Category: English

1 The night I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I saw a viral “Do you have the guts?” challenge. Owen had tagged Emily: Do you have the guts to admit you take off his hearing aids so he won’t hear us next door? Emily replied instantly. Stop it. Stop being crazy. Owen answered, Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. I’m dying anyway. My final wish is seeing you two happy. Commenters tore him apart, not knowing the truth. At the orphanage, when a drunk caretaker came for me, Owen locked me in a utility closet, taking the beating himself. Later, Emily gave up an Ivy League future and studying abroad to tutor me for three years so I could get into college. I owed them everything. Even knowing they betrayed me, hating them felt like ingratitude. The hospital called—Owen’s liver was failing, and I was a perfect match. I looked at my stage II stomach cancer diagnosis on the desk. Then I went to the hospital alone, signed the organ donation form, and signed papers refusing further cancer treatment. … After completing the pre-op tests, I sat in the hospital corridor for a long time, just trying to feel my own body before the sickness completely hollowed it out. When I turned my phone back on, the video was gone. The comments were deleted. Instead, I had thirteen missed calls from Emily and seventeen from Owen. I called Emily back. She picked up on the first ring, her voice freezing. “Michael, where have you been?” “Owen has been breaking out in cold sweats from the pain. Because we couldn’t find you, he refused to take his pain meds.” “Do we really have to worry about you at a time like this?” I opened my mouth, but my throat was incredibly dry. She noticed my silence and paused. “Where are you?” I stuffed the test results deep into my coat pocket. “Nowhere. I’m fine.” She let out a sharp sigh of relief. “If you’re fine, get over here. Owen wants to take a photo.” Owen’s voice came through the receiver, weak and laughing. “Art, I want to take a decent portrait for my funeral. I don’t want you guys remembering me looking like a corpse when I’m gone.” Emily immediately snapped at him. “Shut up. You look so awful right now even the Grim Reaper wouldn’t want you.” She sounded harsh, but I heard the rattle of the water glass shaking against the table. Her hands were trembling. When I reached the studio, Owen was already dressed in a crisp white button-down. He was so thin the shirt hung loosely on his frame. Emily stood behind him, her eyes red. Seeing me, she frowned. “Why is your face so pale?” Before I could answer, Owen smiled. “Hey, Art.” Emily immediately turned to support his weight. I walked over and gently adjusted Owen’s collar. He was just as thin when we were kids, pushing me into that dark closet. When the ambulance took him away back then, he still tried to comfort me. “Don’t worry about me, Art. I might be skinny, but I can protect you.” The photographer broke my reverie. “Should we do the solo shots first?” Owen shook his head. “Can we do a group photo of the three of us first? They’re the most important people in my life. Then you can take my solo portrait.” Emily’s face darkened. “Stop calling it that.” Owen’s eyes brimmed with tears. I looked at him and said softly, “Let’s not do a group photo.” They both looked at me, startled. I forced a smile. “You two should take a couple’s portrait.” Owen froze. Emily frowned. “Michael, don’t start.” I didn’t look at her. I squatted down to meet Owen’s eyes. “I’m just worried that if you go to the other side alone, other ghosts will bully you. You need some backup.” Emily went quiet. Owen’s tears spilled over, and I gently wiped them away with my thumb. The photographer told them to stand closer. Owen hesitated to touch her. I took his hand and placed it in Emily’s. “It’s okay.” Emily looked up at him. The photographer said, “Bride, hold onto the groom.” She didn’t correct him. She just wrapped her arms tightly around Owen’s. I stood outside the frame, holding Owen’s medicine bag and Emily’s purse. The flash went off, bright and blinding. It struck me then that Emily and I had never taken couples’ photos, let alone wedding portraits. I stepped slightly into the edge of the frame. In their perfect photo, my blurry shadow would be my final, quiet farewell. After the shoot, Owen wanted to go for a walk. “Just for a bit. I want to look at the sky one last time.” Emily refused. “You’re too weak to be moving around.” Owen looked down, silent. I went to speak, but my vision went black. The blood draw had left me lightheaded, and a dull, heavy ache throbbed in my stomach. I leaned against the back of a chair to steady myself. Emily saw me and knit her brows. “Michael, Owen is exhausted. Don’t start acting sick right now and make him feel worse.” I forced a nod, picking up Owen’s scarf. “Let’s go. I’ll walk with him.” The wind outside was freezing. Emily supported Owen ahead of me, and I lagged behind. Owen stood by the railing, staring into the gray distance. “Emily, I have one last wish.” Her voice strained. “You have a lot of wishes today.” Owen didn’t laugh. He looked back at me. Emily did too. After a few seconds, she spoke softly. “Art, can you take off your hearing aids for a moment?” I complied, and the world plunged into silence. Emily turned to Owen. With absolute seriousness and devotion, she said something. Owen froze, then laughed through his tears. They thought I couldn’t hear. But I could read lips. She had said: I love you. A wave of bitterness washed over me. I wiped my tears, slowly letting my lips curve into a silent shape: I love you both, too. That was why I was willing to let them go. Owen cried so hard his body swayed. Emily’s face paled. She lunged to catch him. “Owen?!” His eyes closed, his fingers still clutching her sleeve. Her voice shook with panic. “Owen, stay with me. Look at me! Do you hear me?!” She carried him to the car. As she sped away, she forgot all about me. I stood by the empty road, put my hearing aids back on, and hauled a cab to the hospital. When I reached the emergency room, Emily was standing outside the resuscitation room. Her dress was wrinkled, her hands stained with Owen’s nosebleed. The nurse told her to wash up, but she didn’t hear. Her eyes were glued to the red light. When the doctor stepped out, she rushed forward. “How is he?” “His liver is failing,” the doctor said. “We can’t drag this out any longer.” Her lips trembled. “Haven’t you found a donor? I don’t care how much it costs!” The doctor frowned. “It’s not about money.” Her voice cracked. “Then take mine. I’ll donate. Just save him.” I watched her from a few paces away. I remembered when my hearing first deteriorated and I was too terrified to sleep. Emily had stayed up with me until dawn. Her eyes had been red then, too. But back then, she had only patted my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry.” She was always so calm, I never thought she could break. The doctor went back inside. Emily slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, sobbing. I walked over and crouched before her. “He’ll be okay. He’ll get the donor.” She snapped her head up, her eyes bloodshot. “Michael, how can you say that so easily? Like it’s nothing?” I froze. She pushed herself up so fast her shoulder slammed into me. Lightheaded and weak, I lost my balance and fell to the cold floor. A sharp spasm of pain flared in my stomach, turning my vision dark. But Emily didn’t even notice. She glared down at me. “Owen almost died outside that door trying to save you when we were kids. Now he’s dying, and you’re just standing there telling me he’ll be fine? Michael, when did you become so selfish?” I sat on the freezing tile, unable to utter a word. A nurse ran over to help me up. “Are you alright?” “Just low blood sugar,” I mumbled. The nurse looked at my deathly pale face. “You really should get checked out.” Before I could answer, Owen’s weak voice drifted from the room. “Emily…” She spun around instantly. Owen’s first question upon waking was, “No donor yet?” Emily held his hand. “I’ve sent people to get tested.” Owen’s eyes welled up. “Don’t do it. I don’t want you giving up part of your liver for me. And I don’t want Art to be hurt either.” Hearing my name, Emily finally cast a glance at me. It was a complex look, filled with silent accusation that I was too detached. Owen pulled a worn notebook from under his pillow. A sticky note on the cover read: Bucket List. He opened the first page. “Took the photo. Check.” He drew a tick next to it. Then he flipped the page. “I want to go to the old hilltop sanctuary to draw a blessing card. The old lady near the orphanage used to say that if the card is blessed, it can buy you some extra time.” He smiled weakly. “I want to try.” Emily agreed. I leaned against the doorframe, my phone buzzing in my pocket. It was a text from the hospital: Mr. Michael, please check in by 8:00 AM tomorrow. Pre-op preparations for organ donation have been confirmed. I clenched my fists. Owen noticed my silence. “Art, do you not want to go?” “No, I just have some things to take care of tomorrow.” Owen’s eyes dimmed. “Are you tired of me, Art?” My chest tightened. “No.” “I only have a few things left,” he whispered. “If you don’t want to come, it’s okay.” Emily looked at me, her voice laced with cold irritation. “Michael. All he wants is for you to accompany him to get a blessing card. Is that really so hard?” I locked my phone and smiled. “It’s not hard. I’ll go.” The next day, we went to the hilltop sanctuary. Emily helped Owen up the path. I trailed behind, my stomach throbbing. Every dozen steps, I had to stop to catch my breath. Emily only looked back once. The sanctuary was quiet. Owen drew his blessing token first. When the priest read it, his face fell. A bad omen. The card read: A fading life cannot be held, fleeting blessings cannot endure. Owen stared at it, laughing quietly. “Pretty accurate.” Emily snatched the card and crumpled it. “Garbage. Draw again.” The priest shook his head. “One request per token. You cannot redraw.” Emily’s face twisted with anger. Just then, my token fell out. An auspicious omen. The priest glanced at it. “A long life of peace, filled with abundant grace.” My fingers trembled. I had drawn it for myself. Before I could pocket it, Emily reached over, took it from my hand, and pressed it into Owen’s palm. “Take this. Wash away the bad luck.” Owen blinked. “But this is Art’s.” Emily finally looked at me. “Michael, you don’t mind, right?” I looked at the card, then at Owen’s deathly pale face. If this card really possessed any magic, let it protect him. Owen walked to the relationship altar. The priest said, “A relationship token can only be drawn once in a lifetime.” Owen stepped back. “Then leave it for you and Art.” But Emily grabbed his hand. “Don’t be afraid. Draw it if you want.” The wooden token clattered down. A perfect match. The priest read: “Bound by life and death, a bond too deep to sever.” Strangers nearby murmured about what a beautiful match they were. I stood to the side, a sudden wave of nausea hitting me. I covered my mouth, forcing down the metallic taste of blood. I stayed silent. Emily helped Owen down the steps. Owen leaned on her, asking, “Where’s Art?” Emily looked back. I was far up the steps. “He’s slow,” she said. “We’ll wait for him at the bottom.” I tried to keep walking, but the pain in my stomach was blinding. Dizziness washed over me, and my knees buckled. I couldn’t do it. I turned back toward the sanctuary. Next to the side chapel was a small clinic. A white-haired nurse helped me lie down and gave me some basic treatment. “You need to go to a hospital immediately. Any longer and you’ll bleed out.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t tell the people outside.” When Emily finally found me, I had just sat up. She rushed in, exhaling in relief before her expression soured. “Michael, why did you run off here?” “Look, I’m sorry about taking your card earlier. I’ll take you to draw as many as you want later. Owen only has so much time left. Can we just keep him happy, please?” I looked at her, nodding weakly. “Okay.” She helped me down the mountain, her phone buzzing constantly with texts from Owen: Did you find Art? Is he mad at me? Emily, please don’t yell at him. As she read them, she murmured to me, “Michael, let’s just let him have his way this time.” Upon returning, I checked straight into the inpatient ward. The doctor looked grim. “You have liver donation surgery tomorrow, but your current physical state makes this extremely high-risk.” I closed my eyes. “I know. But please, proceed.” That night, Emily called me three times. I didn’t answer. When she texted, I didn’t dare read them. Finally, I turned off my phone. The next morning, news came from Owen’s ward: a donor had been found. Emily rushed to the doctor’s office. Through the door, I heard her voice. “When is the surgery?” “The donor has been admitted and passed all checks,” the doctor said. “I can compensate them,” Emily said urgently. “Money, real estate, anything they want.” The doctor shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” In the afternoon, the nurse wheeled me out for my final tests. Passing the hallway, I heard Emily on the phone. “I still can’t reach Michael. He’s been acting strange since we got back from the sanctuary.” Owen’s weak voice answered, “Go find him.” Emily fell silent for a long moment. “After your surgery. He’s a grown man, he’ll be fine.” The nurse wheeled me into the elevator. Just before the doors slid shut, I saw Emily look up. She seemed to catch a glimpse of my patient gown. She took a step forward, but the doors closed. Later, Emily brought fruits and supplements to the donor’s ward. I heard her asking the nurse outside, “Can I just peek in? I want to say thank you on behalf of Owen.” The nurse stopped her. “The donor needs to rest.” She hovered at the door. I kept my back to her, my hair messy, not daring to move or turn around. Through the crack in the door, her voice softened. “His back looks… like someone I know.” My fingers clawed into the sheets. The nurse smiled. “Ms. Emily, you’re just stressed. Tomorrow’s surgery will go smoothly.” She finally left. I let go, my palms slick with sweat. On the day of the surgery, Owen was wheeled in first. I lay on another gurney, pushed through a side corridor. From a distance, I saw her tucking his blanket in. Three hours later, the surgeon emerged to deliver the good news: “The surgery was a success.” She leaned against the wall, eyes tearing up. “He’s alive… thank God.” But a second later, another nurse rushed out from the operating theater. “Who is Michael’s next of kin?!” Emily froze. “Are you mistaken? I’m Owen’s family. Why would Michael be in the operating room?” The nurse was frantic. “No mistake. The donor who gave his liver to Owen is Michael. He was already suffering from stomach cancer, and now after the transplant, his vitals are highly unstable. We need the family to sign an emergency consent form immediately!”

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1 Justine saw the Disneyland passes online and booked two tickets without hesitation. One for herself and one for her best friend Jared. After linking them to her account, she glanced at me. “Got your ticket yet?” I watched them walk toward security, shoulders brushing, then swallowed hard and bought a single adult pass. By the time I entered, Jared had messaged our group chat. “Taking too long, Marc. We’re hitting rides first. Don’t wait up.” On a trip for three, they always walked together. I was the one left behind. I deleted my draft that said I was coming to find them. Jared posted a photo of him and Justine in matching Mickey ears, faces close. The caption read, “Celebrating our 30th photo together.” In ten days in Los Angeles, they had taken thirty photos. I had been left behind thirty times. At dusk, crowds gathered for fireworks. I finally found them. Justine smiled and held up her phone. “Marcus, let me take your picture!” I stood alone under the glowing castle, flashing a stiff peace sign. Before I lowered my hand, she shoved the phone back and looped her arm around Jared. “Now take one of us! We want the castle like Nick and Judy.” I stared at the screen, handed the phone back, and walked away. This summer trip would never have the ending I had imagined. Justine hurried after me, catching my arm. “The fireworks aren’t even over. Where are you going? Don’t wander off and get lost again.” I blinked against the stinging in my eyes, forcing a smile as I turned back. But my gaze fell instantly on their tightly intertwined hands. The smile died on my face. “I think I want to go back to the hotel.” “Justine, hurry up! The crowd is moving, we need to grab the best viewing spot up front!” Jared’s voice cut over mine, loud and urgent. Justine didn’t hesitate. She let go of my arm, turned around, and pulled Jared into the throng. The surging crowd quickly swallowed them up, pushing me further and further away. It occurred to me then that even if I stood perfectly still, they would still find a way to leave me behind. As the fireworks erupted into brilliant colors behind me, I walked out of the park gates. I stared blankly at the gridlock of cars stretching into the night. Before we left, Justine had insisted on making all the plans herself, claiming she couldn’t trust me to handle the logistics. Now, I was left to navigate the unfamiliar transit system alone, following the signs toward the subway station. A hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder from behind. Justine was panting, her face slick with sweat, but her voice carried a sharp chill. “You’ve been pulling away from us all day. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to try and enjoy the park while constantly searching for you?” “I’m sorry…” The familiar apology died in my throat. During the past thirty times I had been abandoned, I was always the one who apologized. Jared draped an arm over my shoulder, offering a sweet, easy smile. “Don’t mind her, Marc. She’s just a typical blunt girl, she doesn’t know how to show she cares about guys.” I looked at the heavy backpacks Justine was carrying, along with the giant stuffed animals they had won at the carnival games. Taking a step to the side, I let Jared’s arm slip off my shoulder. “Looks to me like she knows how to care for you just fine,” I said quietly. Jared grinned at Justine. “Aw, looks like our little Marcus is jealous.” Justine scowled, her irritation flashing clearly in her eyes. “He’s passive-aggressive from morning to night. Who has the energy to decode his constant mood swings?” Before I could reply, she spotted a large rideshare vehicle pulling up to the curb. She grabbed Jared’s hand and pulled him toward it. “Those people are looking for passengers to split the fare! Come on, let’s go negotiate with them.” After walking a few steps, she seemed to remember I was there. She turned around, calling out over the din of the traffic. “Marcus, stop throwing a fit. This is the busiest hour, and it’s impossible to get a private ride. Jared and I are taking this one. You find three other people to split another car.” Jared waved energetically from the window as the car door slid shut. “See you at the hotel, Marcus!” I stood frozen on the sidewalk, watching the sleek black car merge into the sea of taillights. At that moment, the sheer panic and humiliation of being abandoned in an unfamiliar city at midnight finally broke me. Tears spilled over my cheeks, and I wept openly under the streetlights, ignored by the rushing crowds. I remembered the day high school ended. Justine had been the one to suggest this trip to Los Angeles. She had looked into my eyes under the schoolyard trees and said, “Marcus, let’s be official.” But when we arrived at the station on the day of departure, I found out she had bought a ticket for Jared, too. I pulled out my phone and sent her a text. Justine, let’s break up. Her reply came almost instantly. Marcus, are you serious? Are you really throwing a tantrum just because Jared and I walked together today? I did it for your own sake. Your leg can’t handle long walks anyway. Whenever I complained, Justine’s excuse was always that she was doing it “for my own sake.” But the only reason my leg couldn’t handle long walks was because of them. During the summer before our senior year, we had taken Jared’s family’s beat-up minivan to the coast. Jared had insisted on swapping seats with me, forcing me into the passenger side while he played a rowdy game of charades with Justine in the back. They got so wild that Jared accidentally slammed into the driver’s seat, forcing the steering wheel out of control. The van crashed violently into a rock wall. The crumpled passenger door crushed my leg. During the most intense months of exam prep, I had to navigate school with a heavy plaster cast. Justine had carried me on her back up the stairs for an entire semester. I had allowed myself to believe she did it out of love. Now, I realized it was nothing more than guilt. It was nearly midnight by the time I managed to find a rideshare. Since my destination was the furthest, the other passengers gradually filtered out, leaving me alone in the back seat. I opened the maps app on my phone and realized the driver had veered off the main highway, heading down a dark, unfamiliar road. Panic seized me. I shared my live location to the group chat, tagging both of them repeatedly. Where are you guys? Can you look at my route? This driver is taking a very sketchy turn. Justine, call me on speaker right now so he knows someone is expecting me. Are you guys there? The silence stretching inside the car was suffocating. Finally, my phone buzzed with a message from Jared. I wiped the cold sweat from my palms and tapped it open. Marc, stop spamming the chat. Justine and I are in the middle of a mobile game and the connection keeps lagging because of your notifications. I stared at the words on the screen for a full minute, and then a dry, hollow laugh escaped my chest. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his voice gruff but kind. “Hey kid, we’re pretty far out. You should send a message to your family to let them know you’re safe.” I nodded numbly, thanking him, but the tears kept silent pace down my face. When I finally reached the hotel, Justine was sitting on the steps near the lobby. Seeing me limp toward her, she let out a long, weary sigh. “Marcus, it took you two hours to get a rideshare. I don’t even know what to say to you.” I brushed past her, keeping my head down. “Did you see my messages?” She looked up, her eyes vacant. “What messages?” Jared walked out of the lobby doors, casually messing up my hair. “Hey, look who finally decided to show up. We thought you got lost in the city forever.” He sat down on the wicker chair next to Justine, immediately leaning over her shoulder to analyze their last game match. I turned and walked toward the elevators. As the metal doors slid shut, separating me from the two of them, I caught my reflection in the polished steel. My face was pale, my eyes bloodshot and swollen. The lingering hesitation in my heart finally died. I pulled out my phone and sent a voice note to my mother. “Mom, I want to go to McGill. I’m not going to Stanford.” My mother, hearing the exhaustion in my voice, asked if Justine and I had fought. I didn’t give her a direct answer. The next morning, Jared’s bed remained perfectly made. He hadn’t slept in the room last night. The group chat was completely silent. Justine had sent me two private messages in the middle of the night. Marcus, I just saw the group chat. Next time you call a rideshare, make sure the license plate matches the app. She followed it with a link to a safety blog post about how to protect yourself in a stranger’s car. There was no apology, no concern. Just cold, clinical advice. I deleted the link and walked out of the room, determined to end things clearly. I wanted to tell her that this trip was a disaster, and that I was leaving. But when I knocked on her door, there was no answer. I called Jared’s phone. Justine answered. “You’re awake? The hotel breakfast runs until ten, make sure you grab something.” “Where are you guys?” I asked. The line went quiet for a moment before Jared’s voice took over. “Hey Marc, the hotel gave us a free couple’s photoshoot package that expires today. Since you were sleeping in, Justine said we shouldn’t bother you. So we just came out to do it ourselves.” “The photographer is waiting on us, so you just relax at the hotel, okay?” In the background, I heard the photographer’s muffled voice. “Come on, guys, show some affection! You’re a couple, don’t be shy. Press your cheek against hers, perfect, now hold that!” My fingers trembled, and I hung up the phone. To distract myself, I booked a last-minute ticket to a local museum. Subconsciously, I wanted to prove a point. I wanted to show them that I could have fun on my own, that I could be the one to abandon them. But the truth was, they didn’t care. When Justine found out I was at the museum, she sent a brief text. Cool. Jared and I are meeting an old classmate for lunch. Have fun, let’s meet up at the night market tonight. It was noon. They had just finished their photoshoot. It was clear they had never intended to invite me to their lunch. That evening, the night market was packed. When Justine saw me, the relaxed expression on her face instantly tightened into a frown. She handed me a cup of boba tea, her voice laced with annoyance. “Finally, the young master decides to grace us with his presence.” Jared took a long sip of his own drink, his eyes lingering on the iced lemon tea Justine was holding. Without a word, Justine naturally handed her cup to him. Jared took a drink, complained it was too sour, and handed it back. The gesture was so seamless, so practiced, it was obvious they did it all the time when I wasn’t looking. I slowed my pace, letting them drift ahead until the distance between us stretched. As I walked with my head down, a sudden, heavy force slammed into my shoulder. A cup of sweet milk tea splattered all over my shirt, and a man’s phone flew out of his hand, crashing onto the pavement. The screen shattered into a web of cracks. The man grabbed my arm with a crushing grip, nearly tearing the skin off my wrist. “Are you fucking blind? This is a brand new phone! Pay for it!” In the chaos, I looked over the heads of the crowd, locking eyes with Justine. But she was looking in the opposite direction, frantically pulling at Jared’s sleeve. Jared was in a heated argument with a street vendor over a failed digital payment. “Justine! I have a problem over here, can you help me?” I called out. Seeing me turn my head, the man slammed me hard against a brick wall. I fell to the ground, and his heavy boot stepped directly onto my swollen ankle, grinding down. A wave of white-hot agony washed over me, and my vision went dark. Across the street, Jared finally settled his dispute with the vendor. Justine looked back toward me one last time. Her gaze lingered on my collapsed form for less than a second before Jared grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner. In the end, it was an elderly bystander who called the police for me. By the time I finished giving my statement at the station and returned to the hotel, it was long past midnight. I limped through the lobby, my ankle twice its normal size, throbbing with a dull, sickening heat. Justine came rushing out of the elevator when she heard the noise, holding a plastic bag of ice and spray from a local pharmacy. She knelt down, trying to touch my ankle. “Let’s ice it first, then use the spray. We’ll see how it looks tomorrow.” I stared down at her face. She possessed a cold, analytical maturity that felt entirely unnatural for her age. Her movements were gentle, but all I felt was a freezing numbness. “You saw me, didn’t you?” Her hands paused on my ankle, but she didn’t look up. “I didn’t see any fight. Jared was arguing with the vendor, and I was trying to keep him from escalating things.” Her voice was perfectly level, her expression unchanged. I stared at her, realizing how pathetic I had been. Jared stood behind her, casually chewing on a candied apple, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Marc, you really shouldn’t be so spacey in crowded places. You have to watch where you’re going.” Justine let out a soft laugh. “You’re acting like you just met him. He’s always been clumsy, constantly getting lost.” “Did I choose to get lost?” my voice cracked, cold and sharp. “You saw me. Why didn’t you come?” The warmth drained from her face, replaced by a flash of deep irritation. “Your situation was an issue, but Jared’s wasn’t?” I forced myself up, the agony in my ankle making me gasp for air, but I refused to let myself crawl before her anymore. “Justine, if I’m always your second choice, then don’t bother pretending to care.” “Justine, go after him,” Jared murmured from behind her, his voice soft and helpless. Justine raised her voice, her anger finally breaking through. “Don’t bother! We agreed to travel as a group, but he is the only one playing the victim!” I hobbled back to my room, packed my bags, and booked the earliest train ticket home. When I opened my phone, I saw a new post in the group chat. Jared had uploaded a group photo of the three of us from the night market. It was the first time in eleven days that I had appeared in their photos. He tagged me. Marc, Justine said this trip was to make up for the sophomore trip I missed. I didn’t know my presence bothered you this much. If it does, I’ll buy a ticket and leave tomorrow. The implication was clear. I was the interloper. Years ago, during our sophomore summer, Justine had crashed her bicycle into Jared, causing him to undergo a minor brain surgery. Even though the doctors said it was an accident, she had carried the guilt ever since. From that point on, Jared had inserted himself between us, an immovable wedge. Justine’s reply in the group chat was swift. I won’t allow you to leave. Her favoritism was absolute. On my feed, Jared had posted a grid of their couple’s photoshoot. In the photos, Justine was smiling at him, holding his hand, looking into his eyes with a tenderness she had never shown me. Our high school classmates were already leaving comments, congratulating them on going official. I liked the post and added a comment. You two make a perfect couple. Minutes later, my hotel door was slammed open. Justine stood there, her eyes flashing with fury as she grabbed my arm. “What is your problem? Why are you leaving passive-aggressive comments on Jared’s post? He ran off because of you!” I stumbled against the wall, my freshly iced ankle twisting again. “Jared is gone?” “Yes! Thanks to you!” she screamed. The urgency of finding him seemed to override her anger. I swallowed my tears, limping after her as we searched the dark streets. We split up to cover more ground, and I called Jared’s phone dozens of times, getting nothing but voicemail. At dawn, I dragged myself back to the hotel. I pushed open the door to their room and froze. Empty beer bottles littered the floor. On the narrow sofa, Justine had her arms wrapped tightly around Jared’s waist, the two of them fast asleep, tangled together. The sight was the final spark on a long-neglected fuse. The fragile thread of my sanity snapped. I grabbed a heavy pillow from the bed and began thrashing them with it, screaming in a frenzy. Did they have any idea how dangerous the streets were at night? Did they care that my leg was screaming in pain? Jared woke up with a start, his eyes red and swollen with fear. He reached out to stop me. “Marcus, I’m sorry! My phone broke last night, and Justine’s phone died!” I slapped his hand away with all my strength, leaving a bright red mark on his skin. Justine shoved me back violently, her face dark as night. “Marcus! If you hate seeing us together this much, then get out of this trip! The moment you walk away, our promise is dead!” I tripped over the edge of the rug, my injured ankle slamming hard against the wooden bedpost. The pain was blinding, but I forced myself to laugh, a loud, hysterical sound to mask the utter humiliation. “You’re already sharing a bed. Why are we even pretending?” I dragged my suitcase out of the room. Behind me, Jared called my name, but Justine’s cold voice cut him off. “Let him go! He thinks the whole world has to revolve around him.” When my mother met me at the train station back home, she took one look at my purple, swollen ankle and gasped. At the clinic, the doctor stared at the X-rays, his brow furrowed in concern. “This started as a minor strain, but the continuous stress has caused a complete rupture of the Achilles tendon. Even after surgery, you’ll have difficulty flexing your heel. You’ll likely walk with a permanent limp.” I sat in silence. My mother held my head against her chest, her tears wetting my hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll find the best doctors. We’ll fix this.” The small examination room filled with the sound of my weeping. A notification popped up in the group chat. It was Jared. Marc, Justine wants me to apply to the vocational school near Stanford. I checked, and the campus is right down the road. We can all be together again, I’m so happy! I left the group chat and blocked both of them. Jared continued to broadcast their trip on the main class group chat. Thirtieth photo with Justine. We’re at the Griffith Observatory today. Someone told me this is the ultimate place to confess. Is that true? Should we try it? The chat erupted with classmates egging them on. And then, Jared posted a video. Justine was holding a bouquet of bright sunflowers, standing on the observation deck overlooking the city lights. Her voice was soft but clear. “Jared, you win. Let’s be together.” From behind the camera, Jared laughed. “Okay!” My chest gave a violent, painful squeeze. On the night she had agreed to be my girlfriend under the streetlights, she had promised to bring my favorite sunflowers to our college send-off and confess to me properly. Now, those flowers and that promise belonged to Jared. Three days later, Justine sent me a text. Marcus, you are so difficult to please. Because of your attitude, I lost a bet to Jared and have to be his girlfriend for three months. When you get to Stanford, don’t come see me too often. I don’t want Jared to get upset. I’ll reach out to you when the bet is over. But by then, I was already boarding a flight to Montreal. Justine decided to let me simmer for a few days, convinced I would come around. On the morning of her flight to Stanford, she woke up early and took a taxi to my house, intending to surprise me. She hesitated at the door for three long minutes, practicing how she would explain that she and Jared were planning to rent an apartment together near campus. The door opened, and my mother stood there, looking at her with cold surprise. “Mrs. Zhou, I’m here to pick up Marcus so we can head to the airport together,” Justine said, offering her most polite smile. But my mother’s response shattered her composure. “Justine, Marcus went to McGill.”

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1 Vanguard Law was nothing but a three-person sweatshop when it was first founded. I poured three years of my blood, sweat, and tears into building it from the ground up, transforming it into one of the most prestigious law firms in Chicago. I personally carried more than half of the company’s total revenue on my shoulders. But when it came time to discuss my partnership equity and the commission for a ten-million-dollar mega-contract I just landed, my boss flipped the script. “Do not think you are God’s gift to this firm just because you hold a few big accounts.” “Those VIP clients do not care about you. They care about the Vanguard brand.” He fabricated an “unexcused absence” to force me out and threatened to blackball me with an airtight non-compete clause. I sat in silence for a few seconds, let out a soft laugh, and signed my resignation papers. Picking up my cardboard box, I walked to the door and tossed one last sentence over my shoulder. “By the way, those top-tier VIP clients you love so much? They are my weekend hiking buddies. They are loyal to me, not your brand. If I walk, they all walk.” … “Wendy, who gave you the nerve to pull a no-show for three days straight?” Jackson lounged back in his oversized leather executive chair, looking me up and down with a gaze so slimy it made my skin crawl. His tone was dripping with venom. “Do not think you are God’s gift to this firm just because you hold a few big accounts.” “Those VIP clients do not care about you. They care about the Vanguard brand.” “You went AWOL for three days and ignored all calls. I have every right to terminate you on the spot.” I froze, my grip tightening on the contract in my hand. “Jackson, I submitted a PTO request for those three days last week. You personally approved it. And besides…” I wanted to tell him that even though I was technically on vacation, I had spent those entire three days hiking Blackwood Peak with Mr. Preston. I did it all for the firm, and because of that trip, I successfully locked down a ten-million-dollar retainer. Jackson cut me off with a mocking sneer. “Did I approve it? Funny, I do not remember that. Did you file the paperwork with HR? Show me the physical approval slip.” I was completely boxed in. Because the trip was a last-minute opportunity, Jackson had only given me a verbal okay. Seeing my silence, his smug smile widened. “Wendy, so what if you are the golden girl of this firm?” “You vanished without a trace on company time. Several clients could not reach you.” “We all thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, but you were out having a grand old time hiking some mountain!” He knew exactly where I was. He knew I was at Blackwood Peak, which meant he knew I was entertaining Mr. Preston. It hit me like a splash of ice water. Jackson was doing this on purpose. He was the managing partner, but for two years running, my billing numbers had utterly crushed his. He was threatened. I shook the signed contract in my hand, refusing to back down. “Blackwood Peak is high altitude, there is zero cell reception. And I was working! I secured a one-year exclusive contract with Apex Corporation. The deal is worth ten million dollars.” “Hilarious!” Jackson burst into a grating, obnoxious laugh. “Working? You really think a woman like you landed a shark like Mr. Preston strictly through legal expertise? We all know exactly how you close your deals.” He dragged his eyes over my body again, his expression so vile he might as well have called me a cheap streetwalker to my face. I slammed my hand on his desk. “Watch your mouth, Jackson. Show some respect.” “Respect?” He scoffed loudly. “What kind of hike takes three days and three nights? You want respect? Look in the mirror. You do not deserve it!” A dull ache settled in my chest. Three years ago, Vanguard was a tiny, failing operation. Jackson fed me beautiful lies about potential, promised me equity, and begged me to treat this startup like my own family. For years, I worked myself to the bone, calling in every personal favor I had to drag high-net-worth clients through our doors. In three years, I grew this firm to a hundred employees. Over fifty percent of our total revenue came directly from my client roster. Top-tier firms had tried to poach me constantly, but Jackson gave me the title of Vice President. I stayed out of loyalty to my clients. Even though I was paid significantly less than the industry standard, I never once complained. I gave this company everything. And now, Jackson was throwing me under the bus the second I outlived my usefulness? My voice dropped to absolute zero. “Are you entirely sure you want to push me out?” Jackson waved his hand dismissively. “Stop acting like you are irreplaceable. You think this firm will crumble without you?” “The only reason you have that VP title is because you have been here the longest. I have a line of actual heavyweights begging to take your corner office!” Right on cue, Jackson’s assistant, a petty guy who had hated my guts since day one, chimed in. “Oh, Wendy, did you not hear? Kyle, that guy who graduated a year behind you? He is a legal superstar now, and he is bringing tens of millions in fresh accounts with him.” Jackson took a drag of his vape and blew the vapor directly into my face. “Exactly. Kyle is golf buddies with half the CEOs in the city. If you had not been hogging the VP chair all this time, he would have taken Vanguard public by now.” Kyle? I coughed, waving the sweet, sickening vapor away from my face, as the memory clicked into place. Kyle was a junior from my law school. Sure, he was a well-known guy on campus, mostly because he failed his core classes twice. He was famously almost expelled after everyone found out he was the kept boy toy of a wealthy older woman. 2 Looking at Jackson’s treacherous face and the malicious, gloating smirks of my coworkers, a wave of pure nausea washed over me. This was the place I had poured three years of my life into. I dragged this firm out of the gutter, only to realize it was rotting from the roots all along. This dump was not worth another second of my time. I gave them exactly what they wanted. “Fine. I quit.” Jackson clearly did not expect me to fold so easily. He blinked in surprise before his smug arrogance returned tenfold. “Smart choice.” “Go pack up your garbage and get the hell out of my building.” I did not say another word. I turned on my heel, walked into my corner office, and systematically packed my life into a single cardboard box. Just as I hoisted the box and walked toward the main exit, Jackson barked across the bull pen. “Hold on.” Two male associates dragged a rusted metal mop bucket to the center of the walkway, directly in my path. The water inside was a filthy, sludgy gray, reeking of bleach and mildew. I frowned. “What is this?” Jackson crossed his arms, looking down his nose at me like I was a pest. “Step over it. We need to cleanse the stench you are leaving behind. Vanguard is too classy to harbor a toxic plague like you.” “Especially a woman who traded favors on her back to get to the top. It is disgusting.” He was not even trying to hide it anymore. He was publicly slut-shaming me in front of the entire office. The two associates who dragged the bucket over started snickering. “Oh right, I guess we cannot call her VP Wendy anymore. Hey, since you are unemployed now, maybe your nightly rates will go down?” “Must be nice being a woman. Just bat your eyelashes, whisper sweet nothings in the right ear, and skip right to the top of the corporate ladder.” “Honestly, knowing I had to take orders from her for a year makes me want to puke!” I actually laughed. A year ago, those exact two associates were on the verge of being fired by Jackson for failing their probationary assessments and botching their paperwork. I was the one who pulled them onto my core team, hand-held them through massive projects, and saved their jobs! What an absolute pack of rabid dogs. I dropped all pretense of being professional. While they were still laughing, I took a step back, planted my left foot, and delivered a vicious roundhouse kick directly into the side of the metal bucket. Crash! The heavy bucket went flying across the polished marble floor. Gallons of filthy, gray water and grimy mop strings exploded everywhere, soaking the pristine shoes and tailored pants of the men mocking me. Screams and curses erupted across the room. “Are you insane?!” Jackson shrieked, jumping back to save his Italian loafers. I did not give him a second glance. Ignoring the utter chaos behind me, I walked straight out the glass double doors of Vanguard Law with my head held high. Standing on the sidewalk, the cool Chicago breeze washed away the lingering heat of my anger. Honestly, finding out a company was pure poison before wasting another year of my life there was a blessing in disguise! Jackson truly believed the firm was going to skyrocket without me? I could not wait to watch it burn. I pulled out my phone and opened my pinned group chat. It had exactly four members, titled “Summit Squad.” I did not type out a long explanation. I did not cry. I just sent three words. “I got fired.” The chat was dead silent for exactly three seconds. Then, my phone started vibrating violently. Lincoln texted first. [Did you not just hand them the Apex contract from Preston? Why the hell would they fire you?!] I sent a quick voice memo. “Jackson claimed I went AWOL during the three days I was hiking Blackwood Peak with Preston.” Lincoln was a legendary real estate mogul in the city. He owned half the commercial blocks downtown and had a notoriously short temper. He immediately fired back an audio message. “I am bringing my security team down there right now to bulldoze that pathetic little office! If it was not for you, Val, I would never have let a dumpster-fire firm like that touch my legal work!” Felix jumped in next. His tone was fiercely protective. “Do not stress, sis. I am hacking their mainframe right now. I will clone their entire client database and pack it up for you!” Felix was a tech billionaire prodigy. He loved playing around with cybersecurity. When he found out I was working at a no-name firm, he casually tossed a three-million-dollar tech contract onto my desk just to be supportive. I typed a quick, collective response. “I am a lawyer, guys. We do not commit cybercrimes or property damage.” Right after that, Victoria’s name popped up. She was the oldest and most successful of our crew. She sent a full sixty-second voice note, her tone absolutely lethal. “Vanguard is burning the bridge after crossing the river. They got a taste of real money, realized they are close to an IPO, and terminated you so they do not have to pay out your promised equity. What absolute trash. If Vanguard does not have you, they do not deserve my business. I am terminating my contract with them today.” I typed frantically. “Wait, what about the penalty fees?” “I am a billionaire, honey. I can afford a penalty fee!” Almost simultaneously, two more messages popped up. Lincoln: “Agree. Contract terminated. I will pay the damn fee!” Felix: “Yeah. Contract terminated. Send them the bill!” 3 Looking at the glowing text bubbles, the last shadow of gloom in my heart completely vanished. Vanguard was garbage, but my friends were worth their weight in gold. That evening, I polished my resume and sent out a few applications. The very next morning, I woke up to an email invitation for a senior partner interview at Pinnacle Law. Time: 11:00 AM. I quickly threw on a sharp, charcoal-gray tailored suit and headed over. An HR rep guided me down a long, sleek corridor and stopped in front of a frosted glass door marked “VIP Conference Room.” I straightened my collar and pushed the door open. Sitting at the massive oak table were two faces I knew intimately well. Sitting in the primary interviewer’s chair was my former boss, Jackson. Lounging next to him, with his feet propped up on the table, was my lovely junior, Kyle. They were both staring at me with the predatory, mocking grins of cats who had just cornered a mouse. Everything clicked into place. I had been wondering why Pinnacle Law reached out so fast when I had not even applied to them. This was not an interview. This was a carefully orchestrated trap. Jackson leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “Wendy, you are unemployed. As your former mentor and your dear junior, we were just so worried about you.” “I pulled a massive favor with Pinnacle’s managing partner to get you in this room today. Just wanted to see if you actually bring any real value to the table.” Kyle let out a cocky laugh. “Yeah, Wendy. You were such a hotshot back in law school. We all just wanted to see if you had any actual bite left without the Vanguard brand backing you up.” I calmly pulled out the leather chair opposite them and sat down gracefully. “Alright then. Let’s begin the interview.” My face showed zero traces of the anger or humiliation they were desperately hoping for. Jackson was thrown off balance. He stared at me for a long moment before finally asking, “Word on the street is your clients are loyal to you, not the firm. If Pinnacle hires you, how do we know you will not use some dirty, underhanded tactics to steal our clients when you leave?” I smiled, my words sharp as glass. “If you are terrified of losing clients, the root issue is your firm’s sheer incompetence, not the employees. Jackson, you literally just told me yesterday that Vanguard’s success was entirely due to the Vanguard brand, not me. Why are you suddenly so terrified?” “You—” Jackson choked on his words, his face flushing dark red. He glared at me, completely speechless. Kyle patted Jackson on the shoulder. “Let me handle this.” “You?” I let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. “You do not have the basic qualifications to ask me a single legal question. You barely passed your core classes, and you never once beat me in a collegiate mock trial.” “As for the cases you have personally litigated since passing the bar? A solid zero percent win rate. That alone should have you permanently nailed to the wall of shame.” “Oh, wait, my bad. You have beaten me in one category. You are an absolute master at kissing up to rich cougars to pay your bills, right?” Kyle bolted upright like a cat whose tail had been stomped on. His face turned a dangerous shade of purple. “You are spitting pure slander!” I was done playing their game. I grabbed my purse. “Do not worry, boys. I am going to do phenomenally well without Vanguard.” I turned to leave, but Jackson suddenly tossed a thick legal document across the table. It slid to a stop right in front of me. “You really are a streetwalker with a sharp tongue! You think you are so brilliant? So capable?! Let me tell you a harsh truth. Without Vanguard, you are nothing but a stray dog!” I picked up the document. It was my original employment contract. But attached to the back were two freshly printed pages. A non-compete agreement. “Read it and weep, Wendy. It is right there in black and white. For three years post-termination, you are legally barred from seeking employment at any rival law firm in this city.” “I have already called every major managing partner in Chicago. Anyone who hires you is declaring open war on Vanguard!” I had underestimated just how venomous Jackson could be. He did not just want to fire me, he wanted to permanently obliterate my entire career. He soaked in the silence, his voice trembling with sadistic pleasure. “You think you are so tough? You think signing one ten-million-dollar deal makes you royalty? I am going to make sure that without my permission, you do not even have the right to beg for scraps in this industry!” I looked at their smug, punchable faces and let out a soft laugh. “I cannot wait to see you try.” He wanted to blacklist me? He clearly had not asked the other three billionaires in the “Summit Squad” if they approved of his little plan. Just as the words left my mouth, Jackson’s cell phone started ringing frantically on the table. He picked it up, and the color instantly drained from his face. He gasped, his eyes going wide with pure terror. “What?! Victoria from Vogue Enterprises is canceling her retainer?”

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When my billionaire father died suddenly, my stepmother and stepsister moved into the master suite and treated me like excess baggage. At sixteen, terrified they’d steal my inheritance, I played the brainless, spoiled princess who couldn’t tell a contract’s front from its back. Rose tossed legal documents at me. I flipped two pages, tears streaming. “These words might know me, but I don’t know them.” When she urged me to sign away my rights, I clung to her neck. “You’re the best sister ever. You’d never lie to me, right?” Stepmother watched for six months, convinced I was a gullible idiot. She doubled my allowance, telling everyone I was simple and easy to please. I embraced the life of a useless trust fund baby—lounging, manicures, reality TV, lavish teas. Last month, Rose brought home her best friend, a “top-tier financial elite” from London. Stepmother handed me a thick ledger. “She’ll manage your finances. Have a look.” Fresh ink reeked from the pages. Two flips revealed white-out and altered numbers. Signing would make me guilty of embezzlement. I closed the ledger, smiling sweetly. “Thank you, Evelyn. I promise I’ll study it very hard.” 1 At my father’s funeral reception, Evelyn stood in the center of our grand living room, pressing a silk handkerchief to her eyes. She looked directly at a group of distant relatives and delivered a flawless performance. “Sandy is my own daughter now. I promise you all, I will take the absolute best care of her.” Her voice was choked with sobs but perfectly audible. The household staff stood around with their eyes downcast. I heard one of the maids whisper about how incredibly kind the madam was for taking in such useless baggage. I stood silently at the top of the grand staircase, gripping a framed photograph of my father, completely mute. That very same night, the head maid, Martha, marched up the stairs to my bedroom. “Miss Sandy, the madam said you need to pack your things and move up to the attic. She is going to completely remodel this room.” I looked up at her, my voice trembling. “But this is the room Dad decorated for me.” “The madam makes the rules now,” Martha snapped, already shoving my expensive dresses into a suitcase. I did not argue. The attic was tucked away at the very end of the third floor. When I pushed the heavy door open, a wave of damp, rotting wood and stale dust hit my face. The window frame leaked freezing air, the mattress sheets were a dingy yellow, and the single pillow bore a dark, suspicious water stain. I sat on the edge of that disgusting bed, hugging the stuffed bear my father had given me, and finally let the tears fall. I wiped my face fiercely, making a silent vow to myself. Nobody was going to protect me anymore. From this moment on, if I was going to cry, those tears needed to buy me something valuable. The door creaked open. Rose walked in carrying a bowl of plain rice and vegetables, completely failing to hide the nasty smirk on her face. She was the daughter Evelyn brought into the family from a previous marriage. We shared zero blood, but I was forced to call her my older sister. Rose slammed the bowl onto the dusty wooden desk. The ceramic clattered loudly against the wood. “Eat up, princess. Mom says this is your new kingdom.” She turned on her heel to leave. I called out to her, my voice shrinking into a pathetic squeak as I squeezed my stuffed bear tighter. “Rose… can I please go look at Dad’s room sometimes? Just to remember him?” Rose glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “What is there to look at? He is dead, get over it.” She marched down the hall, her heels clicking aggressively on the hardwood. But three days later, she came right back. This time, she wore a bright, artificial smile. She was holding a stack of legal documents, and her voice was sickeningly sweet. She spread the papers out on the desk, calling me by the pet name my father used. “Sweetie, the company needs you to sign off on some routine paperwork. It is just a formality. Just put your name right here.” I took the documents and let my eyes trail over the dense legal jargon. It was a complete transfer of shares and a formal declaration waiving my inheritance rights. Evelyn and Rose had spent three days cooking up this brilliant scheme. I found it absolutely hilarious, but when I looked up, my face was a mask of pure confusion. “Rose, these words might know me, but I definitely do not know them.” Rose forced a patient smile. “You just need to sign your name. I will take care of all the complicated stuff for you.” I shook my head violently and pushed the papers back toward her, forcing a dramatic sob. “Dad always told me never to sign things I cannot read. He said signing your name means you are making a promise, and you can never take a promise back.” Rose’s face immediately darkened. “Are you saying you do not trust your own sister?” She was always like this. Every single emotion she felt was plastered right on her face. She was almost too easy to read. I suddenly lunged forward, throwing my arms around her neck and rubbing my face against her expensive cashmere sweater. “Rose loves me the most! You would never lie to me, right? So please, sit down and read every single word to me so I can understand.” I felt Rose’s entire body go rigid. She was completely caught off guard by my clinginess. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a maid walking past the open doorway. She ripped the documents out of my hands, her face flushed with frustration. “Forget it. We will talk about this when you are older.” She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I sat on the bed, hugging my bear, watching the closed door as the innocent smile on my face slowly vanished into a cold, flat line. Late one night about a week later, a horrifying, screeching sound pierced the silence of the attic. It was clearly a human attempting to mimic the wail of a dying cat. The sound was shrill, deliberate, and coming from just outside my door. Next came the rhythmic, eerie tapping against my drafty windowpane. A moment later, a distorted, creepy music box melody started echoing through the hallway. It sounded exactly like the background track of a cheap horror movie, bouncing off the walls in the dead of night. I curled into a ball under my thin blankets, my heart hammering against my ribs, my palms slick with cold sweat. But my panic only lasted a few seconds. I realized exactly what this was. Evelyn was trying to terrorize me. She wanted to drive me clinically insane or scare me into running away from home. Like mother, like daughter. If Evelyn wanted to get rid of me, she was reduced to using these cheap, pathetic parlor tricks. I took a deep breath, kicked off the blankets, and ran barefoot out of the room. I let out a bloodcurdling scream, crying hysterically as I sprinted down the dark staircase. “Evelyn! Evelyn, help me! There are ghosts! I am so scared!” 2 The terrified screams of a sixteen-year-old girl are incredibly loud. My voice echoed through every corner of the massive estate, blending perfectly with the creepy music she had set up in the hallway. I did not stop running until I reached the master suite. I threw my fists against Evelyn’s heavy mahogany door, pounding relentlessly. “Evelyn! Open the door! Please, I am terrified!” The door remained firmly shut. Seeing this, I instantly dialed up my performance, sobbing so hard I sounded like I was choking on my own breath. Doors began to click open upstairs and downstairs as the staff peeked out of their quarters. Martha stood at the end of the hall, clutching her robe. I heard another maid whisper to her, wondering why the madam was ignoring a terrified child. Still, the room inside remained dead silent. I pressed my face against the wood, my voice shaking in pathetic, broken gasps. “Mom… please. I am so scared. I cannot sleep alone in the dark.” The whispering in the hallway grew louder. Finally, the lock clicked. Evelyn stood in the doorway wearing a luxurious silk nightgown. Her face was a mask of suppressed rage, dark circles forming under her eyes. She opened her mouth to scold me, but I did not give her the chance. I launched myself into her arms, shivering violently, and buried my wet, snotty face right into her expensive silk chest. “Evelyn, I need to sleep with you tonight!” With the entire household staff watching her every move, Evelyn was forced to contort her furious face into a mask of maternal concern. She awkwardly patted my back, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness while her jaw was completely locked. “Alright, sweetheart. You can sleep in my room tonight.” I crawled into her massive, comfortable bed and wrapped myself tightly in her Egyptian cotton duvet. I looked up at her with eyes full of absolute adoration and dependence, while internally, I was laughing my head off. I made sure she suffered that night. I tossed and turned aggressively. I kicked the blankets off six different times. I sleep-talked nonsense four times. At three in the morning, I shot up in bed, screaming my father’s name, and then threw myself into Evelyn’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Evelyn spent the entire night replacing the blankets, waking up to my screams, and soothing my fake panic attacks. She did not get a single minute of sleep. If she wanted to maintain her image as the saintly, grieving stepmother, she had absolutely no choice but to swallow her rage and comfort the traumatized orphan. The next night, I showed up at her bedroom door again, clutching my pillow. I stared up at her with giant, pitiful eyes. “Evelyn, I am still too scared.” She tried to turn me away, but I just stood there, shivering in the hallway. A maid happened to be walking by with a stack of fresh towels, glancing in our direction. Gossip was a wealthy widow’s worst nightmare. Evelyn ground her teeth together and opened the door. From that day on, if a floorboard creaked in the attic, I was knocking on her door. Evelyn’s eye bags grew darker by the day. Her skin lost its expensive glow. On the morning of the fifth day, I heard the sharp, violent crash of porcelain shattering against the wall inside her bedroom. That afternoon, I was walking past her closed door and caught the sound of muffled arguing. Rose’s voice was sharp and impatient. “Mom, the girl is a complete idiot. Dad spoiled her so much her brain is entirely empty. Scaring her is useless. What if she actually loses her mind? How are we going to explain a crazy stepdaughter to the extended family? We are better off just keeping her happy until she turns eighteen. Then we can easily trick her into signing everything away.” There was a long silence before Evelyn let out an exhausted sigh. “You are right. Playing rough is too risky. We will keep her comfortable and complacent. It is only two more years anyway.” I stood perfectly still in the hallway, clutching my teddy bear. A slow, genuine smile spread across my face. The very next morning, Evelyn was a changed woman. She climbed the stairs to the attic, took my hand, and spoke to me in a voice as soft as velvet. “Sweetie, this room is entirely too cold for you. Let’s get you moved to the south-facing guest suite on the second floor. How does that sound?” By the afternoon, I was unpacking in a beautiful, sunlit room. Fresh silk sheets, brand-new velvet curtains, and a massive bouquet of fresh lilies sitting on the vanity. It was a massive upgrade from the moldy attic. Standing in front of the maids, Evelyn smiled warmly and announced her new policy. “Sandy is such a sweet, simple girl. From now on, she gets an allowance of twenty thousand dollars a month. She can buy whatever makes her happy.” The staff immediately began praising the madam’s generosity. Rose leaned against the staircase railing, a look of absolute disgust on her face. I squeezed my new designer stuffed animal and beamed at them with perfect, childish innocence. “Thank you so much, Evelyn! Thank you, Rose!” 3 I spent my days sleeping until noon. I would wander downstairs to eat the gourmet breakfasts Martha prepared, then collapse onto the velvet sofa to scroll through social media and watch mind-numbing reality shows. I booked expensive private manicurists to come to the house, and mountains of designer shopping bags piled up in the foyer. Evelyn and Rose watched me rot on the couch, their eyes growing more relaxed by the day. “Look at her,” Rose sneered one afternoon, stepping over a pile of my discarded fashion magazines. She did not even bother to lower her voice. “She dropped out of her prep school because she said reading gave her a headache. She is completely useless.” Evelyn took a slow sip of her black coffee, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “Useless is good. Useless means she will not cause us any trouble.” I popped a fresh strawberry into my mouth, my eyes glued to the television screen, giggling loudly at the show. But I kept a mental receipt of every single thing they did. Shortly after my father passed, his most trusted executives had secretly reached out to me. Every single quarter, I quietly reviewed the company’s confidential financial reports. Evelyn thought keeping the official documents locked in my father’s study was enough to keep me out, but she had no idea my father had told me exactly where the hidden spare key was. A few days after my seventeenth birthday, Rose walked through the front doors with a stylish stranger. Evelyn practically floated down the stairs to greet them, taking the woman’s hand affectionately before turning to me. “Sweetie, this is Rose’s best friend. She just moved back from the UK. She is a genius with money.” The woman flashed me a brilliant, over-rehearsed smile, reaching out a hand with perfectly painted crimson nails. “Just call me Amy.” I tilted my head, looking at her with wide, empty eyes. “Hi, Amy.” Amy’s smile widened, but I caught the brief, unmistakable flash of superiority in her eyes. A week later, Evelyn walked into my bedroom, her eyes artificially reddened with fake tears. She sat on the edge of my bed, pulling a thick leather binder into her lap. She grabbed my hand, her voice trembling just the right amount. “Sweetie, the company accounts your father left behind are an absolute mess. I simply cannot manage them all by myself. This is the ledger from last year. Just take a look and sign your name at the bottom to show you acknowledge it.” “Do I really have to read all this boring math?” I asked, looking thoroughly confused. Evelyn nodded sadly. “You are your father’s daughter. It is your responsibility to at least look at it.” I took the heavy binder and opened it. The paper smelled strange, like harsh chemicals and damp ink. It was the distinct smell of special erasing fluid. My eyes scanned the columns. My heart did a cold, hard flip. A thirty-million-dollar expenditure had been scratched out and rewritten as three million. The tampering was incredibly sloppy, the ghostly indentations of the original zeros still visible under the new ink. They really thought my brain was completely hollow. They were not even trying to hide their crimes. Since they were so confident in my stupidity, I had to reward them for their faith. I looked up, blinking rapidly. “Evelyn, these numbers give me a headache. Can Rose come explain them to me?” Evelyn immediately called Rose and Amy into the room. The three of them surrounded my bed. Rose forced herself to patiently point at every single line item, explaining them in a gentle, soothing voice. But I could see a bead of nervous sweat forming on her forehead. I kept pointing to the same glaring discrepancy. “But why does this line look so messy? What was the number before it got changed?” Rose’s mouth twitched. “It was just a typo by the accountant. We fixed it for you.” I pointed to another blaring error. “What about this one? Why did thirty million turn into three million?” Amy’s professional patience finally cracked. Her tone turned sharp. “You do not need to worry about the details. Just sign your name at the bottom. We are taking care of it.” My eyes instantly welled up with tears. My lower lip quivered violently. “Are you guys mad at me because I am stupid? I do not want to sign this anymore. I am going to call Mr. Harrison. He was Dad’s favorite lawyer, and he told me to call him if I ever got confused.” Mr. Harrison was the corporate attorney my father trusted with his life, and the very same man who had been secretly feeding me company updates. Rose’s face drained of all color. She lunged forward, grabbing my arm, her voice pitching up in panic. “No! Do not bother the lawyers. We are just trying to help you. Do you really think your big sister would trick you?” I looked at her, tears spilling down my cheeks, sniffling loudly. “If you promise everything is okay, then write me a guarantee. Write down on a piece of paper that signing this book will not make me lose any of my money. Then I will sign it.” Rose and Amy exchanged a long, tense look. The room was suffocatingly quiet. Amy finally gritted her teeth. “Fine. We will write it.” Rose pulled a crisp piece of stationary from my desk. She picked up a pen and wrote out a formal guarantee, stating that the ledger was entirely accurate and would not result in any financial loss to my estate. She signed her name with an angry flourish. Amy signed directly below her. I read the paper carefully, making sure the wording was ironclad, before folding it up and slipping it into my pajama pocket. Then, I picked up a pen and signed the forged ledger. I made sure my handwriting was atrocious, shaky and oversized, like a child learning cursive. I completely changed the way I held the pen, ensuring a handwriting expert would have a nightmare trying to match it to my real signature later. As soon as they had the signed book in their hands, Rose and Amy let out a simultaneous breath of relief. I saw the triumphant, greedy smiles they flashed each other before they practically ran out of the room.

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The night my brother, Logan, went to his fiancée’s house to finalize their wedding date, I invited him out for hotpot to help him destress. Once we sat down, I teased him casually. “Wow, Logan, since when do you have such a big appetite? You’re actually eating cilantro. Didn’t you use to hate it?” He smiled faintly, his voice flat and emotionless. “Tastes change. It’s good to try new things once in a while.” As he spoke, he scooped a massive spoonful of peanut butter, slathered it over a slice of beef, and swallowed it whole. My heart instantly seized. No one knew better than I did— Logan had a severe, life-threatening peanut allergy. Even a trace amount would send him into anaphylactic shock. He hadn’t touched a single peanut product his entire life. Suppressing the rising panic in my chest, I forced a smile and raised my glass. “Come on, let’s toast to your upcoming wedding. Cheers!” As I spoke, I discreetly double-tapped the bottom of my glass. This was a secret signal Logan and I had shared since we were kids. But the man sitting across from me didn’t notice at all. He simply clinked his glass against mine, tilted his head, and downed his drink. I stared at his flawless, calm expression. Cold sweat broke out across my back. The man in front of me was not Logan. If he wasn’t my brother… where on earth was the real Logan? 0

The spicy red broth bubbled violently in the pot, the rising white steam blurring my vision of the man sitting opposite me. This local hotpot joint was our absolute favorite. Ever since Logan went to his fiancée Clara’s house a week ago to discuss the wedding, we hadn’t seen each other for days. The moment he got back today, I dragged him here. “Leo, what are you daydreaming about? The beef is getting overcooked.” The man opposite me urged. He smoothly used his tongs to scoop up a piece of beef and dropped it into his dipping bowl. I stared at his bowl, my brain completely freezing. The blood in my veins turned to ice. His bowl was covered in a thick layer of cilantro, topped with a heavy scoop of rich peanut butter. He picked up the beef, dripping with peanut butter and cilantro, stuffed it into his mouth without a second thought, and chewed happily. “Man, this place is still as good as always,” he mumbled around his food. Under the table, my hands began to shake uncontrollably. Since we were kids, Logan had detested cilantro. He said it smelled like stinkbugs. But more importantly, he was lethally allergic to peanuts! When we were little, he once accidentally ate a cookie with peanut butter. Within five minutes, his entire body broke out in hives, his throat swelled up, and he nearly stopped breathing. He spent the entire night in the ICU. The doctors barely pulled him back from the edge of death. Since then, “peanuts” became an absolute taboo in our house. Yet now, this “Logan” sitting in front of me was not only eating cilantro, but he was also swallowing massive amounts of peanut butter! And he had absolutely no reaction. No hives, no wheezing, no pale face. He looked perfectly healthy, laughing and talking. “Logan…” My voice sounded dry, like sandpaper. “I thought… you couldn’t eat peanuts?” His hand paused for a fraction of a second. A tiny, almost imperceptible flash of panic crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a natural smile. “Oh, did you forget? I went to see an alternative medicine specialist a while ago. He put me on some herbal immunotherapy. A few days ago at Clara’s place, her mom didn’t know about my allergy and made peanut pastries. I took a bite and felt completely fine. Looks like I’ve been desensitized.” He explained smoothly while grabbing another slice of lamb. “And about cilantro, I used to hate it, but now I suddenly find it pretty good. Tastes change as you grow up, you know?” Desensitized? A lethal, genetic allergy cured by some random herbs? That was statistically impossible. I forced down the urge to slam my hands on the table. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my beer glass. “Oh, really? That’s great. We can eat so much more stuff together now. Come on, bro, cheers.” I held my glass out. He smiled, raised his glass, and clinked it against mine. *Clink.* I stared intently at his fingers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Logan and I had a secret habit from our childhood. We grew up in foster care together. Back then, whenever we got a can of soda or a bowl of hot soup to share, we would double-tap the bottom of the container with our fingers when clinking them together. It was our way of saying, *we’re in this together.* We kept this habit even after we grew up. Whenever it was just the two of us drinking, whether it was water or beer, we always double-tapped the bottom of the glass. It was our secret code. Our adoptive parents didn’t know, and Clara didn’t know either. But just now, he had simply clinked my glass normally and taken a big gulp. I gripped my cold glass so hard my knuckles turned white. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst through my ribs. The exact same face, the exact same voice, even the same clothing style and speech patterns. But he was not Logan. Absolutely not! Then where was the real Logan? And who was this monster wearing my brother’s skin? 0

I couldn’t taste a single thing for the rest of the dinner. I did my best to hide my suspicion, pretending to chat with him normally. I couldn’t show my hand yet. If he wasn’t Logan, then the real Logan was in extreme danger, or maybe even… I didn’t dare to finish that thought. By the time we got home, it was already 9:00 PM. I pushed the front door open. The living room was lit with a warm, cozy light. My adoptive father, Arthur, was sitting on the couch watching the news, while my adoptive mother, Helen, was in the kitchen slicing fruit. Twenty years ago, they adopted Logan and me from foster care. They didn’t have biological children of their own, and over the years, they treated us like their flesh and blood. They put us through college, bought us clothes, and gave us a real home. In my heart, they were my real parents. “Hey, Dad. Mom. We’re home,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I kicked off my shoes. “You’re back! Was the hotpot good? You smell like smoke, go take a shower,” Helen said, walking out of the kitchen with a fruit platter, her smile warm and gentle. The fake “Logan” walked over naturally and wrapped his arm around Helen’s shoulders. “Mom, I’m stuffed. Leo kept ordering so much meat.” “Oh, you. You’re about to fit into your wedding suit, you need to watch what you eat,” Helen laughed, patting his arm. Arthur also put down the remote control, smiling warmly at us. It was such a peaceful, ordinary family scene. But it made my skin crawl. I took a deep breath and sat down on the armchair. “Hey Mom, something weird happened today,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Logan ate peanut butter at the restaurant, and he was completely fine. Not a single hive.” The air in the living room seemed to freeze instantly. Only the muffled voice of the TV news anchor echoed in the silence. I stared at my parents’ faces, watching for any tiny reaction. Helen’s hand slipped, and her knife clicked sharply against the glass platter. The smile on Arthur’s face stiffened for a brief second. But Helen recovered quickly. She popped a piece of apple into the fake Logan’s mouth and turned to smile at me. “Oh, that? I thought it was something serious. Didn’t Logan tell you? I took him to an amazing herbalist a few months ago. He swore he could cure allergies, and look at that, it actually worked!” Arthur nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Leo, you worry too much. Your brother is getting married soon. It’s a blessing that his health is getting better.” My heart sank into a dark, bottomless abyss. They were lying. Logan had never been to any herbalist! His allergy was a severe genetic defect. It was medically impossible to cure. The specialists at the hospital had told us that years ago, and my parents were right there in the room! Why were they helping this imposter cover up his lie? Could it be… A terrifying thought exploded in my brain, making my scalp go numb. Did my parents already know he wasn’t Logan? Or worse… were they in on it together?! Suddenly, the home I had lived in for twenty years felt completely foreign and terrifying. The air around me felt thick and suffocating, like breathing in wet cement. “Maybe I’m just overthinking. I’m going to go take a shower,” I muttered. I stood up abruptly, keeping my head down as I rushed to my bedroom. I shut the door and locked it immediately. Leaning against the door, my legs gave out, and I slid down to the floor. Cold sweat drenched my shirt. I was completely alone. In this house, everyone except me was a monster. Where was Logan? Was he already…? No! Logan was smart. If he realized he was in danger, he would have left me a clue! I had to calm down. I couldn’t panic. Logan was waiting for me to save him. 0

I dragged myself up from the floor. I didn’t dare turn on the light. Using only the moonlight filtering through the window, I began searching my room frantically. Although Logan and I had separate rooms, we shared a lot of things. If he wanted to leave me a message, where would he put it? His phone? No, the imposter definitely had his phone. A diary? Too obvious. My eyes fell on an old metal tin on the bottom shelf of my bookcase. It was our old sketchbook from high school. I worked as a freelance illustrator. Logan wasn’t into art, but he used to love doodling rough design ideas in my sketchbooks. We had made a pact back then: if either of us ever got into trouble we couldn’t talk about, we would draw a distress signal on the very last page of the sketchbook. With trembling hands, I pulled out the tin and opened it. The yellowed sketchbook lay quietly inside. I flipped to the very last page. Under the faint moonlight, I saw a rough sketch drawn with a black charcoal pencil. It was drawn in a hurry; the lines were messy and chaotic. It was a giant Ferris wheel. And beneath the wheel, there was a crude, crooked cross. The Ferris wheel… My mind raced. There was only one place in this city with a Ferris wheel—the abandoned amusement park on the outskirts of town! And right next to that park was the “Sunny Days Orphanage,” the place where we were adopted! The orphanage had been demolished years ago, and now it was just a desolate, overgrown wasteland. No one ever went there. And a cross… did it mean death, or did it mean something was buried there? Logan wanted me to go there! He had left a clue—or maybe himself—at that place! I checked the time on my phone. 11:30 PM. It was too dangerous to go out now. If I woke up the three people downstairs, I might not even make it out of the house alive. I needed help. I opened Snapchat and tapped on Clara’s profile. Clara was Logan’s fiancée. They had been together since college, and they loved each other deeply. If there was anyone else in this world who cared about Logan as much as I did, it was her. But I didn’t dare write too much on Snapchat. What if her phone was being monitored too? I carefully drafted a message: *Hey Clara, Logan ate peanut butter at dinner tonight and had zero reaction. He’s been acting really strange lately. Please keep an eye on him.* After sending it, I put my phone on silent, lay down on my bed fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. I didn’t sleep a wink all night. The next morning, I heard the front door close downstairs. Arthur and Helen had gone to the morning market, and the fake Logan said he was going to get his wedding suit fitted. This was my chance! I jumped out of bed, threw on a jacket, grabbed my backpack, and bolted out of the house. In the taxi, I finally received Clara’s reply. It was short, but it made my eyes sting with tears. *I thought he was acting weird too. Where are you?* I immediately pinned the location of the abandoned amusement park and sent it to her with a warning: *Don’t tell anyone. Come alone.* The taxi dropped me off at the edge of the overgrown wasteland. The once-vibrant amusement park was now nothing but a graveyard of rusted metal. The massive Ferris wheel loomed in the distance like a dead iron beast, surrounded by knee-high weeds. I took a deep breath, wading through the dry grass toward the wheel. The silence was deafening, broken only by the rustling of the wind through the weeds. I reached the base of the Ferris wheel and started searching for any sign of a “cross.” After searching for about fifteen minutes, I noticed a patch of freshly disturbed dirt at the base of a thick, rusted iron pillar. On top of the dirt, two dry branches were crossed over each other, forming a crude crucifix. This was it! I dropped to my knees, ignored the dirt under my fingernails, and started digging frantically with my bare hands. The soil was loose, clearly buried very recently. About six inches down, my fingers hit something hard. It was a plastic Ziploc bag. I yanked it out and wiped the dirt off the plastic. Inside was a USB drive and an old, faded black-and-white photograph. With shaking fingers, I pulled the photo out. It was a young couple holding a baby boy, about a year old. Even though it was taken decades ago, I recognized them instantly. The couple was a young Arthur and Helen! But the baby boy’s eyes and nose… looked exactly like Logan. Or rather, exactly like the imposter! On the back of the photo, written in faded blue ink, were the words: *Luke’s 1st Birthday.* Luke? Luke Miller? (Our family name). My head spun, and a realization hit me like a lightning bolt, shattering the fog. Arthur and Helen had a biological son! And their biological son looked exactly like Logan! No, that wasn’t right. Logan looked like *him*! Twenty years ago, when they went to the orphanage to adopt, it wasn’t out of the goodness of their hearts. They chose Logan because he looked exactly like their lost biological son! Which meant the imposter in our house right now… was their real son, Luke! He was back! And he had replaced Logan! Just as the shock washed over me, I heard a faint rustling sound behind me. *Rustle… rustle…* The sound of dry grass snapping echoed loudly in the dead quiet of the wasteland. I spun around. Arthur was standing less than fifteen feet away, holding a rusted shovel. His eyes were cold, staring at me as if I were already a corpse.

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I had been with Chloe for five years. My love for her was the worst-kept secret in the entire city. Everyone sneered behind my back, calling me her loyal golden retriever—always on call, discarded the second she was bored. On the day of our wedding fitting, I stood in front of the mirror wearing a custom $40,000 tuxedo, waiting for her. Instead of Chloe, I got a text saying she had rushed to take my brother Tristan’s cat to the emergency vet. “Carter, stop being so dramatic,” Chloe’s voice drifted through the receiver, laced with annoyance. “The cat is really sick. You can fit that tuxedo any day, can’t you?” I looked at my reflection in the mirror, forced a smile, and slowly began unbuttoning the jacket. “Then let’s not fit it. Let’s not get married at all.” She let out a mocking scoff and hung up. She probably thought I was throwing another tantrum. She was probably expecting me to crawl back and apologize in a couple of days with my tail between my legs. After all, for five years, I was always the one to bow my head first after every single fight. But she didn’t know that just yesterday, I signed an offer with a top-tier investment firm on Wall Street. A $500,000 starting salary. My flight to New York was next week. I used to be a fool, treating her like a goddess. But now, I was wide awake. This trash wedding? Anyone else could have it. I was done.

“Just because I skipped your fitting to help Tristan with his sick cat, you’re calling off the wedding?” Chloe’s voice on the phone was dripping with patronizing amusement. “Carter, have you lost your mind? Over this?” “Yes, over this,” I replied, staring at the sharp lines of the tuxedo in the mirror. My eyes were completely dead. “I’m calling it off. We’re done.” Chloe let out a sharp, angry laugh. In the background, I could hear Tristan’s whiny, dramatic voice consoling her. “This is the eighth time this year you’ve threatened to break up with me,” Chloe sighed. “Carter, you’re a grown man. Stop acting like a dramatic teenager throwing a tantrum. I’m exhausted.” “I have never been more certain about anything in my life. We are through.” My mind had never been this clear. Chloe grit her teeth, her voice turning icy. “Fine. Have it your way. If you walk out of that boutique today, don’t you dare come crawling back. Even if you beg on your knees, I won’t look at you again. Don’t regret this!” *Click.* The call was cut off. I took a deep breath, called the stylist over, and took off the designer jacket without a second thought. The fabric had felt so heavy, but the moment it slid off my shoulders, it felt like a five-year boulder had finally shattered off my chest. As I changed back into my casual clothes and reached for the door, my phone buzzed. It was a picture from my brother, Tristan. In the photo, Chloe was leaning over, tenderly bottle-feeding a fluffy Ragdoll cat. Her profile looked incredibly soft and gentle. Beneath the photo was a text: *”Looks like our little ‘Beanpole’ is throwing another fit, huh? Man, I envy how much free time you have to be dramatic. Chloe is just too sweet—she couldn’t bear to leave a poor kitty suffering. Don’t be mad at her, little bro.”* “Our little Beanpole.” Seeing those words made my stomach churn with pure disgust. Growing up, I was skinny and sickly. Tristan had rallied all the neighborhood kids to call me “Beanpole.” Once, he even pushed me into a deep sandbox, laughing that a beanpole belonged in the dirt. It was bad enough coming from him, but I had told Chloe thousands of times how much I loathed that nickname. It was my ultimate childhood trauma. Yet, just two days ago, in front of a group of her wealthy friends, Chloe had laughed, patted my head, and said, “Our little Beanpole just has a short fuse.” I had frozen in embarrassment, and she had blamed me for “not being able to take a joke.” And now, Tristan was using that exact nickname to mark his territory like he was the actual husband. I didn’t write a three-page essay to argue back like I used to. I didn’t call Chloe screaming. I calmly saved the screenshot, set both of their Snapchat accounts to “Do Not Disturb,” and walked out. The afternoon sun was blinding. I hailed a cab. “To the train station, please.” To hell with this love. To hell with this family. I was done serving them.

“Are you insane? You actually broke up with her? Canceled the whole wedding?” My best friend, Luke, stared at me over the table, spilling half his iced coffee in shock. I calmly stirred the ice in my cup. “Yep. It’s officially over.” “But…” Luke swallowed hard, looking at me like I had grown a second head. “Carter, don’t take this the wrong way, but that doesn’t sound like you at all. You used to worship the ground she walked on.” “That was then. Now? I just think she’s toxic.” I took a sip of my black coffee. The bitter taste ran down my throat, keeping my mind incredibly sharp. Luke sighed, reaching over to pat my shoulder. “Honestly, good for you. You should’ve dumped that toxic girl a long time ago. But… are you really okay with letting her go?” *Am I okay with it?* I had asked myself that question during countless sleepless nights. Could I really let go of Chloe? Five years ago, I was a sickly, painfully thin college kid with zero self-esteem. I was working a shift at a convenience store when a middle-aged guy in a designer suit accused me of stealing his expensive lighter from the counter. He pointed a finger in my face, yelling, “It was you, you poor rat! I bet you’ve never seen something this expensive in your miserable life! Give it back before I call the cops!” I couldn’t prove my innocence. The security cameras were broken, and the crowd of customers just stared and whispered. “I didn’t take it, I swear…” I clenched my fists, my palms sweating, feeling completely helpless. Just as the man raised his hand to shove me, a slim but firm hand blocked him. I looked up and saw Chloe, wearing a crisp white shirt. She stood right in front of me, her voice ringing clear and confident. “Sir, the cameras might be down, but I’ve been standing right behind that aisle. I saw your lighter slip into the inner pocket of your briefcase. If you keep harassing this employee, I’ll call the police and report you for defamation.” The man blinked, searched his bag, and found the lighter. He scurried away in embarrassment. As the crowd dispersed, I was so tense I couldn’t even form a proper thank-you. She turned to me and smiled, her eyes sparkling. She said, “Don’t be scared. If you didn’t do it, don’t let anyone bully you into saying you did.” In that dark, miserable period of my life, Chloe became my only light. After that day, I worked out like crazy to get fit, and I did everything to treat her like a queen. I thought I had found my savior. I thought a loser like me finally deserved to be loved. The day I confessed my feelings, Chloe’s eyes welled with tears as she hugged me tight. “Carter, you don’t have to change a thing for me. Skinny, muscular, whatever—as long as it’s you, I love you.” I cherished those words for five years. I thought we were a match made in heaven. Until Tristan came back from college in London and forced his way into our lives under the guise of “family.” That was when I realized Chloe’s warmth was never exclusive to me. She could shine her light on me, but she was just as eager to pour it all over Tristan. And I was nothing but a cheap prop she used to make herself feel like a saint.

Tristan’s first contact with Chloe started with a “broken laptop.” “Hey, Carter, I heard your girlfriend works in tech. Send me her Snapchat. My laptop crashed, and I have some urgent files to recover.” We had never gotten along, so his sudden friendliness made me feel flattered. Like an idiot, I shared Chloe’s contact info. For the next two weeks, Tristan never brought it up again, so I assumed everything was fine. Until the three of us met up for dinner one night. Looking at the menu, I was about to order a peanut butter lava cake when Chloe suddenly grabbed my wrist, blurting out: “Don’t order that. Your brother is severely allergic to peanuts.” I froze. My brain went entirely numb. I had never told Chloe about Tristan’s peanut allergy. I slowly turned to look at Tristan. He was holding his water glass, a smug little smirk on his lips. “Oh, Chloe has such a great memory,” Tristan chuckled. “I casually mentioned it during our late-night chat the other night, and she actually remembered.” *Late-night chat? The other night?* I looked at Chloe, my blood running cold. Behind my back, they had already become close enough to have intimate late-night conversations. On the drive home, I snapped at Chloe for the first time. “Why are you talking to my brother privately behind my back?” Chloe looked completely innocent, her face quickly turning into a mask of annoyance. “Carter, are you seriously paranoid? He’s your brother! He just got back to the country and needed some help. What’s wrong with me being nice? I’m trying to build a good relationship with your family for our future!” “But you crossed the line!” I gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Crossed the line? I helped him fix his laptop and we had a normal chat! How is that crossing the line? Ugh, Beanpole, can you please stop being so insecure? You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” *Beanpole.* She called me Beanpole again. The energy drained out of me instantly. I had shown her my deepest scars hoping she would comfort me, but she chose to rub salt right in them. From that day on, Tristan acted like he had a free pass to disrespect me. If I asked Chloe to pick up a package for me on her way home, she’d make excuses for three days about being too tired. But if Tristan texted her at midnight saying he wanted taco drive-thru from the other side of town, she’d grab her keys and drive thirty minutes to get it for him. On Valentine’s Day, she bought me a bouquet of cheap clearance roses. But for Tristan’s birthday, she spent half her paycheck on a limited-edition designer watch. I lost my temper. I went to my parents to confront them. But do you know what my parents said? “Tristan is your brother! What’s wrong with Chloe helping him out? You’re a grown man, Carter. Keeping your girlfriend on such a tight leash is pathetic. No woman will want to marry a petty man like you!” “Your brother has always been more successful and charming than you. He’s just helping you test her loyalty! Stop being so ungrateful!” Everyone stood on their moral high ground, pointing fingers at me. Everyone treated me like a jealous, psychotic lunatic. Over time, I even started to doubt myself. *Was I really being too narrow-minded? Was something wrong with me?* I fell into a spiral of self-doubt, checking her phone like a madman, only to be humiliated by her again and again under the excuse of “family bonding.” The final blow that made me cut this toxic cancer out of my life happened last month, on the day of my surgery.

Last month, I had chronic, severe stomach pain for weeks. The doctor recommended an immediate laparoscopic surgery to remove a potentially precancerous polyp. I was terrified. A week before the procedure, I begged Chloe to accompany me to the hospital. She didn’t even look up from her phone. “We have a major project launch next week. I can’t take time off. It’s just a minor outpatient surgery, Carter. Go by yourself. Don’t be so needy.” Swallowing my tears, I signed the consent forms alone. I lay on the cold operating table alone. When the anesthesia wore off, I was shivering from pain and sweat, barely having the strength to pour myself a glass of water. I grabbed my phone, desperate to hear Chloe’s voice. She picked up, but the background was loud and bustling. “Hey, Chloe… are you done with work? I’m really hurting…” My voice trembled. “I’m with a client right now. It’s super loud here. I gotta go, get some rest!” She hung up within ten seconds. I stared at the black screen, tears burning my eyes. Needing some hot water, I held onto the wall, slowly dragging my feet out of the recovery room. But as I rounded the corner near the orthopedic clinic, I froze. There, right outside the doctor’s office, my girlfriend—who was supposedly “meeting a client”—was kneeling on the floor, tenderly massaging Tristan’s ankle. Tristan was sitting in a chair, wearing his limited-edition sneakers, complaining, “It’s your fault. You just had to drag me to that mall, and now I have a blister.” Chloe gently applied a band-aid, her voice softer than I had heard in years. “My bad, my bad. I’ll drive you home and buy you dinner, okay?” Standing in that sterile hallway, the draft blew right through my thin hospital gown. I didn’t storm over. I didn’t scream. I just stood there quietly, watching them laugh as they stepped into the elevator together. Suddenly, I just felt so incredibly tired. So tired. To preserve a relationship with a woman who didn’t love me, and a brother who never respected me, I had turned myself into a circus clown. She didn’t lack boundaries; she just didn’t care about mine. Whether she was actually trying to “get close to my family” or just using Tristan to scratch some taboo itch, I didn’t care anymore. Once something is ruined, I throw it away. I walked back to my hospital bed and fell into the most peaceful sleep I’d had in years. From that day on, I stopped arguing. I stopped checking her phone. I stopped reacting to Tristan’s provocations. Chloe actually thought I had finally “matured” and learned to be “understanding.” She had no idea that when a man stops fighting with you, it means he has already checked out. I began studying like a maniac to finish my CFA certification and secretly sent my resume to top investment firms in New York. I was never dumber than Tristan. My SAT score was nearly perfect, and I had topped my class in college. But my parents were incredibly biased. They threw all their money at Tristan so he could play around at an expensive school in London, while forcing me to stay local and work part-time to pay for his lifestyle. But I was done accepting that fate. The moment I stopped focusing on Chloe and Tristan, my world became limitless. With my stellar resume and flawless interviews, I landed a Senior Associate position at a powerhouse firm on Wall Street, with an annual package close to $500,000. Everything was set. I just needed a clean break. I was planning to tell her calmly on the day of the wedding fitting. But she chose to prioritize Tristan’s cat instead. So be it. She could go spend the rest of her life with that cat.

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I hid my identity and married a poor guy, all because his mother told him from day one of our relationship: *A man who treasures his wife gets blessed by fortune.* My husband, Ethan Barlow, treated her words like a holy commandment. When I casually mentioned wanting seafood, he’d drive to the docks at midnight just to pick out the freshest crabs for me. When I didn’t feel like walking, he’d carry me on his back up sixteen flights of stairs. Later, he started a gourmet seafood chain. Within a few years, his business skyrocketed. He went from a fishmonger at a local market to a multimillionaire CEO. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman alive, pampered by my husband so much that I couldn’t even unscrew a water bottle cap myself. Until last week, when a famous heiress from Manhattan’s high society set her eyes on him. Ethan came home and handed me a divorce agreement, along with a transfer of fifty million dollars in assets. “Sera, this fifty million is your compensation.” “The wife I need now is someone who can stand beside me as an equal.” I calmly signed my name, turned around, grabbed my purse, and went to the bank. Looking at the bank statement showing my true personal balance of over thirty billion dollars, I couldn’t help but laugh. Since Ethan didn’t want to pamper me anymore, I guess I’d just find a hotter, sweeter, poorer young guy to spoil instead.

When I pushed open the double doors of our villa, the living room floor was cluttered with my clothes. My mother-in-law, Patricia Barlow, was directing the maid to sweep my expensive skincare products brutally into black trash bags. Hearing the door, she quickened her steps and grabbed my hand. “Oh, Seraphina, my heart aches for you.” “You’re a good girl, but Ethan is a CEO worth millions now.” “Our company is going public, and we desperately need that hundred-million-dollar investment from the Vance family.” She pushed my hand away, her eyes suddenly filled with disdain. “You can’t even unscrew a water bottle cap. Staying with Ethan will only drag him down.” “I know you feel wronged, but for Ethan’s future, you need to be sensible.” I looked at her calculating face and found it hilarious. Back when Ethan was just a poor boy selling fish at the market, Patricia was the one holding my hand, bragging to everyone that a man who listened to his wife would make a fortune. Back then, I was exhausted by the cutthroat corporate world. I just wanted a simple life with a simple man. So, I naively believed her. Later, when he started his seafood chain, I helped him behind the scenes. In just a few years, his company’s valuation soared. Everyone thought I was just lucky, pampered into a useless doll by Ethan. They had no idea. The only reason Ethan could secure those premium supply chains—monopolized by the city’s top oligarchs—was because I pulled the strings from behind the curtain. I ignored Patricia and turned to look at Ethan, who was sitting on the sofa, smoking. He stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and walked over to me. There was a hint of guilt in his eyes, but also a trace of lingering affection. He reached out to touch my cheek, but I tilted my head to dodge him. “Sera, I’m sorry.” “That fifty million compensation is more than enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” “I also bought you a luxury penthouse downtown. If you ever run into trouble, you can always call me.” I stared at him quietly. “Are you that desperate for money?” “For Tiffany Vance’s investment, you’re throwing away years of our marriage?” A flash of pain crossed Ethan’s face, but he quickly looked away. “Sera, you don’t understand how brutal the business world is.” “The seafood industry is cutthroat. Without the Vance family’s capital and connections, my company could go bankrupt any day.” “I need a wife who can fight beside me in the boardroom, not a little girl who waits for me to crack lobster claws for her at home.” His tone softened a bit. “I still care about you, but reality is just this cruel.” He loved me, sure. But he loved money more. Seeing Ethan soften, Patricia slapped her thigh in a panic. “Ethan! Miss Vance is going to be here any minute! Don’t do something stupid!” “She’s just a woman who knows how to spend money. She got fifty million dollars for doing nothing! What more does she want?” I lowered my eyes, hiding the mockery in them. “Fine. I’ll leave.” I didn’t even look at my designer clothes on the floor. I only picked up a simple black leather briefcase near the foyer. Inside was the list of my real assets. As I walked to the door, a red Ferrari screeched to a halt in the courtyard. The door swung open, and Tiffany Vance, dressed in a haute couture skirt and high heels, stepped out. She looked me up and down, pulled a check from her Hermès bag, and held it out between two fingers. “Seraphina Sterling, right?” “I heard you got fifty million from Ethan.” “Here’s another million. Take it and disappear from New York high society forever.” Patricia immediately rushed forward, her face practically glowing with greed. “Miss Vance is so generous!” “Sera! Hurry up and thank Miss Vance!” I didn’t take the check. I just stared at Tiffany for a moment. Suddenly, I laughed. “Miss Vance, since you’re so filthy rich…” “Why don’t you first pay off the ten million dollars in unpaid supply bills that Ethan’s company owes?” The moment I said this, Ethan’s face drained of color. He looked at me in shock. “How do you know about the ten million in unpaid bills?!” I smiled, offered no explanation, and walked right past them out the door. Since Ethan believed Tiffany could fight beside him, let him find out. Let him see how brutal the business world really is once he loses his ultimate backer.

After leaving the villa, I checked straight into the penthouse suite of the Celestial Heights Hotel, the most luxurious hotel in New York. The entire building was under my name. When the general manager saw me, he almost dropped his walkie-talkie in shock. I waved my hand to cut off his formal greetings. Sinking into the plush sofa, I sent a direct text to my assistant. “Cut off all premium seafood supply chains to Barlow Seafood.” “Also, find me a young guy. Must be extremely handsome, sweet-talking, and very poor.” Since Ethan didn’t want to pamper me anymore, I needed someone else to do the job. This time, I wasn’t going to hide my wealth. I refused to believe money couldn’t buy me absolute emotional satisfaction. The next morning, I went to Barlow Seafood to sign the final paperwork to withdraw my shares. To protect Ethan’s fragile ego back then, I had only taken a symbolic 5% non-voting equity. As I approached the conference room, Patricia’s exaggerated laughter echoed through the door. “Oh, Miss Vance, this emerald-cut diamond bracelet you gave me is gorgeous!” “Unlike that Seraphina, who only knew how to spend Ethan’s money and never bought me a single decent gift.” I pushed the door open, showing no expression. The room fell dead silent. Tiffany was sitting at the head of the table, playing with her manicured nails. Ethan stood beside her, staring at some financial reports with a deep frown. Seeing me, Ethan immediately put down the documents. “Sera, why are you here?” “The money for your shares has already been wired to your account by accounting.” I walked to the table and tossed my pen onto the documents. “I’m just here to grab my personal files.” Tiffany leaned back in her chair and let out a scoff. “Seraphina, you got your money, so learn to behave.” “Coming to the office today—are you trying to play hard to get?” “Ethan is very busy. He doesn’t have time for your games.” Patricia quickly jumped in. “Exactly!” “Sera, don’t be ungrateful.” “The Vance family is about to invest a hundred million dollars! Ethan is a rising star in New York now!” “If you keep harassing him, Miss Vance will make sure you can’t even find a job in this city!” I looked at Patricia’s brown-nosing face and found it incredibly pathetic. “A hundred million dollars?” I raised an eyebrow and looked at Ethan. “Mr. Barlow, has Miss Vance’s wire cleared yet?” “Because I heard your largest seafood supplier suddenly cut off your inventory this morning.” Ethan’s hand froze over the files. “How do you know about the supply shortage?!” He was indeed losing his mind. That supplier controlled eighty percent of the premium seafood imports in New York. Once they cut the supply, Barlow Seafood’s reputation would be ruined by tonight. Tiffany’s face shifted slightly, but she forced a cold sneer. “So what if they cut us off?” “Once my family’s hundred million clears, we can find any supplier we want!” I gasped dramatically, mocking her. “Oh, wow. Miss Vance is so powerful.” “Then you better hurry. Seafood rots very quickly, you know. It’s going to stink up the place.” I leisurely packed my personal documents into my bag and turned to leave. Ethan rushed out after me, grabbing my arm. “Sera, stop playing games!” “Do you know someone at that supplier?” He looked into my eyes, his voice filled with exhaustion and desperation. “Please, put in a good word for me.” “We were married, after all. Do you really have the heart to watch my life’s work go down the drain?” I shook off his grip without a second thought. “You must be joking, Mr. Barlow.” “How could a useless girl like me know a top supplier?” Seeing Ethan’s crushed expression, my mood instantly improved. Down in the lobby, a young guy in a crisp white shirt was leaning against a pillar, waiting for me. He had a jawline that could cut glass, but when he smiled, he had this look of pure, innocent charm. “Hey, beautiful. Are you done with your business?” He ran over and naturally took the bag from my hand. I looked at Julian Montgomery, the “poor boy” my assistant had found according to my exact specifications, and smiled with satisfaction. “Let’s go. I’m taking you out for a feast.” Behind us, Ethan, who had chased me down to the lobby, stood there with a face as black as coal.

The crisis at Barlow Seafood was far worse than Ethan had anticipated. Within three days, foot traffic at his high-end locations plummeted. The hundred-million-dollar investment Tiffany promised was constantly delayed in “compliance checks.” Patricia was frantic, digging for information everywhere. Somehow, she heard a rumor that Julian, my new “poor boy,” actually had connections to secure premium seafood. That afternoon, I was having street tacos with Julian at an outdoor patio. Julian was incredibly sweet, carefully squeezing lime juice over my tacos and wiping my fingers with a napkin. “Try this, Sera. It’s really good.” I had just taken a bite when a black Mercedes-Maybach screeched to a halt by the curb. Ethan and Patricia stepped out, their faces grim. Patricia stormed over and slammed her hand on our table, knocking over the salsa. “Seraphina! Is this how I taught you to behave?” “Have some self-respect!” “Make this boy hand over the seafood supply chain right now, and Ethan might still forgive your little tantrum!” Ethan stared at Julian’s hand, which was gently brushing a stray hair from my face. His eyes burned with jealousy. He stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Sera, stop using this loser to make me jealous.” “What’s the point of finding a pretty boy who has nothing going for him but his face?” He suppressed his rage, his voice trembling. “Just have him give me the supply chain, and I won’t take back the fifty million.” “I can even offer him a job as a security guard at my company.” “Stop ruining your own life!” I wrenched my wrist free, finding the mother and son utterly delusional. “Mr. Barlow, are you confused?” “We are divorced.” “Who I date and what I eat has absolutely nothing to do with you.” I grabbed a napkin to wipe my hands, looking at him coldly. “And as for the supply chain, why on earth should Julian give it to you?” “Because of your bloated ego? Or because your mother screams the loudest?” Ethan was speechless. Just then, several black SUVs pulled up. The doors slid open, and a dozen muscular bodyguards in black suits poured out, surrounding our table. Tiffany, stepping high on her Louboutins, walked over, escorted by her entourage. She looked at the messy table, then at me, letting out a sharp laugh. “I wondered who was bold enough to block our supply chain.” “Turns out it’s just a discarded ex-wife playing sugar mommy to some boytoy!” Tiffany walked up to Julian, lifting her chin arrogantly. “Look, kid. I don’t care what scam you used to get those supply lines.” “Hand them over. Now.” “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you can’t even beg for scraps in this city.” Julian popped a piece of taco into his mouth, chewed slowly, and didn’t even look at her. Feeling humiliated, Tiffany pointed at Julian and screamed. “Trash his stand! Teach this boy a lesson!” The bodyguards immediately lunged forward. The patio erupted into chaos. Tables were flipped, chairs shattered, and food flew everywhere. Patricia stood on the side, screaming fake concern. “Oh dear! Stop fighting! Stop it!” But she kept backing away, and in the confusion, she gave me a vicious shove from behind. I was standing near the edge of the patio. With her push, I lost my balance and fell hard onto the concrete, right onto some shattered glass. A sharp pain shot through my palm. Fresh red blood immediately began to pool on my wrist. “Sera!” Julian tried to rush over to help me, but two bodyguards held him back. I sat on the ground, looking at the blood on my hand, my eyes turning ice-cold.

The throbbing pain in my palm made me frown. Seeing the blood, Ethan’s face changed instantly. He instinctively took a step toward me, trying to help me up. “Sera!” There was genuine panic in his voice. But before he could touch me, Tiffany grabbed his arm tightly. “Ethan! If you dare help her today, the Vance family’s hundred-million-dollar investment is canceled!” Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air. He looked at my bleeding hand, then at the furious Tiffany. His eyes were torn with conflict. Patricia rushed over, locking her arms around Ethan’s other side. “Ethan! Don’t be a fool!” “She fell because she didn’t watch where she was going! What does that have to do with you?” “If you offend Miss Vance for an outsider, our company is finished!” Ethan closed his eyes in agony. When he opened them again, there was no warmth left. He stood there, looking down at me, his voice dry. “Sera, I’m sorry.” “Just bear with it. Go to the hospital and get it bandaged.” “I’ll pay for the medical bill.” In the face of a hundred million dollars, his pathetic version of love was ultimately worthless. Sitting on the dirty ground, I felt deeply disgusted. Seeing Ethan’s choice, Tiffany smiled triumphantly. She stepped forward, and her sharp stiletto heel came down right on my bleeding hand, grinding down hard. “Seraphina, learn your place.” “A useless trash who can’t even open a water bottle cap dares to fight me for a man?” “You think you can play with me?” She bent down, lowering her voice. “Do you believe that with one phone call, I can make sure you disappear from New York forever?” I stared at her foot on my hand and didn’t say a word. I just suddenly yanked my hand back with brute force, throwing her off balance. Tiffany stumbled, and just as she was about to snap, Julian, who was held by the bodyguards, suddenly exploded with strength. He kicked the bodyguard in front of him straight in the chest, breaking free, and rushed to my side. He knelt on one knee, gently cradled my injured hand, and pulled a pristine white silk handkerchief from his pocket to wrap it. His eyes, usually so bright and innocent, were now cold enough to freeze water. “Ms. Sterling, I am deeply sorry for this lapse in security.” Julian’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly to everyone’s ears. Ethan froze. “Ms. Sterling?” “What do you mean, Ms. Sterling?” Before anyone could react, the deafening roar of high-performance engines echoed from both ends of the street. A dozen blacked-out Rolls-Royces with low-digit vanity plates swerved in, completely blocking off the street. The doors opened in perfect unison. Dozens of elite, highly trained bodyguards in tactical suits rushed out, securing the entire perimeter. Tiffany’s thugs looked at this military-grade security force and didn’t even dare to breathe. From the middle Rolls-Royce, a chubby, middle-aged man climbed out. He didn’t even bother to wipe the cold sweat pouring down his face as he stumbled through the crowd. *Thud!* He dropped straight to his knees right in front of me. When Tiffany saw the man, she gasped, her voice cracking in pure terror.

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After Austin stood me up for the fifth time, he finally cleared his schedule for our sixth attempt to get our marriage license. I wore a custom designer dress I made myself, holding a fresh bouquet of peonies, and stood outside City Hall early in the morning. But I waited from 7:00 AM until 5:00 PM. He never showed up. Just as the City Hall doors locked, a text from Austin popped up on my phone. “It’s Hailey’s birthday today. I need to celebrate with her first. We’ll get married next time.” Right after that, a massive firework display lit up the city sky. Passersby stopped, looking up in awe. “Look! Mr. Miller is setting off fireworks for his muse again. That is so romantic!” I walked home, my soul completely crushed. My five-year-old daughter, Lily, was sitting on the porch, shivering from the cold. “Mommy, Daddy promised to take me out for McDonald’s. But I waited so long, and he never came.” Six attempts to get married. Six broken promises. And now, even my daughter was becoming a victim of his neglect. I threw my bouquet straight into the trash and hugged my shaking little girl tight. “We are not waiting anymore, sweetie.” “Never again.”

I brought Lily inside, made her some warm ginger tea, and cooked dinner. Lily kept crying, asking why her daddy lied to her. My heart ached terribly. I had waited for Austin for six long years, but I could never win even a fraction of his time. And now, my daughter was forced to walk the same painful path of waiting. I had to stop this. No matter what. While I was running a bubble bath for Lily, Austin finally stumbled through the front door. He held a cheap, plastic takeout box from a fancy restaurant, looking like he wanted a reward. “Look, I brought you guys some gourmet snacks! Lily, do you like it?” I had already seen Hailey’s Instagram story. She and Austin had just dined at a luxury rotating rooftop restaurant. This box was just a free leftover giveaway from the restaurant. Lily frowned and pushed it away. “My classmates say this is just cheap free stuff from restaurants, Daddy. You don’t care about me at all.” Austin rubbed his nose, quickly trying to change the subject. “Sorry, baby girl. Daddy was just way too busy today.” He walked into the bathroom and hugged me from behind. “Chloe, don’t be mad. I promise I’ll marry you next time.” I ignored him. He kept coaxing. “We’ve been together for so long anyway. We don’t need a piece of paper to prove our love, right?” “Once this busy season at work is over, I’ll make it up to you.” I asked him flatly, “When exactly will you be done being busy?” He froze, unable to answer. “First, you said you were busy with the company’s IPO. I waited.” “Then, you said Lily was too young and needed care. I waited too.” “Now, Hailey has been back for three years, and you haven’t mentioned our wedding once. I had to beg you just to get you to City Hall.” I raised my eyes, staring at him blankly. “How much longer do I have to wait just to get one hour of your time?” “Do Lily and I have to live like dirty secrets forever without a legal name?” His face instantly darkened. “Don’t say things like that. You know I don’t mean that.” “You and Lily are the most important people in my life, but…” He looked frustrated. “But Hailey is still traumatized by her divorce. She gets severe panic attacks and chest pains whenever she sees couples getting married. We have to be understanding.” He gently stroked my hair, his voice softening. “She saved my life back in college, Chloe. I can’t bear to see her suffer.” “Once her son starts elementary school, things will settle, and I’ll send them back to Europe.” I had heard this excuse a thousand times. Hailey was Austin’s college sweetheart. She had saved him once when he was being severely bullied. But she dumped him when his first startup failed, getting pregnant by a wealthy businessman instead. Years later, the businessman dumped her, leaving her penniless. Naturally, she crawled back to Austin. That night, Austin had held me and cried, claiming he hated her. “She abandoned me when I was at my worst! You and your mother gave me the strength to live, Chloe!” “I will never forgive her!” I had wiped his tears, promising to stay by his side forever. But the very next day, he bought a luxury apartment in the building next to ours and moved Hailey and her son right in. “I don’t love her anymore, Chloe. But her kid is innocent. Once she gets a job, they’ll leave.” That was the beginning of my endless waiting. Three years had passed, and they were still here. I suddenly spoke up, “I’m done waiting for you.” “Go do whatever you want. Just don’t bother me.” He didn’t notice the absolute exhaustion in my eyes. He pointed at the bathtub. “Don’t let Lily play in the water for too long. Look how sleepy she is.” A sudden rage flared up in my chest. “She isn’t sleepy! She has a fever! Can’t you see that as her father?” “If you hadn’t promised to take her out, she wouldn’t have stood on the porch waiting for you in the freezing cold!” Austin stood frozen, looking guilty. “I… I’m so sorry. I really forgot. I’ll get her some medicine right now.” But by the time I finished reading Lily two bedtime stories, he still hadn’t brought the medicine.

I changed into my pajamas and walked out. Austin was staring at his phone, smiling. “Where is the medicine?” He looked up, completely blank. “What medicine? Oh, babe, look at this! Mason is so smart. He’s reciting Shakespeare’s sonnets!” He shoved his phone in my face. On FaceTime, Hailey’s son was clumsily reciting a poem. Whenever Lily tried to show Austin her English spelling bee words, he always looked annoyed. Yet here he was, acting like a devoted father, teaching another man’s kid line by line. I asked quietly, “Did you forget your own daughter is sick?” He snapped back to reality, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I’ll look for the medicine now.” Hailey’s face appeared on the screen, looking guilty but smug. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Chloe. My son just loves learning so much, he ended up taking up all of Austin’s time.” “I’ll make sure to limit our FaceTime calls to only three hours a night next time.” Austin searched the cabinet and said, “It’s fine. Loving books is a good thing. My daughter only wants to go to Disneyland all day. She has no ambition.” “And three hours isn’t enough anyway. Don’t we still need to review your fashion design drafts tonight?” Hailey smiled shyly, her eyes flashing with a hidden victory. “Thank you, Austin. If it weren’t for you, I really wouldn’t know what to do…” “Don’t say that. Your happiness is all that matters.” Austin stood up and said to me, “Chloe, we’re out of NyQuil. I’m going down to the 24-hour pharmacy. Take care of Lily.” He kept the FaceTime call active, rushing out the door without looking back. For the past three years, he spent every single evening like this—talking to Hailey. I ordered the medicine on DoorDash instead. I wasn’t going to wait for him. Half an hour later, a sweating delivery guy knocked on the door. “Sorry, ma’am. The elevator in your building is broken. I had to run up the stairs.” “I hope I didn’t delay your kid’s medicine.” I thanked him profusely and handed him a bottle of cold water. “Not at all. Thank you so much.” He chugged the water, waved, and left. Three hours later, Austin finally returned with a bottle of cough syrup. “Sorry, babe. The elevator was broken, so I had to take the stairs. And Hailey had a minor emergency…” It was laughable. Even a random DoorDash driver knew the urgency of delivering medicine, yet Austin let his sick five-year-old daughter wait three hours. I didn’t even look at him. “No need. She’s already asleep.” He fell silent, mumbling a guilty “sorry.” That was his default reaction to us for the past three years. I went to Lily’s room to sleep. Now that I had decided to let him go, every second spent near him felt like torture. The next morning, Lily ran up to Austin, full of excitement. “Daddy, next Tuesday is my school’s Field Day! Will you come play with me?” Kids have short memories. She still wanted to be close to her father. Austin, wanting to redeem himself, nodded instantly. “Of course! Daddy will definitely be there and win first place for you!” Lily happily got onto the school bus, waving goodbye. Austin lowered his hand, turned to me, and said, “Hey, can you let Hailey look at your new fall fashion drafts?” “She’s hit a creative block. I helped her look at her drafts all night, but I couldn’t help much.” My footsteps paused. I studied fashion design, and so did Hailey. Whenever I was stressed about my designs, losing sleep over fabric and cuts, Austin would only scoff. “Nobody’s job is easy. Either deal with it or quit.” So I stopped sharing my struggles with him. But when Hailey came back, he suddenly forgot his own words. Not only did he spend every night helping her find inspiration, but he even started learning about fashion design just to help her.

I rejected him coldly. “No. The new collection is confidential. I can’t share it.” He frowned. “It’s just a draft. It’s not like she’s stealing the actual product. Don’t be so petty, Chloe.” I looked at him with a mocking smile. “When I wanted to buy a specific fabric from Hailey’s company years ago, what did you say to me?” Back then, he said I was malicious, trying to copy Hailey’s source materials under the guise of buying them. Austin’s face darkened. “Just help her this once. If you do, we’ll go to City Hall next month.” “Otherwise, I’m way too busy. The wedding will have to wait until next year.” I stared at the man threatening me. Once, he held me and said he couldn’t wait to make me his wife. Now, he was weaponizing our marriage to help the woman who had abandoned him. I let out a bitter laugh. “Then let’s not get married.” “I don’t want to marry you anymore.” I started my car and drove off, leaving him standing there in shock. I started a silent treatment. Or rather, I simply checked out of the relationship. I stopped waiting for him to come home, stopped cooking his dinners, and stopped leaving the porch light on. Every night, I slept in Lily’s room. I used to think leaving Austin would leave a massive void in my life. Instead, I felt incredibly light. Austin didn’t even notice. He was still FaceTiming Hailey every night, playing dad to Mason. I thought we would just drift apart quietly. But that weekend, my mother, Audrey, was rushed to the ER. The hospital issued three critical condition notices. I sobbed by her bedside. My mother weakly gripped my hand. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Everyone has to go eventually.” “Is Austin still busy? Is he not coming?” I looked at my phone. Austin had declined all my calls. I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. I had called him over a hundred times. He ignored every single one, eventually blocking my number. I slapped myself in pure regret and despair. My mother sighed deeply, placing a vintage jade pendant in my hand. “Keep this, my child. If you meet someone who truly loves you in the future, give it to him.” She knew Austin was not a good man for me. She closed her eyes, and the heart monitor went flat. My mother hated noisy crowds, so I handled her funeral completely alone. When I finally walked back into our apartment, Austin was on a video call with Hailey. “The campus changed so much! I actually found our old engraved initials on the bench. We were so lucky today.” I froze in the doorway. My already dead heart was ripped open once again, bleeding profusely. He didn’t decline my calls because of work. He was busy strolling down memory lane on his college campus with Hailey. Austin saw me and said casually, “Where have you been? I have news.” “I took your new fall design drafts and gave them to Hailey. She needs a solid debut to establish herself in her new company.” “Consider it a favor. She said she’ll thank you later.” I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. “That draft was my mother’s final masterpiece left to me! It is the only copy! How dare you give it away?!” Austin scoffed impatiently, “Just ask her to sketch a few more. ‘Only copy’? You make it sound like she passed away or something.” The final string of sanity in my brain snapped. *Slap!* I slapped him across the face with everything I had. Years ago, my mother had saved Austin from drowning, sustaining a severe head injury that ended her own design career. And now, she had just passed away, and her final legacy was stolen by the very man she saved. The man who had ignored my emergency calls, leaving my mother to die with regret. Austin clutched his burning cheek, outraged. “It’s just a dress! Who cares whose name is on it?” “Fine! I already scheduled our marriage appointment for next month! Consider it your compensation. Are you happy now?” I stared at his face. When did the passionate, responsible man I once loved turn into this disgusting monster? I raised my hand and slapped him again. “Get out! We are over!”

Austin stood there, completely dumbfounded, holding his face. Hailey’s panicked voice came through the phone speaker. “Austin! Are you okay? Do you need me to bring you some ice?” “Chloe, how can you be so violent?!” “If you didn’t want to share the drafts, you could have just said so! Why did you have to hit him?” Under her gentle, caring tone, I was framed as the crazy, ungrateful villain. Austin finally snapped out of it, letting out a cold sneer. “I see. You don’t want to get married at all.” “Break up? Fine! Let’s see who else would want a single mother like you!” He slammed the door and stormed out. Shortly after, my lead assistant called, sounding frantic. “Chloe! Our new fall design was just posted by another fashion brand! What is going on?” My heart sank. I clicked the link. Hailey’s company had just released a sneak peek of their new collection. It was my mother’s design, copied pixel for pixel. She claimed she would never steal, yet she immediately plagiarized my mother’s final work. Without a word, I opened my home security app to check the footage. Only Austin had access to the physical drafts in my study. To give them to Hailey, he had to have taken them from my desk. But the security footage for the past three days was completely wiped clean. I called Austin, my voice shaking with rage. “You deleted the security footage? This is blatant plagiarism! How dare you enable her?!” Austin was silent for a long moment before speaking. “I gave her the drafts, but I didn’t think she would copy them exactly.” “But this collection is crucial for her career. We can’t expose her now.” “Chloe, can you just let this go? I promise I won’t do it again.” “I’ll buy that retirement cottage your mom wanted so badly as an apology.” I felt my heart being torn to shreds. “It’s too late, Austin. She passed away. Last night.” “While you only cared about your precious Hailey.” “What? Your mom… she was fine last month…” I didn’t want to hear another word. I hung up, letting the tears fall freely. I immediately began searching online for a new apartment to rent, wanting to move Lily out as soon as possible. On Tuesday afternoon, just as I was about to meet a real estate agent, Lily came running into the house. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe, her knees scraped and bleeding. “Daddy… Daddy didn’t play with me at Field Day. He played with Mason instead.” “I fell down, and he just held Mason and laughed at me. He said I was clumsy!” “Mommy… I don’t want Daddy anymore!” My heart broke into a million pieces. I hugged Lily, cleaning and bandaging her scraped knees. “Okay, baby. If you don’t want him, I don’t want him either. It’ll just be you and me from now on, okay?” Lily sobbed, nodding. “Okay…” Suddenly, the front door was pushed open. Mason ran in, his dirty sneakers leaving mud tracks all over the hardwood floor. “Wow! This apartment is so big and cool! I love it!” Hailey walked in slowly, a massive smug smile on her face. “Nice decor. I love the sunroom. Austin, you really have great taste.” I stood up, holding Lily, staring coldly at Hailey. “This is my home. Get the hell out.” When Austin first brought Hailey back, my only rule was that she was never allowed in our home. Hailey didn’t say a word, her smirk only widening. Austin walked in behind her, looking at me with a heavy, cold gaze. Then, he spoke. “I gave this apartment to Hailey.” “It’s her home now.” Hailey raised her chin. “I won the Rookie Designer Award. Austin said he’d reward me with an apartment. I chose this one.” “I’ll give you three days to pack up your kid and get out of my apartment.” Austin took Hailey and her son to a five-star steakhouse to celebrate. After checking them into a luxury suite at the Ritz-Carlton, Austin drove back to our old apartment. Even though he gave the apartment to Hailey, he had secretly bought a luxury Tudor-style villa for Chloe—the exact European style she had always dreamed of. He was sure she would cry tears of joy when she found out. But when he unlocked the door, the apartment was completely empty. The only thing left behind was the diamond engagement ring Chloe had worn for years, tossed carelessly into the trash can.

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Heart pounding, I emerged in the wedding gown, only to find my sister Sienna’s tail coiled around my fiancé Reid’s. The tail ring—meant for me, symbol of our bond for no one else—was already on Sienna’s. I parted my lips to demand an explanation, the stylist swept past me with my bridal hairpin crown. “This way, please, bride,” she said, gesturing toward Sienna. Sienna smiled—a shy, victorious tilt of her lips—and followed. And Reid? My fiancé. He didn’t deny it, not even a blink. “Gale, bring the bouquet over,” Sienna turned to me and said, as if she were the bride walking down the aisle days later. I didn’t move. Then Reid walked over, frowning. He pulled the bouquet from my stiff finger. The lily of the valley—I’d spent two hours choosing each stem—swung once in his grip. Petals scattered across the floor. “Move, Gale. Go check the invitations or something. I’ll find you when Sienna and I finish the shoot.” I watched him walk toward Sienna, and Cole—my childhood friend—raised his camera and pressed the shutter, sealing their betrayal. Ninety-nine previews lit up the screen. Every single frame held Sienna and Reid. Not one of me. “Gale…” Cole squinted through the viewfinder. “Just step back two feet. You’re blocking the key light.” Was I？ I stepped back. Two feet. Then three. Until my shoulder blades met the wall. The wall was cold. In that moment, I finally saw how utterly extraneous I was. If this wedding didn’t need me in it—I wouldn’t be at it. … After changing, I picked up my leather bag from the wooden bench near the door. I pushed open the heavy door. The brass latch clicked. No one looked up. Outside, the wind carried the scent of wet pine and distant asphalt. I turned. Through the glass of the storefront, I saw them. Sienna twirled before the mirror, Reid at her back, his paw cinching the harness at her waist. Cole’s shutter clicked five times. I walked out to my truck, starting the engine. A messenger from the Hall of Council found me. “Hi, Gale. The matebond scroll—have you settled on the pattern?” “Or we can let Sienna choose. She has an excellent eye for design.” My breath fogged the windshield. I answered. “Let her.” “Perfect. Will do.” He left. I exhaled slowly, opening my phone for directions. The group chat started flooding in. Cole was uploading the photos. I tapped the first image. The golden light hit the side of Sienna’s red-furred face, illuminating the tips of Reid’s wolf collar. They looked like a true pair of mates. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. I drove back to my den. On the pantry shelf, a scrap of hide read: Wedding—7 Days. I peeled the scrap off the shelf, rolled it tight, and tossed it into the trash.

I didn’t open my phone until the next afternoon. The group chat was past a hundred unread messages. I tapped Sienna’s audio note. Her voice was light, accompanied by the rustle of her tail. “Gale, I changed the mating chant for the entrance. The one you chose was too heavy. A mating ceremony should have some rhythm.” Right below it, Reid’s text: Agreed. The old one didn’t fit. But the old chant was the one my parents had shared before they went cold. It was the only trace of their scent they had left me. Reid knew that. Sienna did too. Sienna’s text followed: Gale doesn’t really care about these details anyway. She doesn’t understand them. We’ll handle it. Reid: Right. I stared at the screen. Nobody in the chat asked why my icon remained silent. … I opened my direct messages with Reid. The last text was from the night before the fitting. I had written: The ceremony date is too close. I felt kind of nervous. He had sent a head-pat sticker. Nothing else. No follow-up after I walked out of the store yesterday. In the group chat, he had sent one message: What happened, Gale? Too nervous, so you went home early? No one answered. I didn’t expect them to. Sienna had quickly posted a picture of herself in the gown with the tail ring glinting: Fitting went great! Gown is locked in! The thread immediately moved on to the floral arrangements and the feast menu. My phone screen lit up with a video call from Sienna. I swiped to answer. She was sitting in a high-backed chair, a stylist brushing out her copper ruff. “Gale, you’re taking too long with the stylist,” she said, squinting at the camera. “I went ahead and booked the lynx team. And I’m testing the look for you now.” I opened my mouth to speak. I told you two weeks ago my friend from the northern ridge was doing my grooming. Did you ever ask if I wanted a lynx to touch my fur? But I said none of it. I knew what Cole would say. “You’re the eldest. Let your sister have her way.” Cole was my childhood friend, but his ears always twitched toward Sienna’s voice. When Reid first began courting me, he said he liked my quiet nature. He called me steady. But after he met Sienna, he started talking different. He started saying a she-wolf should be sharp, lively, and quick to show her teeth. I remembered the night we were standing by the river boundary. “Don’t stand so close to her,” I had said. He laughed, rubbing the space behind my ears. “She’s your sister, Gale. You want me to treat her like a stray?” And that was that. No one brought it up again. I looked out the window of my den. The sun was hitting the bare floorboards. I remembered playing “Den and Territory” when we were cubs. Every time they ran off to find a new clearing, they left the scattered pine needles behind. I would gather them alone, packing them back into the basket. No one ever looked back. They just left me alone. They always did.

I called my landlord. “You’re really leaving, Gale?” his voice came through the receiver. “It’s been four years.” Four years. When Reid and I first started dating, he had suggested moving in together. Sienna said a pre-mating cohabitation was bad luck, and I had wanted to keep my own boundary anyway. So I rented this den near his home, hoping to catch his scent more often. He had agreed, staying over once in a while. “Yes,” I said. “I’m leaving today.” “Leave the key in the mailbox,” the landlord said. Not long after I hung up, the front door swung open. Reid and Sienna walked in, their shoulders brushing. Sienna looked back at him, her tail flicking with a light, rhythmic tap against his leg. “So it’s settled. The room with the sun-ledge in the new house is mine. But we have to change the drapes to pink.” I stood in the center of the kitchen. “If I say no?” I asked. Sienna paused. Her ears twitched back, then drooped. She looked down at her paws. Reid frowned. “What is wrong with you, Gale? You’ve shared your territory with her your whole life. Now you’re keeping count of a single room?” “I’m not keeping count,” I said. “Then what does this mean?” he huffed. “She’s your sister. It’s a big house. Why let a good room sit empty?” “It’s a mating house,” I said. “Is she mating you?” Reid stared at me, his jaw tightening. Sienna tucked her tail close, her head bowing. “Gale, I just wanted to be near you… It’s fine. I won’t move in.” Reid looked at her, his voice softening before he turned back to me. “Look at what you’ve done. You make her back down with one word. She’s your sister, Gale. Can’t you think of her for once?” “Then Who thinks of me?” I asked. “I got her the record-keeper spot at your clan’s hall. I made sure she had a steady share of the hunt. And I—” “Enough,” Reid cut me off. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. “You’re keeping score. She’s your sister. I only look out for her because of you. Don’t be petty.” “Petty?” I repeated the word. Then I laughed—and it sounded nothing like me. I didn’t say anything else. Sienna pulled lightly at his sleeve. “Reid, don’t. Gale is just having a rough cycle.” Reid patted her paw. “I’ve made the decision, Gale. Sienna is moving in. It’s better if you two stay together.” I nodded once. Then I went back to packing my trunk. Behind me, Sienna’s voice was small, but clear. “Can I really have the pink drapes, Reid?” “Whatever you want,” Reid said. … In the afternoon, I drove to Vance Logistics. My bag held Reid’s building pass, office keys, and the client ledger he had asked me to sort out. The receptionist at the front desk smiled. “Hi Gale. Let me buzz Reid’s office.” “No need,” I said, putting the bag on the counter. “Just give him this.” I turned toward the exit. As I passed the glass corridor, Reid’s voice drifted through a half-open door. “I’ll take you to get your claws polished on Saturday?” He laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “I know. You want to look perfect for the ceremony. I’ll take care of it. I’ll tell Gale.” My fingers went stiff against my purse. We had agreed to do the one thing we never got around to during our courtship—a run to the ridge to watch the sunrise. We had postponed it from winter to spring, and finally set it for this Saturday. Now it was gone again. I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I walked down the concrete stairs, got into my truck. And I took the highway north toward Blackwood Valley.

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On the day I tried on my bridal robe, I had just stepped out from behind the silver mirror in Hera’s Temple of Vows when I saw Daphne adjusting the obsidian clasp on my fiancé’s cloak. Theron Erebius was heir to the Stygian royal house, chosen and ennobled by Hades himself, Lord of the Underworld. I was about to say, “Let me,” when the priestess beside us smiled and went straight to Daphne. “This way, my lady. We still need to fit the bridal crown.” I stopped short. Theron only curved his lips and offered no explanation. Daphne smiled shyly and leaned into his side as if she belonged there. “Don’t move. This angle is perfect.” Meles, who had grown up with me, lifted an image crystal and caught their likeness in a flash of white light. The crystal preserved the image of Theron and Daphne standing shoulder to shoulder. And I, the true bride, stood beside the silver mirror like an outsider who had wandered into the wrong ceremony. Daphne turned to me. “Selene, bring me that bouquet of white lilies.” She said it so naturally, as if she were the one entering the marriage covenant today. I did not move. When I did not answer, Theron walked over and took the white lilies from my hands. “Selene, why are you daydreaming again?” He said, “Go look at the designs for the vow scroll. Daphne can try the robe on in your place. The one she’s wearing suits her well enough.” I looked at him, and the cold in my chest sank deeper, inch by inch. Theron did not hear the hurt beneath my silence. He had already handed the white lilies to Daphne. Meles frowned slightly, still holding the image crystal. “Selene, move aside a little. You’re blocking the sacred light.” I silently retreated into the corner. Moonlight poured from the temple dome and fell over Daphne, making her look like the bride Hera herself had blessed. And I stood in the shadows, finally understanding how unnecessary I was. I turned back behind the silver mirror, removed the bridal robe, and folded it neatly on the stone platform. When I came out again, Daphne was turning in front of the mirror. Theron stood behind her, adjusting the golden thread at her waist. Meles laughed. “Yes, that’s the angle.” I stood at the doorway and looked at them one last time. At that moment, I finally understood how unnecessary I was. If this marriage covenant did not need me, then I would not be there. I turned and walked out of the Hera’s Temple of Vows. … On the carriage ride back to Whitecliff House, one of Hermes’ messengers delivered a glowing parchment scroll. It was the shared scroll for the wedding rites. Lady Selene, have you chosen the design for the marriage vow scroll? My fingertips hovered above the parchment. Soon, another line of golden writing appeared. Or Lady Daphne may choose on your behalf. She has already selected two designs and asked that you review them. Two golden patterns lit upon the scroll. Again. Let Daphne choose for me. My fingers tightened around the scroll. I loved the sea. I had once told Theron that I hoped our marriage rites could be held at the Tidal Altar by the shore. But Daphne had taken one look at the plan and wrinkled her nose. “What’s so good about the seaside? The wind is strong, and the waves are noisy. Theron is the heir to the Stygian royal house. Of course his wedding rites should be held in the High Temple, among roses and obsidian.” Theron had barely hesitated. “Daphne is right. We’ll use the High Temple.” I wrote three words on the scroll. As you wish. In the end, Theron would listen to her anyway. After I returned to Whitecliff House, golden words appeared one after another on the Hermes message scroll. Meles had already set the images from the fitting into the shared wedding scroll. I opened the first one. In the image, Theron wore a black divine robe, while Daphne stood beside him in a white bridal robe. They looked at each other and smiled. Like a pair of newlyweds truly blessed by the gods. I looked through them one by one. Almost every image was of them. Daphne trying on the bridal crown. Daphne holding the white lilies. Theron adjusting Daphne’s cloak. As for me, the true bride, only the edge of my sleeve appeared in a corner. On the cold-stone cabinet in Whitecliff House, there was still a piece of parchment written by Daphne’s own hand. Seven days until the wedding covenant. I stared at those words and suddenly found them unbearable. I reached out, tore the parchment down, crumpled it, and threw it into the brazier.

The moment the flames swallowed the parchment, the Hermes message scroll lit again. It was a sending from Theron. His voice carried displeasure. “Selene, where did you go? Didn’t I tell you to choose the pattern for the vow scroll?” I leaned against the window, looking at my pale reflection in the crystal pane, and spoke softly. “I’m a little tired. I came back first.” From the other end of the scroll, Daphne’s bright voice cut in. “Then rest well. I already helped you choose the robe and the vow scroll.” Then came Theron’s low voice. “See how considerate Daphne is? She’s handled everything for you. Once the wedding rites are over, you should thank her properly.” Holding the scroll, I suddenly smiled. Was she truly being considerate? Or was she ignoring my wishes and deciding everything for me? I said nothing more and extinguished the sending. Early the next morning, when I woke, the shared wedding scroll was already filled with three whole pages of golden writing. I opened the only voice-sending Daphne had left me. Her sweet, syrupy voice drifted from the scroll. “Selene, I changed the wedding hymn for you. The one you chose was too solemn. The ceremony should be lighter.” In the next moment, Theron’s reply appeared. Yes. The original one doesn’t suit the occasion. The gods and the heads of the divine houses will all be present. Change it to something lighter. I stared at that line, my fingertips slowly turning cold. I had spent a month choosing the original hymn. It was the song that had played when my parents entered their marriage covenant. They had died too early. I had once imagined that, during my own wedding rites, when that melody sounded, they might accompany me across the altar in another way. But now, everyone was saying the new hymn was better. No one asked me even once. Selene, do you want this? I turned the scroll face down on the table, and the room fell instantly quiet. Beside the bed, my leather trunk was already open. One by one, I placed inside my spare gowns, my sea-passage permit, a few gold drachmas, and the old necklace my parents had left me. Deep in the wardrobe hung the bridal robe I had never truly had the chance to wear. On the table lay the draft of the marriage vow scroll. The names embossed in gold on its cover stung my eyes. Theron Erebius and Selene Leukaia Soul-Bonded Marriage Covenant I had once thought this ceremony would belong to me at least once. But in the end, even the robe, the hymn, the vow scroll, and the temple had all been chosen for me by someone else. The message scroll lit again. Daphne wrote in the shared wedding scroll: Selene has never liked making decisions. We can decide these things for her. Theron replied with a single word. Good. I lowered my head and looked at the trunk. Suddenly, it all seemed laughable. Meles had known me the longest, yet he always stood on Daphne’s side. When Theron pursued me, he said I was quiet and gentle, someone who made him want to protect me. But after Daphne appeared, he began saying girls should be livelier, more opinionated. I wanted to be cherished too. I wanted someone to hold a bouquet of flowers and ask me, “Do you like these?” But no one ever asked. Even this wedding covenant, which I had thought would finally allow me to be the center of my own life, had still become someone else’s backdrop. I closed the trunk. The click of the bronze latch was especially clear in the silent room. Then I summoned the steward of Whitecliff House. “I won’t be staying in this palace anymore.” The steward froze. “Lady Selene, aren’t you moving into the Erebius palace soon?” I looked out at the gray-blue sky beyond the window and said calmly, “No. I’m leaving Olympus.”

The steward was visibly stunned. “Leaving Olympus?” I nodded. “Yes.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask something, but in the end, he only lowered his head. “Then please leave the palace key and the Whitecliff sigil here.” After packing the last of my things, I had just stepped out of the room when the palace doors were pushed open. Theron and Daphne walked in together, laughing and talking. “It’s settled, then, Theron.” Daphne tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft and coy. “After your marriage covenant, I’ll stay in the Erebius palace for a few weeks. I want the room near the garden, and the curtains must be changed to my favorite rose pink.” Theron did not object. Instead, he smiled with indulgent warmth. “As long as Selene has no objections.” Daphne immediately looked at me and blinked. “My sister has always taken care of me. How could she object?” She said it so naturally. As if my future marriage palace had always been meant to have a place for her too. A dull ache pressed against my chest. “And if I say I don’t want that?” The smile on Daphne’s face froze. The next second, her eyes reddened. “Selene, I only wanted to be closer to you. If you don’t want me there, then forget it. I won’t move in.” Theron frowned. “Selene, what’s wrong with you?” I looked at him. “That is our marriage palace. It is the place meant for the future consort. Who exactly are you entering this covenant with?” Theron was choked into silence by my words. Daphne immediately lowered her head and whispered, “Sister, I really didn’t mean anything else.” Disappointment showed in Theron’s eyes. “Selene, you’re making a fuss over one room?” I smiled faintly. “I’m not making a fuss.” “Then what do you mean?” His voice darkened. “She’s your sister, not an outsider. The palace is so large. What’s wrong with letting one more person live there?” “She wanted to enter my palace, and you agreed.” I looked at him and said, word by word, “She wanted to change my robe, and you agreed. She wanted to change my hymn, and you agreed too.” “Theron, in this wedding covenant, what is still mine?” Theron’s brows lowered in displeasure. “Enough!” The air fell still. Daphne’s tears fell. “I was only trying to help you…” His voice turned cold. “Daphne stayed among the divine houses because of you. I take care of her for your sake. Do you have to be so petty?” Petty. That word again. Suddenly, I no longer had the strength to explain. Daphne tugged at his sleeve and said softly, “Theron, don’t say that. Sister is probably just in a bad mood.” Theron’s tone softened, but it remained unquestionable. “I’ve already decided. If you two sisters live closer together, you can look after each other. Selene, stop making trouble.” I looked at him and slowly nodded. “Fine.” Fine. I would be leaving soon anyway. Whoever wanted the Erebius palace could have it.

That afternoon, I went to the Temple of the Styx. It was where Theron handled underworld affairs and covenants among the divine houses. Outside the temple, obsidian pillars rose into the clouds, and the waters of the Styx flowed slowly along the side of the hall, gleaming with cold silver light. I placed the access sigil to the Erebius palace, the key to his private study, and the secondary seal of the family covenant into a black silk pouch. The messenger in the front hall bowed respectfully when he saw me. “Lady Selene, you are here. I will inform His Highness at once.” “No need.” I handed him the pouch. “Just give this to him for me.” The messenger froze for a moment, then lowered his head and accepted it. “Yes.” I turned to leave. At the end of the carpeted corridor, I suddenly heard Theron’s voice. “You want me to accompany you tomorrow to try on the golden bridal crown?” My steps stopped. From behind the half-open door came Daphne’s light laughter. “I just want to look beautiful at your wedding rites. But Selene is so petty, she’ll definitely misunderstand.” Theron’s voice carried amusement. “All right. I’ll go with you. I’ll explain things to Selene.” My fingers tightened around the strap of my pouch. The wind from the Styx was cold enough to pierce bone. But my heart was colder. I had already decided to let go. What was I still hoping for? I shook my head lightly. At that moment, the message scroll suddenly flared with divine light. Inside the hall, Theron’s voice became instantly alert. “Who’s at the door?” I did not stay. I left quickly. By the time Theron stepped out to check, the corridor was already empty. He passed through the front hall with Daphne. The messenger carefully spoke. “Your Highness, these are the things Lady Selene left behind…” But Theron was lowering his head, listening to Daphne talk about the pattern for the crown. He did not even slow his steps. The two of them walked past the messenger just like that. The messenger stood awkwardly in place, holding the silk pouch filled with keys and sigils. By then, I had already boarded a carriage, left the main city of Olympus, and returned to the seaside town of Leukakti. There was an old house there that my parents had left me. It was also the last place I wanted to clean before leaving the divine realm. Leukakti stood by the sea. At dusk, sea wind swept across the white cliffs, carrying the damp scent of salt. Dragging my trunk behind me, I pushed open the door to the old house. A thin layer of dust covered the rooms. On the windowsill still sat the empty flowerpots my mother had once kept. Aunt Kleia and Uncle Rhodion, who lived nearby, came to help me. As she wiped the table, Kleia asked, “Selene, why didn’t Theron come back with you?” I shook my head. “I don’t know. He’s probably busy.” She frowned, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she remained silent. That evening, the pre-wedding family feast began. Three obsidian royal chariots stopped outside the courtyard. Stygian guards stood at the gate, their cloaks snapping in the sea wind. Theron stepped down from the lead chariot. Daphne held his arm and stood beside him like the lady of the house. When they saw me, the smiles on both their faces stiffened. “Selene?” Theron frowned. “Why are you here?” I looked at him and suddenly found it ridiculous. “The pre-wedding family feast was always arranged at my uncle’s house. Is it strange for me to be here?” “Besides, this is where I grew up. Am I not allowed to come?” The air fell silent. Rhodion’s face darkened. “You don’t even know where your own bride is. What exactly have you been busy with?” Daphne immediately smiled and took my arm. “Selene, we meant to bring you with us, but you didn’t answer the sending.” I glanced down at the Hermes message scroll. There were no unanswered summons. Not one. I pulled my hand back and did not expose her. During the feast, Daphne poured wine for Theron and answered the elders’ questions for him, skilled and easy as if she were the future mistress of this family. I sat to the side like an unnecessary guest. After the meal, Rhodion instructed Theron, “For the next few days before the wedding rites, you two should not see each other. Let there be some anticipation. Tonight, take Selene back to the Hera’s Temple of Vows and let her prepare properly there.” Theron nodded. “I understand.” I turned back to my room to fetch my trunk, confirming that my sea-passage permit, gold drachmae, my parents’ necklace, and my divine travel permit were all inside. But when I dragged the trunk to the door, only the fading glow of torches remained outside the courtyard. Theron’s chariot had already left. I stood in the doorway, frozen. The message scroll lit. Theron had sent a line of text. Daphne was in a hurry to return to the High Temple to check the guards and arrangements for the ceremony, so I took her there first. I forgot you were here for a moment. Go back to the temple by yourself. Forgot. Again, he forgot. How many times had he forgotten me? I stared at that line, so tired I no longer had the strength to feel hurt. The next moment, the silver seal of a sea-passage writ appeared on the scroll. Sea-passage writ sealed: Whitecliff Harbor to the Aegean Isles. One-way. Departure: tomorrow night, third watch after moonrise. Hermes’ Silver Gull Seal affixed. I stared at the words one-way for a very long time. Then I erased Theron’s message and closed the scroll. I was not going back to the Hera’s Temple of Vows. I was going to the harbor.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260710Losq9wWp79 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni653514”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix