two years! You’re still lying? Save it for the cops!” As Carter pulled out his phone to call the police, Natalie threw herself at him, sobbing hysterically. “Carter, no, wait! It’s my fault. I never should have asked you to help Toby. I just want my baby to be safe…” Carter’s eyes softened instantly. He stroked her hair. “Nat, I’m here. Toby is going to be fine.” Under Carter’s gentle coaxing, Toby finally seemed to snap out of his shock. He pointed a trembling finger at me and wailed. “Mommy! Daddy! I’m scared! She said if I die, no one will steal her husband anymore…” I tasted copper in my mouth. I spat a wad of blood onto the floor and glared at the boy. “Learning to lie at such a young age. No wonder karma caught up with you.” Natalie wailed as if I had stabbed her. She hugged Toby tighter. “What did we do to deserve this? Oh, Toby, you might not even make it to the clinical trials now…” Carter wrapped his arms around the trembling mother and son, shielding them from me. “You did nothing wrong, Nat. Maddie is just a sick, vindictive bitch. But I’ll make sure she atones for what she’s done to you.” He pulled out his phone again, dialing Davis. “Bring the prototype compound,” he ordered coldly. “I’ve found our human trial subject.” Davis arrived within twenty minutes. Carter took the small, unmarked vial and walked slowly toward me. “Maddie. This is the new biologic my company developed. It hasn’t passed FDA safety trials yet. So, you’re going to test it for Toby.” It was phrased as a statement, not a request. His eyes were completely devoid of emotion as he looked down at me. A violent shiver ripped through my body. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but the lingering anesthesia and the brutal pain in my spine made it impossible to stand. “Carter, I didn’t kidnap Toby. His father is alive. He kidnapped me. He took my bone marrow! If you don’t believe me, test my blood—” My pleas meant nothing. He pinned me to the floor, prying my jaw open with ruthless force. “It’s just a clinical trial, Maddie. Consider it your punishment.” The pill hit the back of my throat. Carter clamped his hand tightly over my mouth and pinched my nose, forcing me to swallow. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a demon straight out of hell. Yet, a minute later, his voice wavered as he asked, “Are… are you feeling any side effects?” He had just forced an experimental, unapproved drug down my throat. His only concern wasn’t my safety—it was whether the drug was viable for Natalie’s son. Whether I, his lab rat, lived or died was entirely secondary. The line between love and indifference is devastatingly sharp. Years ago, when I accidentally took a double dose of cold medicine, this same man had rushed me to the ER in a blind panic, terrified I would suffer liver failure. Now, he was literally poisoning me to save another woman’s child. If I hadn’t seen Toby’s father with my own eyes, I would have sworn Toby was Carter’s biological son. Under my dead, hollow stare, Carter finally pulled his hand away from my mouth. “Don’t look at me like that, Maddie,” he muttered, defensive. “You brought this on yourself when you went after Toby. If we hadn’t shown up, you could have killed him. I’m doing you a favor, saving you from a murder charge…” Without a shred of proof, he had condemned me. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had called an ambulance. Natalie, playing the benevolent saint, weakly suggested Carter go with me to the hospital. Carter’s cold voice echoed in the concrete room. “Leave her. If the trial works, she redeems herself. If it doesn’t, she won’t die from one pill.” Toby clung to Carter’s neck, crying for him not to leave with the “bad lady.” “As long as you’re a good boy and take your medicine, Daddy will never leave you,” Carter murmured, kissing the boy’s forehead. The three of them walked out, a picture of unity. Alone on the floor, the searing chemical pain in my stomach finally overwhelmed me, and I passed out. … The paramedics found me. When I woke up in the ER, with an IV in my arm and a raw throat from getting my stomach pumped, my first request was for a police officer. Carter, who hadn’t shown his face for hours, finally barged into my hospital room. “Are you insane, Maddie?” he hissed, standing at the foot of my bed. “The trial was a success. You got your stomach pumped, you’re fine. Why are you calling the cops? If Natalie wasn’t so forgiving, you’d be in a cell right now. Cancel the police report. I won’t marry a woman with a criminal record.” I didn’t even open my eyes. “Okay.” Satisfied with my submission, he turned on his heel and left without a single word of comfort. The day I was discharged was the day of my wedding. I went straight to the hotel, grabbed my luggage, and headed for the airport.

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I am, admittedly, a little obsessed with my older sister. To help her secure the man she’d been secretly pining over for years, I did something monumentally stupid. I kidnapped the city’s most untouchable bachelor, dragged him to a secluded suite, and force-fed him a cocktail spiked with a very expensive, very illegal “compliance serum.” The plan was simple: present him to my sister, Paige, gift-wrapped and pliable. Just as I was congratulating myself on a job well done, my brain—fried by adrenaline—decided to dissociate. I could practically see the Twitter thread of my life scrolling before my eyes. [@User1: LMAO, is this girl for real? Her sister likes Ronan, the Tech Bro, not Roman, the Venture Capital Shark!] [@User2: I mean, to be fair, they sound exactly the same in a loud club. Rookie mistake.] [@User3: RIP Harper. She kidnapped the wrong billionaire. Once those meds kick in, she’s not gonna be the captor anymore; she’s gonna be the prey.] A split second later, a hand like a branding iron clamped around my waist. The man’s voice was gravel and smoke, low and terrifyingly dangerous. “You light the fuse and then try to run? Get back here.” … I had bought the serum from a shady contact in the darkest corner of the internet to ensure Paige’s success. It was marketed as “The Closer”—guaranteed to lower inhibitions and heighten desire. It was potent enough to make a monk blush. And because I’m an idiot who worries too much, I’d panicked and given Roman a double dose. I had imagined Paige praising my initiative. Instead, I was staring at my phone, sweat trickling down my spine. Thirty seconds ago, when I hallucinated those comments, I thought it was just my anxiety manifesting. [@GossipGirl: Checkmate. Harper just delivered herself on a silver platter.] [@DramaQueen: Who spikes the drink pays the price. I love this trope.] [@SisStan: Lay off her! She did it for Paige! It was just a one-letter difference!] A one-letter difference? My head was spinning. I refused to believe it. How could I mess this up? Wasn’t the guy Paige wouldn’t shut up about Theguy? With trembling fingers, I texted Paige: [Sis, quick question. What is your crush’s full name again?] Her reply came instantly: [Ronan. Ronan O’Connor. Why?] Ronan. Ronan?! My world imploded. The man currently burning a hole through the mattress behind me wasn’t Ronan. He was Roman. Roman Scott. [@Observer: See? Told you she grabbed the wrong one.] [@ChaosLover: This is gonna be good. The drug is hitting. Harper can’t run now.] My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. If I had the wrong guy, the only logical solution was to cut him loose and pretend this never happened. Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss my way out of a felony. Did I have an antidote in my bag? I was rummaging through my thoughts when a wall of heat pressed against my back. Before I could scream, I was yanked backward, landing hard on a pair of thighs that felt like solid granite. I froze, terrified. He, however, was not frozen. Roman’s hands were scorching hot. One slid under the hem of my shirt, his rough fingertips tracing patterns on my skin that sent a violent shiver through my entire nervous system. “W-what are you doing?” My voice was a squeak. “Don’t move!” Roman tilted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, dark pools of intent. “I’m not moving without purpose. And right now, my purpose is you.” The audacity! I scrambled, pushing off his chest and leaping for the door. I made it two steps before he caught me. The jerk grabbed the oversized silk bow at the back of my dress. I tugged forward. “Let go! Seriously, let go!” Instead of releasing me, Roman pulled harder. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I yanked the release knot on the sash. The silk ribbon came undone, and the decorative back panel of the dress tore away. Freed, I threw the fabric at his face. “Keep it!” I bolted. But I had severely underestimated Roman Scott’s athleticism. I didn’t make it to the hallway. Suddenly, the floor wasn’t under my feet anymore. The world tilted, and I was scooped up, thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I kicked and thrashed, but against his grip, I might as well have been fighting a statue. In seconds, I was tossed back onto the massive, plush mattress. Roman loomed over me, bracing his arms on either side of my head. His breath was hot on my face. “Where do you think you’re going?” My brain scrambled for an excuse. He looked lucid enough to talk, which was terrifying. Maybe the drugs were duds? “I… I left my straightener on!” I blurted out. “I have to go home before I burn my apartment down.” Roman let out a dark, humorless chuckle. He crowded into my space, cutting off my escape. “The apartment can wait. I have a situation here, and I need your assistance.” I shrank back into the pillows. “What situation?” His gaze dropped to my lips, dark and hungry. Slowly, deliberately, he began to undo the top button of his dress shirt. Panic sirens blared in my head. I tried to scramble away again, but he pinned me with effortless strength. The drugs weren’t duds. This man just had an iron will. He looked composed on the surface, but underneath, the double dose was incinerating him. “I have the antidote!” I wailed, tears pricking my eyes. “It’s in my purse. Let me get it. Just hold on…” Roman didn’t stop. His long fingers worked the buttons with maddening precision. He pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh.” The look in his eyes—calm, controlled, yet utterly unhinged—terrified me more than if he had been screaming. I went silent, paralyzed. He seemed pleased by my obedience. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against my forehead, patronizingly sweet. “Good girl.” “I…” “Sit still,” he interrupted, his voice rasping, stripped of all polish. “Sit still, then you can plead your case.” He let go of my arms. I slumped, sliding inevitably into his embrace. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a ragged sigh that vibrated through my chest. “It hurts,” he murmured against my skin. “Since you caused this, you’re going to help me manage it.” Manage it? I’m a kidnapper, not a crisis counselor! I didn’t agree to this. But Roman Scott was a man used to command, and he didn’t leave room for negotiation. His arm was a steel band around my waist, locking me against him. A strange, electric tension crackled down my spine. I was scared, overwhelmed, and suddenly crying. Roman pulled back slightly, kissing away a tear. “Don’t cry. It’ll be over soon.” Liar. Men are all liars. It wasn’t going to be okay. I regretted everything. I should have double-checked the name. I should have asked Paige for a photo. How could I be this incompetent? The tears flowed faster, snot and misery soaking into his custom Italian shirt. [@SavageCommentary: Harper is crying, but why is this kinda funny?] [@TropeHunter: Classic ‘Himbo’ move, but make it female. She dug the grave, now she has to lie in it.] [@Justice4Roman: Girl dosed him with enough aphrodisiac to kill a horse. She IS the antidote now.] My imaginary Twitter feed was ruthless. I had the antidote pill! Why wouldn’t he just take the pill? Why did I have to be the solution? “Please,” I sobbed, my voice hitching. “Just take the pill. If you don’t, I’m going to die of embarrassment.” Roman paused. He looked down at me, his gaze searching my face for a long moment. He didn’t move away. Instead, he tangled his hand in my hair, laughing softly. “Relax. I know my limits. I won’t break you.” He didn’t break me. But he certainly shattered my reality. I lost track of time in that room. The light outside the heavy curtains shifted from gray to black to gray again. Time became a blur of sensation and exhaustion. I was a small boat in a hurricane, tossing and turning at his mercy. He was a machine, relentless and insatiable. At some point, food was delivered. I was so angry I knocked the tray over. Roman’s expression darkened to a thundercloud. He ordered another tray. He looked so terrifying that I lost my nerve and ate. The food was my favorite takeout—Thai—but it tasted like cardboard and regret. Finally, mercifully, he let me sleep. It was the deepest sleep of my life, though my dreams were haunted by Roman’s burning, crimson eyes. When I finally woke up, fully lucid, the room was silent. Roman was gone. My phone sat on the nightstand, fully charged. I checked it frantically. Texts from my friends had been replied to—in my style. No suspicion raised. Pinned to the top of my messages was a new contact. Roman Scott. He had sent several unread messages. [I’m in the study next door handling a merger. Text me when you wake up. Be good.] I scrolled up. He had been updating me on his location for hours. My thumb slipped, scrolling back to the pre-kidnapping texts. The contrast between my naive confidence then and my current ruin made my nose sting. I tried to get out of bed to gather my clothes scattered across the carpet. My legs gave out the moment my feet hit the floor. I collapsed, banging my knees hard. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. I wiped them away furiously, but the humiliation was a rising tide. Sniffling, I used the bedframe to haul myself up. I dressed quickly, wincing with every movement. On the other nightstand, I found a Post-it note. The handwriting was sharp, aggressive. [Don’t run. Phone is on the right. Call me.] I ignored the note. I grabbed my phone and peeked into the hallway like a fugitive. Coast clear. I didn’t breathe until I was in the back of a taxi, watching the skyline retreat. I pulled out my phone. Opened the pinned chat. Block. Delete. Goodbye, Roman Scott. I hope I never see your face again.

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My father is the wealthiest man in the city, a titan of industry whose name is plastered on skyscrapers and hospital wings. I, on the other hand, survive on an allowance that barely covers the cost of a few cups of coffee. My mother always told me the same story: my father left because he despised having a daughter. She said he vanished when I was six, leaving behind nothing but divorce papers and a cloud of dust. I never saw him again. Not until I saw his face on the news, beaming as he cut the ribbon on a hundred-million-dollar high-rise he’d bought for his new son. For years, a cold, hard knot of hatred sat in my chest. I was his child, too. Why was I discarded like trash while this new boy was treated like a prince? That hatred fueled me, right up until the day I accidentally met my father’s new son. The first thing the boy said to me wasn’t an insult. It was a question that shattered my entire world. “Where have you been all these years? Dad has been looking everywhere for you.” … “Honey, card’s declined.” The cafeteria worker, a kind woman named Mrs. Higgins, leaned over the counter as the card reader let out a harsh, rejecting buzz. The sound seemed to echo through the entire lunchroom. I froze, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. This month had thirty-one days. My budget, meticulously calculated from my part-time wages, only covered thirty. I forced a smile, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. “Sorry, Mrs. Higgins. I’m actually… I’m cutting back. On a diet. I’ll just take the plain rice today.” Mrs. Higgins didn’t buy it. She looked at my wrists, bony and fragile, and her expression softened into pity. “Child, you’re fading away as it is. You don’t need a diet.” Before I could protest, she ladled a heavy scoop of meat sauce over the white rice. “Next time you’re short, you tell me quietly, okay? I’ll slip you a drumstick.” Her kindness was a double-edged sword. It warmed me, but it also twisted the knife in my heart. Why did a stranger in a hairnet show me more compassion than my own flesh and blood? My best friend, Sarah, returned to the table with her tray. When she saw my bowl—just rice and sauce—she slammed her fist onto the Formica table. “This is insane, Norah! You should go down to Callaway Tower and scream until he hears you! He’s playing the philanthropist on TV while his daughter is starving!” “I want people to know what kind of deadbeat scumbag hides behind those charitable donations,” she hissed. I took a bite of the rice, the taste of humiliation heavy on my tongue. “It’s fine, Sarah.” But it wasn’t. If the university didn’t provide free plain rice, I wouldn’t be eating at all. Since the divorce, my mother, Diane, had collapsed into a black hole of alcoholism and self-pity. Any savings we had were funneled into cheap vodka and white wine. I remembered when our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, tried to intervene years ago. “Diane, you can’t go on like this,” she’d said gently. “Norah is just a little girl. She needs you to be strong. Look at her; the wind could blow her away.” Mom had been lying in bed, a wet rag over her eyes. She sat up and screamed, her voice jagged with venom. “If it wasn’t for that useless burden, I wouldn’t have been dumped! She’s a curse! You want her fed? You feed her!” I was too young then to understand the complexity of adult rage, but I understood the subtext perfectly: Mom’s life is ruined, and it is my fault. If I hadn’t been born, or perhaps if I had been born a boy, her life would have been a fairytale. In her rare moments of sobriety, she would pull out old photo albums, her fingers tracing the glossy images of a handsome man. “Look how much he loved me,” she’d whisper, eyes glassy. “He took me to Italy, to France. He wouldn’t let me lift a finger. He’d come home late from the office and still cook me dinner.” Looking at those photos—my parents, young and beautiful—I planted a seed of guilt in my heart. I watered it every day. I had broken this. It was my job to fix it. From the time I was seven, I did odd jobs for the neighbors—weeding gardens, walking dogs—just to bring home pocket change. They gave me food out of pity. I survived on the charity of strangers. Now, in college, I worked three jobs. But almost every cent went to keeping the lights on at home and keeping Mom’s glass full. I kept fifty dollars a month for myself. I survived on financial aid and grit. I was used to it. Until I saw the headline. [Robert Callaway, CEO of Callaway Group, Donates $100 Million Wing to Children’s Hospital in Honor of Son, Max.] It was the first time the disparity truly broke me. I went home that night, eyes red-rimmed. “Mom, why?” I asked, my voice trembling. “He has so much. Why has he never visited? Does he feel nothing for me?” Mom didn’t look up from her glass. She let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You know the answer, Norah. He hates you. You’re the mistake he wants to forget.” I shoved the last of the rice into my mouth, checking the time. I had to run. I had landed a lucrative gig tutoring a rich kid in English literature. The pay was triple what I made washing dishes at the diner. I couldn’t be late. “Norah,” Sarah said, her brow furrowed. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Take a shift off. Please.” I choked down the food, coughing until my face flushed. I pounded my chest to force it down. “I can’t. If I rest, who takes care of Mom?” Sarah looked ready to scream. “She is the parent! It is not your job to carry her! Has she ever thought about you?” I gave her a sad, weary smile. “I owe her, Sarah.” If I didn’t exist, she wouldn’t be this broken woman. I had no right to complain. It took three bus transfers and a twenty-minute hike up a winding private drive to reach the address. It was a mansion in the hills, the kind of place that had a name, not just a number. A butler in a crisp suit met me at the gate. “You must be the tutor for the young master,” he said, smiling kindly. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and nodded. The interior was breathtaking. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings. Even the dog in the yard had a kennel that looked nicer than my apartment. “Wait here in the library,” the butler said, handing me a glass of ice water. “I’ll fetch him.” I hadn’t even set up my books when a small boy burst into the room. He was a ball of energy, missing a front tooth, with a smile that lit up the room. “Hi! Are you the teacher?” “Hello,” I said, relieved. Rich kids could be nightmares, but this one seemed sweet. “You can call me Norah.” The boy’s eyes went wide. “Norah? That’s a pretty name! I’m Max! Max Callaway!” The smile froze on my face. The glass in my hand felt suddenly heavy. Callaway. Max. The boy from the news. The boy worth a hundred-million-dollar building. This was his house. My father’s house. Panic seized my throat. My hands began to tremble. Decades of resentment bubbled up—the hunger, the cold nights, the abuse. I wanted to scream. I wanted to storm into the office and demand to know why I wasn’t enough. But survival instinct kicked in. If I made a scene, I’d be thrown out. I’d lose the job. I needed this money to eat. I took a deep breath, forcing the bile down. I would be professional. The lesson went smoothly. Max was bright and eager to please. We actually clicked. He was a lonely kid, starved for attention. As I was packing up, Max grabbed the hem of my sweater. “Miss Norah? I don’t have many friends. You’re my only friend.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I tell you a secret?” My heart ached for him, despite everything. “Of course.” He leaned in close. “I have a big sister. My dad has been looking for her forever.” I went rigid. “What?” “Yeah! I’ve never met her. Dad says she was the best baby, but his ex-wife took her and ran away a long time ago. He tries to find her every day, but he can’t.” My mind reeled. Ran away? Mom said he left us. She said he abandoned us with a piece of paper. Who was lying? “Come look!” Max dragged me down the hallway to a closed door. “This is her room. Dad keeps it ready for when she comes home.” He pushed the door open. “Dad says her favorite color is orange, so he made it all orange!” I stepped inside. It was a shrine to a childhood I never had. The walls were a warm apricot, the bedspread a soft tangerine. It was beautiful. On the dresser sat a framed photograph. It was old and yellowed. A man—younger, happier—holding a baby girl on a lawn. It was me. “That’s my husband’s daughter,” a gentle voice said from the doorway. I spun around. A woman stood there—elegant, kind-eyed. My father’s current wife. “It’s a tragedy, really,” she sighed, looking at the photo. “Rob sends money every month. Millions, over the years. He just sent another two hundred grand last month as a graduation gift. But the ex-wife… she won’t let him see the girl. We don’t even know if the child gets the money.” The room spun. He sends money? Millions? I thought of the nights I went to bed hungry. I thought of the time I had pneumonia and Mom screamed at me for needing antibiotics because we “couldn’t afford it.” I excused myself, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had to get out of there. I needed to know the truth. I took a week off school and went straight to the apartment. The smell hit me the moment I opened the door—stale air, unwashed laundry, and the overwhelming stench of cheap alcohol. Mom was slumped on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles. She saw me and immediately grabbed an empty bottle, hurling it in my direction. It shattered against the wall. “You’re supposed to be working!” she screeched. “If you get fired, don’t come crying to me when we starve! Everything bad in my life is because of you!” Usually, I would clean up the glass. I would apologize. I would shrink. Not today. I walked over to her, staring into her bloodshot eyes. “Mom,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I couldn’t afford lunch today. I need ten extra dollars next month for food.” She exploded. “Money? You think we have money? You ungrateful little leech! If you weren’t a girl, your father wouldn’t have left, and I’d be living in a palace! Ten dollars? That’s a bottle of wine! You want to eat? Eat rice! Get out of my face!” Something inside me finally snapped. The tether that had bound me to her guilt for eighteen years disintegrated. She kicked me out, slamming the door. “Go make money! I don’t want to see you!” It was late. The buses had stopped running. I sat in the stairwell, shivering. Around 2:00 AM, the door creaked open. I held my breath. Mom slipped out, dressed not in her usual rags, but in decent clothes. She looked around, paranoid, then hurried down the corridor. I followed her. She didn’t leave the building. She went to the basement level, down a service hallway that led to a dead end. I watched from the shadows as she pressed a brick in the wall. A hidden door clicked open. The noise poured out instantly—shouting, smoke, the clatter of chips. An underground casino. I slipped in behind a group of men. The room was thick with smoke. And there she was. My mother, who “couldn’t afford” my antibiotics, was sitting at a high-stakes table. “Diane! You’re on fire tonight!” a man shouted. She laughed—a sound I hadn’t heard in years. She tossed a chip worth two thousand dollars to the dealer like it was a penny. “That’s for you, sweetie. My ex sent another wire. Two hundred grand. The man is an ATM!” I watched, horrified, as she burned through the money. In twenty minutes, she lost the two hundred thousand. Then she lost more. “You owe the house fifty grand, Diane,” a heavy-set man said, stepping out of the shadows. “Relax,” she waved him off, eyes manic. “I’ll make a call. I’ll tell him the brat has cancer. He’ll send a million for chemo. He always pays.” I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. She pulled out her phone. “Watch this. Ten minutes, money in the bank.” I turned and ran. I burst out into the cool night air and fumbled for my phone. I dialed the number Max had given me—the “emergency” number for the house. “Callaway residence,” the butler answered. “Tell Robert Callaway,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face. “Tell him it’s Norah. Tell him I know everything.” Ten seconds later, a voice I hadn’t heard in twelve years roared through the line. “Norah? Where are you? Stay there. I’m coming.”

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Six years after we broke up, Cole and I ended up on the university’s “Confessions” page. Some freshman had dug up an old wish note from the archives—a relic Cole had written years ago. “I’m going to marry Renna! Travel the world with Renna!!! Grow old with Renna! Love Renna for a lifetime!!!!” The comment section was in a frenzy, everyone “shipping” us like it was a K-drama. Even my college roommate, Harper, texted me: “Renna, he really loved you. Like, really loved you.” I received the message while I was on my knees in my boutique, pinning the hem of a man’s trousers. I was crouched at Cole’s feet. After a moment, I plastered on a professional smile and stood up. “How does that feel? Do you think this suit works for you, Mr. Scott?” His eyes were cold, his expression dripping with mockery. “No. It doesn’t work at all.” 1 Cole had come in at nine o’clock, just as we were about to flip the sign to closed. The glass door was shoved open with force, bringing in the chill of the autumn night. My hand, busy organizing receipts, froze. I felt a sudden, disorienting vertigo. I hadn’t seen Cole in six years. He glanced at me, then immediately looked away, his gaze sweeping dismissively over the racks of clothing. Becca, my shop assistant, walked over first, her customer-service voice bright and chirpy. “Good evening, sir. Looking for anything specific? I’d be happy to walk you through our collection.” Cole moved slowly, owning the space. He didn’t look at her. “Get your manager.” Becca blinked, confused, and turned to look at me. I took a breath, composed myself, and nodded at her to go tidy the counter. Then I walked over to Cole, slipping into my armor—the polite, impenetrable smile of a business owner. “How can I help you, Mr. Scott?” His long fingers trailed along a row of suit jackets before hooking one off the rack. “I’ll try this one.” “You have an excellent eye. This is an Italian cut, very—” I was launching into my standard spiel when he cut me off, his voice sharp. “You help me change.” I stunned for a second, then let out a dry, awkward laugh, gesturing toward the fitting rooms. “The changing rooms are right over there.” Cole smirked, a dark, cynical sound. “Hah.” I didn’t reply. I just watched his broad back disappear behind the curtain. Sensing the suffocating tension, Becca mumbled an excuse and bolted, leaving the shop. So when Cole stepped out, we were the only two people left in the building. He stood before the tri-fold mirror, catching my reflection. His gaze was heavy, sharp enough to cut glass. “Isn’t the manager going to do her job?” I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked over to adjust the fit. I smoothed the shoulders, then crouched down to check the break of the trousers. After a moment, I plastered on a professional smile and stood up. “How does that feel? Do you think this suit works for you, Mr. Scott?” His eyes were cold, his expression dripping with mockery. “No. It doesn’t work at all.” 2 The smile on my face stiffened, threatening to crack. A second later, I recovered, keeping my voice even. “If you’re not satisfied, we have other styles available.” Cole shrugged the jacket off and tossed it into my arms. “I’m done trying off-the-rack. I want custom.” He turned and went back into the fitting room. My shop does offer bespoke tailoring. But custom work requires detailed measurements, intimate proximity, and a long production cycle. I had zero desire to prolong my contact with Cole, so I hadn’t offered it. The jacket in my arms still held his body heat. I hung it back up and grabbed my measuring tape. Passing the counter, my phone screen lit up, flooded with notifications. I glanced at it. First, a message from Mrs. Higgins, the nanny. “When will you be back?” “Luna is sleepy, but she says she won’t go to bed until Mommy comes home.” I tapped out a quick reply: “Might be a little late tonight. Please try to get her down, Mrs. Higgins.” I was about to open the message from Harper, my college roommate, when Cole walked out. He stood there, arms half-open, looking at me with a mix of arrogance and amusement. “Designer Renna. Come measure me.” I forced a smile, shoved my phone into my pocket, and approached him. He was wearing a white dress shirt with a black vest. The shirt was unbuttoned to the third button. He wore sleeve garters on his upper arms, accentuating the muscular lines of his biceps. He looked mature, expensive, and dangerous. The boyish, reckless energy of the past was gone, replaced by something harder. Wait. When he walked in, wasn’t his shirt only unbuttoned to the second button? Forget it. I centered myself, trying to empty my mind. Just work. Neck. Shoulder width. Arm length. Wrist. Chest… We were close. Too close. I could feel his breath dusting the top of my head. I moved gingerly, trying desperately not to brush against him. But when I circled him to measure his chest, he suddenly grabbed my wrist. His breath was hot against my ear. His tone was playful, teasing, but laced with something darker. “What are you afraid of?” I froze, about to speak, when my ringtone shattered the atmosphere. The grip on my wrist vanished. Cole straightened up, looking annoyed. I bowed my head. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” It was Mrs. Higgins. As soon as I answered, Luna’s voice came through—milky, sweet, and trembling with grievance. “Why isn’t Mommy home yet? You promised a story tonight.” 3 I lowered my voice, coaxing her gently. “Mommy’s sorry, sweetie. Can Mrs. Higgins read to you tonight? I promise I’ll read to you tomorrow.” It took a while to calm her down. Finally, reluctantly, she agreed and hung up. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When I looked up, I met Cole’s gaze. It was dark, almost predatory. He raised an eyebrow, a sneer curling his lip. “That was your four-year-old?” “Crying for mommy for everything… is the dad dead or something?” I paused. I didn’t expect him to be so blunt. Then again, effectively, the father might as well be dead. I didn’t know him well, and he didn’t know the child existed. So I answered, “Something like that.” I went back to measuring. Chest done. Waist next. I bent down, my arms circling his waist. Cole suddenly spoke. “Congratulations, then.” Before I could process that, he added, “No, I mean—my condolences.” “…” I didn’t respond. I crouched down and handed him one end of the tape. “Please hold this, Mr. Scott. Right at the waistline.” My right hand took the tape, reaching around his inseam to press against his lower back. From above, Cole’s voice came down, simmering with suppressed anger. “Renna, do you touch other men this casually when you measure them?” My hand faltered. I replied with practiced politeness, “Mr. Scott, this is my job.” The tape went slack. Cole pulled me to my feet, dropped a final sentence, and turned to leave. “It’s too late tonight. We’ll finish another time.” At the door, he paused, turning sideways to look at me, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. “Remember that tie you owe me? Bring it next time.” 4 I did owe Cole a tie. That wasn’t a lie. Back in college, I switched from Finance to Fashion Design. Once, I co-hosted the New Year’s Gala with Cole. I was helping him with his tie backstage. We were face-to-face, inches apart. Suddenly, Cole dipped his head and kissed the corner of my mouth—a quick, feather-light touch. My face instantly flamed. I whispered, “There are people around. Behave yourself.” He looked thoughtful. “So, if no one was around, I could kiss you as much as I want?” My face got hotter. “Cole!” The tie, which was nearly done, ended up being tied and untied in my fumbling hands. Cole chuckled softly. “Renna, you’re strangling me. That’s a double knot.” I stubbornly retorted, “It’s the tie’s fault. It’s too slippery.” He played along. “Makes sense. How about you design one for me? A custom one. That won’t slip.” His birthday had just passed. I quietly planned to make it for his next one. But I never got the chance. A month before his next birthday, we broke up. There was no next year for us. Suddenly, a barrage of frantic notification chimes yanked me out of my memory. I unlocked my phone. My personal WeChat was usually a graveyard, but now several chats were flagged with red dots. I opened the chat with Harper first. A screenshot of a social media post. Followed by a string of screaming texts. Harper: Renna, guess what I found!!! Harper: The sticky note Cole put on the Wish Wall back in college! Harper: omg you guys were so cute I can’t. Harper: Renna, he seriously loved you so much. I stared at the screen, a thousand ripples spreading through my heart. After a moment, I clicked the screenshot. It was from the university’s unofficial “Confessions & Throwbacks” page. Caption: Submission from a junior—found some expired sugar from the former Art School Queen and the Basketball Captain. The photo showed a yellow sticky note, surrounded by old Polaroids of Cole and me. The handwriting on the note was unmistakably Cole’s. “I’m going to marry Renna! Travel the world with Renna!!! Grow old with Renna! Love Renna for a lifetime!!!!” 5 The comment section was blowing up. User1: [Damn, five years later and I’m choking on this sugar. They were the IT couple.] User2: [Look at their eyes in the photos, omg. Even the exclamation marks are screaming ‘forever’. HE LOVED HER.] User3: [I know this couple! I saw them kissing backstage at the New Year’s Gala. The dog food was tasty back then, but now it’s probably laced with arsenic.] User4: [If they were so in love, why’d they break up?] User5: [Handsome guy, pretty girl. Wait, the guy looks familiar…] User6: [That’s Cole Scott, CEO of Zenith Entertainment. He was rumored to be with that actress, Felicity, recently. And the girl in the photo is married with a kid now. So stop shipping them, let them rest in peace.] User7: [Sad ending.] User8: [Sad ending.] User9: [Sad ending.] … Behind the university cafeteria, there was a Wish Wall covered in thousands of colorful sticky notes. Cole must have written this one during our sophomore year. Back then, neither of us showed the other what we wrote. I never imagined this was what he wished for. I took a shallow breath and typed a reply to Harper. Renna: It’s all in the past. Renna: I just saw Cole. Renna: He seems to hate me now. She replied instantly. Harper: ????????? Harper: WTF??? You met? Who found who? Harper: DETAILS! NOW! Harper: Wait, he hates you? I was about to call her to explain, but Mrs. Higgins messaged at the same time. Mrs. Higgins: Luna is still awake, waiting for you like an angel. I replied [Coming soon] and then texted Harper. Renna: Talk later. I have to go home and put the kid to sleep. Again, instant reply. Harper: Ugh, you’re killing me. Harper: Fine, go. Slave to the daughter. Harper: Wait, does Cole know about Luna? What was his reaction? I didn’t reply immediately. I locked up the shop and walked to the parking lot. As soon as I got in the car, I received a friend request notification. [Cole. To schedule the fitting.] 6 The reason was logical and professional. I accepted. A message popped up instantly. Cole: Doesn’t even add clients proactively. Is this the service standard of your shop? Cole: Or can Designer Renna not balance work and family? Cole: Is the father that useless? Cole: You said he was basically dead. Are you sure? Cole: I need to know so I can prepare a gift. Cole: Sorry, I meant a wreath. I was speechless. The brutal, sudden breakup six years ago had evidently made him despise me to the core. My fingers tapped the screen, keeping it strictly professional: Renna: Apologies, Mr. Scott. That was an oversight on my part. I’ll offer a discount on your next visit. Renna: As for my family matters, I prefer not to discuss them. Renna: I love my child very much. Thank you for your concern. At the top of the chat, the [typing…] indicator bubbled for a long time. Finally, Cole sent: Cole: I have a child too. Cole: I’ll bring him to the fitting next time. I blinked, confused. Cole has a child? He got married? But I never heard anything from Harper. She occasionally fed me tidbits about Cole—mostly gossip about him and the actress Felicity—but never anything about a marriage or a kid. And Felicity had been a child star working non-stop; she definitely didn’t have time to secretly birth a child. Was it with someone else? My head spun. After a long pause, I suppressed my shock and replied politely. Renna: Of course, Mr. Scott. You are welcome to bring him. We will prepare toys and snacks. If you have any other requirements, please let me know. Silence stretched. Then, a notification. Cole: Renna, you are truly boring. My fingers trembled. I remembered what his friend had said about me back in college. “Cole, your girlfriend is as plain as water. Always in t-shirts and jeans, so quiet. Isn’t she boring?” Back then, Cole had played with a cigarette in his hand and laughed. “You don’t get it. It’s because she doesn’t know anything that she’s interesting to date.” Later, I used that sentence as the reason to break up with him. All our friends thought I was overreacting. Cole knelt before me, begging, explaining over and over. He said he was wrong. He said he didn’t mean it like that. He swore he’d cut off that friend and never speak like that again. I ignored him. I ruthlessly blocked him on everything and refused to see him. Deep down, I knew he wasn’t really at fault. I knew the reason was flimsy. But at that time, the real reason was something I couldn’t bring myself to say. 7 On Saturday, Cole actually showed up with a child. A boy, maybe five or six years old. He was cute, confident, and immediately introduced himself to Luna. “Hi! I’m Qi… uh, Leo! I’m six. What’s your name?” Luna was shy, clutching the hem of my shirt, her voice tiny. “Hi big brother. I’m Luna. I’m four.” Every weekend when preschool was closed, I brought Luna to the shop. It was our time together, and it gave Mrs. Higgins a break. But Cole had scheduled for Sunday. He came a day early, on purpose. The boy named Leo bent down, staring intently at Luna. “Whoa, you’re so cute!” “Hehe, I’m gonna tell my mom to make me a little sister too!” Cole suddenly coughed loudly. Leo seemed to snap back to reality and grabbed Luna’s hand. “Let’s go! Let’s play in the back room. I brought toys!” Luna looked up at me. I patted her soft hair. “Go ahead. If you need anything, call Mommy or Auntie Becca.” She nodded and followed him. Cole coughed again. “Let’s measure.” I asked with genuine concern, “Do you have a cold, Mr. Scott? We have medicine in the back if you need it.” Cole’s face stiffened. A moment later, he sat on the velvet sofa, crossing his long legs and folding his arms. “Forget it. Show me the tie first.” The tie. I had actually finished it before the breakup. I just never gave it to him. The night we reunited, I dug it out of a box gathering dust in my closet. I suppose it was time to return it to its rightful owner. I grabbed the gift box from the counter and handed it to Cole. A shadow passed through his eyes. He reached out to take it. Suddenly, the bell chimed, and someone walked in. A deep, commanding male voice filled the room. “Renna, is my child here?” I turned around. The man was impeccable in a suit, his face handsome but stern. It was Luna’s biological father, Vaughn. In front of me, Cole’s hand retracted. His voice dropped to sub-zero. “Is that your dead husband?”

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After a grueling recovery from a miscarriage that nearly took my life, our friends did everything they could to keep Sebastian away from that girl from the massage parlor. They acted like a human shield, blocking her calls and even cornering her in private. One of them—Mark, I think—had gone as far as to threaten her. “Sebastian gave you eighty thousand dollars to disappear. Isn’t that enough? If you try to crawl back into his life and mess with my friend’s marriage again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” I don’t know how that reached Sebastian’s ears, but when it did, he snapped. He found Mark and beat him so badly the police had to be called. It only stopped when I walked into the precinct with the divorce papers in my hand. That was the wake-up call, or so I thought. That night, Sebastian purged her. He deleted her number, scrubbed every trace of her from our house, and even took our wedding photo—the one she’d cracked in a fit of pique—to a professional restorer. He hung it back over our bed like a trophy of our “renewed” love. He became the “Perfect Husband” again. He was home by six every night, cooking three-course meals, doting on me with an intensity that felt like he was trying to grow me back into the woman I used to be—the one who hadn’t been broken by him. We lived in that fragile, beautiful lie for three years. Right up until the morning my prenatal check-up notification arrived in the same mail as an invitation to that girl’s wedding. Sebastian called it “trash” and threw it in the bin with a sneer. But on the day he was supposed to drive me to the clinic to see our baby’s first ultrasound, he never showed up. Instead, he drove two towns over and crashed a wedding. In front of a hundred staring guests, he grabbed the bride, pulled her behind his back, and slapped a check onto the groom’s chest. “Here’s two million dollars. Ten times whatever you spent on this circus. Now get the hell out of here and never look at her again.” Someone caught it on video. Within hours, it was viral. The internet was calling her the “Runaway Bride” and romanticizing their “star-crossed” love. It turned out that during these years when I thought Sebastian had finally found his way back to me, he hadn’t spent a single second letting go of Jade. That night, I called the clinic and scheduled a different kind of appointment. 1 I was simmering a pot of chicken corn soup for Sebastian when the video hit my phone. My best friend, Sarah, was the first to send it. Is this him? What the hell is going on? Did he seriously go back to that parlor girl? The notifications poured in like a dam breaking. Some were voyeuristic, some were pitying, some were dripping with “I told you so.” The world tilted on its axis, sending me back to that night three years ago. The night Sebastian threw a man off a second-story balcony at a bar because he’d made a crude comment to Jade. It was the same madness, the same “me against the world” fever. I scrolled through the comments, my heart hammering a jagged rhythm against my ribs. “God, the intensity! He’s been obsessed with her for years!” “If you won’t marry me, I’ll just steal you. This is some real-life Dark Romance shit.” “I want someone to love me enough to ruin their entire reputation for me.” I kept scrolling, my eyes blurring, forgetting the stove was still on. The ceramic pot hissed, then cracked under the uneven heat. Boiling broth erupted, splashing over my hands and legs. I stared at the red, blistering skin, but I couldn’t feel the sting. I just stood there in the wreckage of my kitchen and dialed Sebastian’s number. It went straight to voicemail. That familiar, clipped greeting played in my ear, followed by the silence of his absence. I started to laugh. It was a cold, hollow sound that died in my throat. He’d promised me this morning. He’d kissed my stomach and told me he’d be home by two. He’d knelt by my hospital bed three years ago and sworn on his life he’d be a better man. Was I heartbroken? I don’t think so. You have to have hope for your heart to break, and I’d burned through the last of mine a long time ago. I calmly cleaned the floor, wiped the broth from my skin, and called the hospital back. “Cancel the ultrasound,” I said, my voice steady. “I need to schedule a termination. As soon as possible.” 2 Sebastian didn’t stumble through the door until 3:00 AM. I was sitting on the sofa, my eyes raw and stinging from the lack of sleep. When our eyes met, the silence in the room felt heavy, like it was made of lead. On the coffee table, my iPad was on a loop, playing the video of him at the altar. “Here’s two million dollars…” Over and over. Sebastian strode across the room, snatched the iPad, and killed the screen. Then, slowly, as if his bones had turned to glass, he sank to his knees. He was kneeling for her. Again. The irony was so sharp it was almost funny. “I know there’s nothing I can say,” he rasped, his voice sounding like he’d been screaming. “But I swear, this was the last time. I just had to help her.” “Help her?” I asked quietly. “Her dad has Stage 4 lung cancer. She’s drowning in medical debt. She came to me weeks ago, and I turned her away. I tried to be the man you wanted. But then she decided to sell herself to that… that pig, just for the dowry. I couldn’t let her do it, Maya. It was out of pity. Just pity.” Pity. He’d used that word so many times I doubted he even knew what it meant anymore. But I knew. I knew because every time he “pitied” her, I was the one who bled. Putting her through school? Pity. Getting her that apartment? Pity. Buying her a car? Pity. Assaulting a man for her? Pity. And now, ruining our life to stop her from marrying someone else? Still “pity.” “Your heart is just overflowing with charity, isn’t it?” I said, the sarcasm tasting like acid. He moved to pull me into his arms, but I shoved him back with a strength that surprised us both. “Maya, please. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and brimming with tears. “Sebastian,” I said, looking down at the man I’d loved since I was seventeen. “The person who gives up first doesn’t get to ask the other to stay.” 3 I never thought Sebastian would be a cheater. The day I found out was exactly 5,200 days since we’d first met. We were high school sweethearts, the couple everyone pointed to as the gold standard. A decade of history, and it all collapsed because of a girl in a shady spa. He’d started “working late” every night. My friends would joke about it, asking if I was worried he had a mistress. I’d just laugh it off. “Why worry? If a man is dirty, you just throw him out.” But I had overestimated his loyalty and underestimated my own capacity for self-destruction. Love is a debt, and I was about to go bankrupt. Sebastian had “gifted” fifty thousand dollars to that massage parlor. One of his business partners let it slip at dinner, thinking I already knew. The table went dead silent. That was the worst day of my life. Not just because of the betrayal, but because that morning, I’d seen two pink lines on a plastic stick. I had planned to announce the pregnancy over dessert. Instead, I ended up acting like a woman I didn’t recognize—screaming, demanding names, demanding addresses. When I finally confronted Jade, the man who had never raised his voice to me stood in front of her like a shield. “Have you had enough?” he’d roared at me. “I’m so sorry,” Jade had whimpered, looking up at him with those wide, tear-filled eyes. “It’s my fault. I tempted him. Hit me if you want, just don’t blame Sebastian.” I lost it. I lunged for her, my hand connecting with her face in a sharp crack. Sebastian grabbed her, pulling her into his chest, and glared at me with pure loathing. “Maya, stop it! You’re being cruel!” “Cruel?” I choked out. “You’ve always been the strong one, the demanding one, pushing me to be more, to do more. I just wanted to do something for someone who actually needs me. What’s so wrong with that?” Those words were a death sentence. We entered a cold war that lasted months. Everyone thought he’d be the one to break. After all, he was the one who had strayed. But in the end, I was the one who used the baby to beg him to come home. 4 I didn’t realize how much I was addicted to him. From the moment we were teenagers, he was the one who chased me. He was my shadow. The thought of a world without Sebastian felt like a world without oxygen. I started gaslighting myself. Maybe I was too hard on him. Maybe I didn’t appreciate him enough. When I finally called him, I let my pride die. “Just come home. If you break it off with her, we can pretend none of this happened. Please.” I was pathetic. I was small. But he told me he couldn’t. Not yet. He said he had to “protect” her because her life had been so hard. I agreed to let him send her a monthly “stipend” just to get him back in our house. I thought that would be the end of it. But he was always out. A box of pastries from a famous bakery? She needs to try these. A ticket to a concert? She’s never seen anything beautiful; I have to show her. He even helped her open a small boutique bar called “The Jade Mist.” When a drunk customer got aggressive with her, Sebastian threw him off the balcony. We spent a fortune on lawyers and hush money to keep him out of prison. “Did you think about me?” I asked him, clutching my swollen belly. “Did you think about our daughter growing up with a father in a cage?” He just accused me of having no heart. He went on a rampage, smashing the furniture in our bedroom. When he hit the wall, our wedding photo fell. The glass shattered, a jagged crack running right between our faces. A broken mirror can’t be fixed. I was too young to understand that then. On our anniversary, I sat in a five-star restaurant until the staff started mopping the floors. He never showed. Instead, I saw Jade’s Instagram post. “Thank you for showing me that being ‘imperfect’ is the best reason to be loved.” In the photo, she was wearing a designer dress I’d seen in my own closet. She had the same bag I did. She was living a mirror version of my life, funded by my husband. I drove to the house he’d bought for her, my vision blurred by tears. When I pushed open the door, time stopped. Jade was wearing my wedding dress. Not one like it. Mine. And they were kissing. I think that was the moment I actually lost my mind. I screamed until my throat bled. I lunged at them, and in the chaos, Jade shoved me. I hit the floor hard. And then I felt the heat. The blood. 5 The baby was gone. And with her, the last of the woman I used to be. Jade threatened to jump off a roof to “pay back the life she took,” and Sebastian was the hero who talked her down. But after that, he finally seemed to wake up. He cut her off. He stayed home. He became a ghost in our house. When I handed him the divorce papers, he looked genuinely terrified. “Maya, please. Are you really throwing us away?” He knelt. He swore. He cried. He looked exactly like the eighteen-year-old boy who used to leave “Goodnight, Princess” notes in my locker. I looked at our old photos. I remembered how he’d take a two-hour bus ride every weekend just to see me for twenty minutes. I remembered how he worked three jobs in college to buy me a designer lipstick, only to pick the ugliest shade of purple because he didn’t know any better. Memories are a trap. Our love was woven into my DNA. I didn’t know how to exist without it. For a long time, I suffered from severe insomnia and anxiety. I could hear my own heart beating in the silence, waiting for it to stop. Sebastian was the one who took me to specialists, who brewed herbal teas every night, who soaked my feet in warm water until I fell asleep. He had caused all the trauma, yet he was the only one I wanted to comfort me. It was a sickness. I chose to believe him one last time. So, finding myself back here, being the punchline of the joke again… that’s on me. Sebastian, the boy you used to be earned you one last chance. And the man you are just threw it away. 6 Sebastian insisted on holding me that night. He clung to me like a shivering dog, whispering promises into my hair. “I’ll be there tomorrow for the check-up, I swear. I’m done being a fool. Our baby is going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.” But when I woke up, the bed was cold. There was a post-it note on the nightstand. Emergency at the office. I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll make it up to you tonight. Love you. What a coincidence. Seconds after I read it, Jade’s social media updated. “Thank you for saving me, again and again.” It was a photo of Sebastian’s bruised knuckles, the background clearly the site of the wedding he’d just destroyed. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just laughed. I went to the hospital alone. As the anesthesia entered my spine, I felt the life draining out of me. A single tear escaped, carrying a decade of love and a lifetime of hate. But mostly, I felt light. Walking back into the house late that night, the first thing I saw was Jade. She was sitting on my sofa, wearing my slippers, drinking from my favorite mug. The air in the room turned to ice. Sebastian stammered, his face pale. “Her ex went crazy, Maya. He was at her door with an axe. I saw it on my way home from the office… I couldn’t just leave her there. It’s just for one night.” Jade stood up, her voice a practiced whisper of humility. “I’m so sorry, Maya. I’m such a burden. Don’t be mad at Sebastian; it’s all my fault.” She looked down, but I saw the spark of triumph in her eyes. I didn’t even look at her. “Who Sebastian brings into his house is none of my business,” I said, my voice eerily calm. I walked to the coffee table and dropped the divorce papers right in front of them. “You don’t need to worry about the check-up, Sebastian. There is no baby. I had the procedure today.” “Now, sign the papers.”

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Before the ocean swallowed me whole, I did everything in my power to stop my boyfriend and his precious childhood best friend from diving the Devil’s Snare. But Bella wouldn’t listen. She was determined to hit the bottom of the cavern, only to trigger a massive silt-out that sucked her right into the suffocating mud. To save her, my boyfriend shoved me into the blinding debris. He let Bella use my body as a stepping stone to kick her way to safety. “Harper, stop being so selfish,” he had said, his voice echoing in my earpiece. “Bella is terrified. Let her go first. You’re the professional. I know you can handle it.” He grabbed her hand, and they swam toward the light without ever looking back. And I died down there, my lungs packed with dark, freezing silt. Now, I blinked, the sting of saltwater in my eyes. I was staring at Bella’s gloved hand, making the aggressive downward gesture. She was demanding we descend to the hundred-meter drop-off. This time, I didn’t reach out to grab their harnesses. I didn’t shake my head. Instead, I lifted my right hand and slowly, deliberately, gave them a thumbs-up. My boyfriend’s doe-eyed sidekick smirked through her mask. She thought I was finally giving in. She thought I was calling her brave. But they clearly hadn’t paid attention in my class. In scuba diving, a thumbs-up doesn’t mean good job. It means danger. Terminate the dive. I am going up. … “Harper, are you seriously this much of a sore loser?” Bella’s taunting voice crackled through the bone-conduction earpiece strapped to my head. “I already told Carter that if we nail this deep dive, our livestream will hit the number one trending spot. Why are you always trying to ruin my moment?” The frigid currents of the Atlantic wrapped around me, but it was nothing compared to the ice in my veins. Hovering just a few feet away, Carter was impatiently adjusting his full-face mask. His eyes—eyes I had loved for four years—were narrowed in profound disgust. “Harper, drop the overbearing instructor act,” Carter’s voice buzzed in my ear. “Bella wants to see the bottom of the Snare, so I’m taking her. If you’re that terrified, go back up to the boat and wait.” I knew this exact moment. I had lived it. In my past life, hovering at this exact depth, at this notoriously lethal dive site, I had practically begged them to stop. I had explained, my voice cracking with panic, that the cavern floor was untouched, unstable silt. One wrong fin kick would cause a complete white-out. Visibility would drop to zero in seconds. And what had happened? Carter forced the descent. Bella, with her abysmal buoyancy control, crashed into the bottom. The mud swallowed her fins, and in her sheer panic, she kicked up a blinding storm of sediment. Blinded and terrified, she had lunged for me, wrapping her arms around my legs like a vice. And Carter—the man who kissed my forehead every morning—had violently kicked my primary regulator right out of my mouth to give Bella leverage. He shoved his hand into my shoulder, pushing me deeper into the mud so his fragile best friend could push off my chest and escape. I remembered the excruciating burn of my lungs expanding, the thick, metallic taste of the mud flooding my airway. I remembered the agonizing, desperate thrashing that slowly faded into a cold, paralyzing numbness. In the final seconds before my brain went dark, I saw them. Through the murky water, they were clinging to each other. Carter’s voice had drifted down to me, distorted but unmistakable: “That was too close. God, Bella, I realized it down here… you’re the only one who matters to me.” “Thank you, Harper,” he had added, an afterthought to a corpse. “We’ll tell our kids how you sacrificed yourself for her.” The phantom pain of drowning violently seized my throat. I was back. The universe had rewound the tape. I forced myself to exhale a long, steady stream of bubbles, bringing my heart rate down to avoid CO2 retention. I looked at Carter as he aggressively signaled ‘Descent’ again. I didn’t thrash. I didn’t scream into the comms. I didn’t fight like a madwoman to shut off their tank valves like I had wanted to the first time. I adjusted my BCD, finding perfect, weightless neutral buoyancy. Then, making sure the underwater drone’s camera was capturing my every move, I raised my right hand. I gave them a textbook, flawless thumbs-up. Dive over. Ascending. It was a tragic comedy, really. During the two-hour safety briefing they had completely ignored, I had drilled the hand signals into them. But Bella was too busy rolling her eyes, cutting me off with a huff. “God, Harper, we get it. We’ve dove in Cabo before. Stop acting like we’re idiots.” And Carter had just stroked her hair, indulging her bratty behavior while I stood there, humiliated. Now, seeing my thumb raised, Carter paused. A flicker of smug satisfaction crossed his eyes. He actually thought I was praising them. He thought he had finally broken my boundaries and taught me to be the submissive girlfriend. Bella actually blew me a kiss through the water. She linked her arm through Carter’s, and together, like two lovesick fools, they kicked their way down into the very darkness that had once been my grave. I watched their dive lights fade into faint, glowing halos. Then, I turned my back to the abyss. I checked my dive computer, vented a burst of air from my wing, and began my slow, mandatory safety ascent. You can’t save people who are hell-bent on destroying themselves. Since they were so desperate for a romantic adventure, I wished them well. I hoped they’d stay together in that mud. Forever. When I broke the surface, the glaring afternoon sun made me squint. The safety diver on the charter boat leaned over the railing, his face pale. “Harper? Where are Carter and Bella? Why are you alone?” I spit out my mouthpiece and methodically unclipped my heavy harness. I let a perfectly measured look of bitter exhaustion wash over my face. “They thought I was holding them back,” I said, my voice intentionally trembling. “They insisted on pushing past the recreational limits into the deep fissure. I couldn’t physically stop them. I came up so I wouldn’t cause a panic at depth.” The crew exchanged horrified looks. Behind them, a laptop screen showed Carter’s livestream chat absolutely exploding. [What kind of instructor abandons her students?] [Shut up, you idiot. Carter signed a death-wish waiver. Harper is a guide, not a babysitter.] [Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.] I ignored the noise. I found a quiet spot on the stern and sat down, my fingers tightly gripping my GoPro housing. Inside this little black box was the definitive proof of our parting ways. The minutes crawled by. Ten minutes past their scheduled surface time. The atmosphere on the deck grew suffocating. The boat captain was incessantly checking his watch, barking into the marine radio, receiving nothing but the crackle of dead static. Five more minutes. Suddenly, the water fifty yards off the port bow violently boiled. A massive cluster of expanding bubbles breached the surface, followed instantly by two bodies shooting out of the water like corks. It wasn’t a controlled ascent. It was a catastrophic, uncontrolled emergency blow-up. Carter broke the surface gasping, his mask gone, his face twisted in sheer agony. Blood was pouring from his nose and mouth—the undeniable, horrifying signs of pulmonary barotrauma and severe decompression sickness. He was dragging Bella by her buoyancy vest. She was completely limp. “Help! Help her!” Carter shrieked, his voice shredded and wet. The crew scrambled, throwing life rings and hauling the two of them onto the dive platform. Bella’s face was the color of ash. Her legs dragged behind her at a sickening, unnatural angle. The second Carter hit the deck, he didn’t even bother wiping the blood from his chin. His bloodshot eyes locked onto me, burning with a rabid, animalistic hatred. He lunged. “Harper! You sick bitch!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “You turned off our reserve valves! You tried to murder Bella!” The entire boat froze. The crew from neighboring dive boats turned their heads. The guy running Carter’s livestream practically shoved the camera into my face, sensing the viral drama. Carter swung a heavy, desperate fist at my head. I was ready. I simply took a half-step to the right. Severely disoriented by the nitrogen bubbles expanding in his brain, Carter’s equilibrium was shot. He missed entirely, his momentum carrying him forward until he face-planted onto the hard fiberglass deck with a sickening crunch. “Aargh!” He wailed, clutching his face, but immediately pointed a shaking, bloody finger at me. “You all saw her! She left us! She was jealous of Bella and sabotaged our gear in the cave!” he sobbed for the camera. “I’m sending you to prison, Harper! I’ll make you pay for this!” It was just the three of us down there. I was the one who came up early. In a culture that immediately sympathizes with the bleeding victim, a bloody man and a comatose woman painted a very damning picture of me. Whispers started breaking out among the onlookers. “Jesus, did she really try to drown them over a guy?” “She looks so calm. That’s psycho behavior.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry defensively. I just looked down at him. “Carter,” I said, my voice carrying over the sound of the idling engines. “If you’re going to accuse me of attempted murder, you need better material.” I reached down and hauled my scuba tank upright. The pressure gauge clearly showed it was nearly full. I turned the dial toward the crowd. “I initiated my ascent less than five minutes into the dive. My dive computer—” I tapped the heavy watch on my wrist “—has a to-the-second GPS and depth log. It shows I never came within thirty feet of either of you after the drop-off.” I tilted my head, staring dead into his panicked eyes. “Tell me, Carter. Am I telekinetic? Did I use mind control to shut off your air from thirty feet away?” He froze. The gears in his oxygen-deprived brain ground to a halt. He hadn’t expected the cold, hard data. But narcissists pivot quickly. “Then you left us to die!” he howled, changing his tune instantly. “You’re a certified instructor! It was your job to protect us! You knew that cave was a death trap and you didn’t force us back! You wanted us dead!” The absolute audacity of it almost made me laugh. In my past life, I tried to force them back, and they murdered me for it. In this life, I respected their autonomy, and now I was a negligent monster. “Are you a toddler, Carter?” I asked, my voice dropping to a low, lethal register. “I warned you three times during the briefing that the cavern was unstable. You laughed, signed the liability waivers, and demanded to go. Down there, you gave me the middle finger and told me to get lost.” I stepped closer, looming over him. “And now that you face the consequences of your own arrogance, you want to blame me? I’m a dive guide, Carter. I’m not your mother.” The rhythmic, deafening thwack of a Coast Guard medevac helicopter drowned out whatever excuse he was about to vomit. Paramedics rushed the deck with stretchers. As they strapped Bella in, I saw her eyelashes flutter. She wasn’t entirely unconscious. She was playing possum. Smart girl. Easier to play the tragic, helpless victim when you don’t have to answer questions. Before Carter was hoisted up, he grabbed the paramedic’s collar, screaming toward the livestream phone still recording him. “I’m suing her! I’m destroying her! Everyone watching, you are my witnesses! Harper did this to us!” The chat was a blur of absolute chaos. The hashtag #KillerDiveInstructor was already trending on Twitter. I watched the helicopter bank away toward the mainland, a cold smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. Scream louder, Carter. Go viral. Because the higher the pedestal of public pity you build for yourself, the harder the fall is going to shatter you. The hospital waiting room was a circus. Carter’s parents and Bella’s mother were practically staging a protest outside the ICU. The moment Bella’s mother saw me step off the elevator, she shrieked and lunged for my throat. “You murderer! You ruined my baby’s life!” A police officer stepped between us, shoving her back. “Ma’am, step back! This is a hospital, contain yourself!” I calmly smoothed the collar of my jacket, completely unfazed by the hysterics. “Officer,” I said smoothly. “I’m here to give my official statement. And to hand over my evidence.” Inside the hospital room, Carter was propped up in bed, holding his phone out, weeping for an audience of three million live viewers. Bella was awake in the bed next to his. The bends had severely damaged her spinal cord, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. She was clinging to Carter’s arm, sobbing pitifully. When Carter saw me walk in, his face twisted into an ugly snarl. “You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Harper!” he spat. “I’m going to make sure you rot in a cell! I’ll take everything you own!” The livestream chat was moving so fast it was unreadable, mostly a blur of death threats directed at me. The detective frowned, gesturing for Carter to put the phone away. “Mr. Starling, Ms. Harper claims to have video evidence of the dive. We are going to review it.” Carter scoffed, a sickeningly confident smirk on his face. “Video? Perfect. Show the world exactly how you swam away and left us to die in the dark.” He thought my GoPro only caught the moment I turned around. He thought the narrative was locked: I abandoned them, therefore I was morally bankrupt and legally liable for a massive payout. I didn’t say a word. I just walked over to the smart TV mounted on the wall and plugged my camera in. The screen flickered, and suddenly, the room was filled with the crystal-clear 4K footage of the deep, suffocating blue. The video showed Carter and Bella flipping me off. It showed them aggressively swimming deeper. It showed me giving the thumbs-up and turning away. “See?!” Carter yelled triumphantly at the phone in his hand. “Look at her! She just leaves! She didn’t even try!” But the video didn’t stop. And neither did the audio. My GoPro was top-of-the-line. It was linked to our shared bone-conduction comms frequency. Even though I was swimming away, the receiver was still picking up their private channel perfectly. From the TV speakers, Carter’s voice echoed through the dead-silent hospital room. “Forget the bitch, Bella,” his recorded voice panted, thick with adrenaline. “I took out a two-million-dollar accidental injury policy for this trip. All we have to do is get a little banged up down here. Make it look like an equipment failure…” “Once the payout hits, we leave her in the dust and move to the Maldives.” The silence in the hospital room was so absolute you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. Carter’s face drained of all color. The phone slipped from his sweaty hand and clattered to the linoleum floor. But the recording wasn’t done. The audio erupted into a horrifying cacophony of thrashing water and Bella’s muffled screams. “Carter! My leg! I’m stuck in the mud! Help me!” Then came Carter’s frantic, hyperventilating voice. “Damn it! The silt is everywhere! I can’t see!” “Stop grabbing me, Bella! Let go! I’m out of air!” The sound of their violent underwater struggle was nauseating. And then came the sentence that shattered the room. “I’m sorry, Bells. But it’s better one of us lives than both of us die.” “Your legs are crushed anyway. Give me the air!” Hisssssss. The unmistakable, violent sound of a regulator being ripped from a mouth. Followed by the wet, choking gurgle of Bella inhaling mud, and the greedy, desperate sound of Carter sucking down her remaining oxygen. I stood next to the TV, looking down at Carter’s paralyzed, ghost-white face. I slowly reached out and pressed pause. “Tell me, Carter,” I whispered into the deafening silence. “Is that what you call abandonment?” “Because the penal code calls that attempted murder.”

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