Category: English

On the day I was supposed to marry Preston Kensington, his adopted sister threatened to throw herself off the penthouse balcony. For her, Preston abandoned me at the altar, walking out without a backward glance while I stood there suffocating in layers of couture silk and tulle. Facing a ballroom full of Manhattan’s elite, their eyes glittering with pity and mockery, I walked straight to the microphone. “Whoever steps up to this altar right now,” I announced, my voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling, “is the man I will marry today.” Three years later, Preston returned to the Kensington estate, his adopted sister in tow. I was reclining on the cream leather sofa, sipping an expensive prenatal health tonic and idly watching a series on the flatscreen. Preston’s eyes locked onto the undeniable swell of my pregnant belly. His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering dangerously in his cheek. “Whose bastard is that?” I took a slow, deliberate sip from my crystal glass, offering a faint smile. “A Kensington’s, of course.” … Preston stormed across the Persian rug, his face twisted in rage, and hauled me up by the arm. “You lying bitch! The day of the wedding, I took Paige and left. I haven’t been back in three years. How the hell could you be pregnant with my child?” A sharp laugh escaped my lips. I never said it was his. He wasn’t the only man in the Kensington dynasty. “Of course it’s not your child. You aren’t fit to be a father to my baby.” Paige gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in a practiced display of shock. “Blair! Even though Preston walked away from the wedding, he still let you keep the Kensington name. He let you live here in luxury. How could you be so shameless as to get knocked up with some stray’s baby?” My gaze snapped to her, cold and unyielding. “You’re his adopted sister, Paige. Yet you openly seduced your own brother. If we’re talking about being shameless, who could possibly compete with you two?” Instantly, Paige’s eyes welled with tears. She turned to Preston, her voice trembling. “Preston, we’ve been struggling out there for three years, keeping our boundaries, doing the right thing. And she… she gets pregnant with a bastard and makes a complete fool out of you.” The implication of being cuckolded hit Preston’s fragile ego like a match to gasoline. He raised his hand and struck me across the face with sickening force. “You whore! You get yourself knocked up and then try to throw dirt on me and Paige? Get the hell out of my house!” Pain exploded across my cheek, my vision spotting black for a few terrifying seconds. Three years ago, when Preston eloped with Paige, he left me to bear the humiliation of New York’s high society alone. Driven by pure adrenaline and rage, I had demanded a husband from the crowd. It was Preston’s uncle, Victor Kensington, who had stepped up to the altar. Victor was known as the grim reaper of Wall Street—a man whose cold, ruthless efficiency made billionaires tremble. Since the day I became his wife, doors that were previously locked flew open, and everyone who met me bent over backward to offer me their absolute best. When I finally got pregnant, Victor treated me like spun glass. He wouldn’t let a single hair on my head be harmed. For Preston to lay a hand on me today… if Victor found out, there would be blood. Partly to prevent an absolute bloodbath in the family, and partly to protect the fragile life growing inside me, I steadied my breathing. “If you both walk out that door right now, I will pretend this never happened.” Instead of taking the lifeline, Paige lunged forward, her fingers twisting violently into my hair. “She’s just guilty, Preston!” Paige shrieked. “She wants to kick us out so she can use this bastard to steal the Kensington fortune!” “So that’s your game,” Preston sneered, his eyes dark with malice. “I won’t let you get away with it.” I writhed, trying to break free from Paige’s grip, my hands instinctively guarding my stomach. “The day you ran away, Arthur officially struck you from the trust! Everything in this family has absolutely nothing to do with you anymore!” Paige let out a mocking laugh. “Grandpa was just angry. Preston is his only grandson. He would never actually cut him off.” Preston puffed up his chest, a sickeningly smug look on his face. “Grandpa told me long ago that the Kensington empire is mine.” I cradled my belly, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Not anymore. The child I’m carrying is the new Kensington heir.” I thought I had made it abundantly clear. But Preston’s face contorted into something monstrous. “You really are trying to pass off some mutt as a Kensington. I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” He swung his hand again, a brutal backhand that sent me crashing to the hardwood floor. Panic surged through my veins. Looking at their deranged, feral expressions, a primal terror gripped me. They were going to hurt the baby. “He’s not a bastard!” I cried out, scrambling backward. “He is—” Before I could finish, Preston lunged down. He grabbed the shattered remains of my crystal glass, still coated in the thick prenatal tonic, and shoved it brutally against my mouth. “Paige and I have been living out of suitcases, starving on the streets for three years, while you sit here living like a queen off a bastard!” he roared. “You like drinking this trash so much? Drink it!” The jagged edge of the crystal tore into my lip and gums. The metallic taste of my own blood mixed with the thick liquid. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I raised my hands to fight him off, but Paige’s stiletto heel slammed down onto the back of my hand, pinning it to the floor. Agony shot up my arm. My body convulsed, but the scream remained trapped in my bleeding throat. After forcing the mess into my mouth, Preston spat on me and stood up, dusting off his hands like he had just taken out the trash. Then, Paige shifted her weight. Her thin stiletto heel moved directly over my swollen stomach. Pure, paralyzing horror washed over me. I ignored the blinding pain in my hand, grabbing her ankle with both of my bloody hands, desperately trying to hold her foot back. Victor was supposed to be completely sterile. This baby was a miracle, the result of three grueling years of specialists, IVF treatments, and quiet, heartbreaking disappointments. Paige looked down at me, a sadistic smile playing on her lips. “Look at you, Blair. You look like a pathetic bitch trying to protect her litter. It’s disgusting.” Preston stared at my stomach, his brow furrowing in disgust. “If word gets out that I’ve been cuckolded, I’ll be a laughingstock in the city. Squash that bastard, Paige.” I shook my head frantically, coughing up the thick liquid and blood. “My baby…” I gasped, my voice a broken rasp. “He is… Victor’s…” Preston froze. For a second, there was silence. Then, he threw his head back and let out a manic, booming laugh. “You really are a terrible liar! Everyone in New York knows my uncle is practically asexual. He’s sterile, Blair!” Preston sneered. “I am the only bloodline this family has. Why else do you think Grandpa practically forced me to marry you? To breed.” “Preston is the sole heir,” Paige chimed in, stepping harder on my hand. “Grandpa only froze his cards to force him to come home. It’s actually hilarious that you’d try to pin your mistake on Uncle Victor just to save your own skin.” They had been gone for three years. They hadn’t made a single phone call home. Arthur had been so profoundly disappointed in his grandson that he truly had cut him off. But looking at their dilated pupils and manic energy, I realized they were completely unhinged. Arguing with them would only get my baby killed. “I’m not lying,” I pleaded, tears cutting through the blood on my cheeks. “This is Victor’s child. If you don’t believe me, let me call him. Let me prove it.” Keeping one arm wrapped protectively over my stomach, I reached out for my phone on the coffee table. If I could just dial his number. Victor would move heaven and earth to get here. He would save us. My fingertips brushed the cold metal of the phone, but Preston snatched it away. With a violent flick of his wrist, he hurled it against the marble fireplace. It shattered into a dozen pieces. My heart plummeted into my stomach. Preston grabbed my chin, his fingers digging painfully into my jaw. “My uncle is a psycho. He’s the most ruthless man on Wall Street. If he finds out I can’t even handle a cheating wife on my own, he’ll think I’m weak. He’ll never hand the company over to me.” His eyes narrowed. “That’s why you wanted to call him, isn’t it?” “No,” I sobbed, shaking my head. “Please—” Before I could form another word, Paige pressed the tip of her stiletto into the curve of my belly. “Stop wasting time with this slut, Preston. Let’s get rid of the problem so we can go see Grandpa and claim what’s ours.” A sharp, agonizing cramp ripped through my abdomen. Inside, I felt the baby thrash frantically. A wave of maternal panic, darker and deeper than anything I had ever known, drowned out my pride. “Please,” I begged, looking up at them. “Please don’t hurt my baby…” Paige pulled out her phone and pointed the camera at me. “Get on your knees. Bark like a dog twice, and tell the camera you’re nothing but a cheap whore. Do it, and I’ll step off.” For my child, there was no line I wouldn’t cross. I dragged my battered body up, forcing myself onto my hands and knees on the glass-strewn floor. “Woof. Woof,” I choked out, my body trembling violently. “I’m… I’m a cheap whore.” Paige leaned down, a triumphant, wicked smirk on her face. “Remember when I was on my knees begging you not to marry Preston, Blair? Did you ever think you’d end up like this?” Years ago, Paige had come to my apartment, crying that she and her brother were in love, begging me to call off the wedding. But the Covington and Kensington merger involved billions in corporate assets. If I broke the engagement, my family would bear the financial ruin. I had refused her. She had carried that venom in her heart every single day since. I didn’t care about the past anymore. I looked up at them, my vision swimming. “Please… call an ambulance.” Instead of mercy, Preston drove his expensive loafer directly into the center of my back. “God, you are pathetic! You’ll do anything for this bastard, won’t you?” I slammed face-first into the hardwood. The impact sent a shockwave of fiery, agonizing pain radiating across my belly. “You said… you said you’d let him go…” I gasped, clutching the floor. Paige examined her nails, utterly bored. “I said I would let him go. Preston never promised anything.” “You used my name to live off my family,” Preston snarled. “You think I’m going to let you walk away from that?” He drew his leg back and delivered a brutal, sickening kick directly to my lower abdomen. A horrific tearing sensation ripped through me. A second later, a warm gush of dark, red blood soaked through my dress, pooling onto the floor between my legs. The frantic fluttering inside me slowed… and then stopped. A profound, suffocating emptiness eclipsed my soul. The despair was so heavy it felt like a physical weight crushing my lungs. I turned my head to look at them, my vision burning with a hatred so pure and absolute it felt divine. “Preston. Paige.” My voice was a hollow rasp, emptied of all humanity. “You are going to burn for this.” Paige stepped closer to Preston, her eyes flashing with malice. “She still isn’t sorry. I guess she hasn’t learned her lesson.” Preston smiled—a cold, dead thing. “Let’s see who burns first. Paige, get a rope.” Paige hurried into the foyer, returning moments later with heavy decorative curtain tie-backs. I tried to drag my bleeding, broken body backward, leaving a thick smear of crimson across the pristine wood. “What are you doing?” I choked out, terror flooding me anew. They didn’t answer. They were smiling. They bound my wrists and ankles together. Then, Preston grabbed the rope and dragged me out through the French doors, hauling me across the stone patio toward the infinity pool. With one swift kick, he sent me tumbling over the edge. The icy water swallowed me instantly. Bound and heavy with pregnancy, I sank like a stone. The water rushed into my nose and lungs, sealing my screams. The burning agony of suffocation overtook the pain in my body. Just as my consciousness began to splinter into darkness— Preston yanked the rope, hauling my head above the surface. “Have you learned your lesson, Blair?” he shouted from the edge. “Are you ever going to embarrass me again?” I gasped greedily at the air, coughing up water, but as I breathed, I felt a terrifying downward pressure in my pelvis. Victor and I had taken the birthing classes. I knew what this was. The trauma had triggered early labor. Even though I knew the chances were nonexistent, the primal instinct to save my child took over. “I’m sorry!” I sobbed out, treading water frantically. “I won’t do it again. Please. The baby is coming. Call an ambulance, I’m begging you!” Preston spat down at me. “Still thinking about the bastard? You haven’t repented at all.” “I am not letting that mistake walk out of my house alive!” He raised his foot to kick my head back under the water. I closed my eyes tightly, surrendering to the cold, dark end. Then, the massive iron gates of the estate blew open. Victor sprinted across the lawn, his eyes wild, his voice an earth-shattering roar. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!”

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Caroline walked in wearing five-inch stilettos while I was in the middle of signing a merger agreement. She didn’t knock. That was her style. As the heads of two massive family conglomerates, we knew the geography of each other’s offices too well—her chair faced the floor-to-ceiling windows; mine was angled forty-five degrees, offering a perfect view of the glass curtain wall of her building across the street. We had grown up together, so close I could trace the arch of her eyebrows with my eyes closed. We were so close that when she said, “I want to call off the engagement,” I didn’t even pause the movement of my pen. “Reason,” I said. “I’m in love with someone else.” The nib of my fountain pen hesitated on the paper for a second. Just one second. I signed the final character, closed the leather folder, and looked up. She stood opposite my desk, spine rigid, chin slightly elevated—a posture of command she wore like armor. But her eyelashes were trembling, like a butterfly caught under the eaves before a storm. We had known each other for twenty-three years. I had seen her cry over an unsolved calculus problem; I had seen her stand at her father’s funeral without shedding a single tear. But I had never seen her look like this—cheeks flushed with an unnatural, feverish heat, eyes impossibly bright. That wasn’t the sharp, cold light of a boardroom killer. It was the manic glow of someone high on dopamine. … “Is it him?” I asked. “His name is Noah,” she said. Her voice softened three degrees when the name crossed her lips, as if she were dissolving a sugar cube on her tongue. “The one who joined the company this summer.” I remembered. Last week’s intern review. A boy standing in front of the projector, explaining user personas. His slide deck was a visual feast, flashy and modern, but the underlying data had three glaring errors. I had intended to point them out, but Caroline had spoken first: “A fresh perspective. I like the independent thinking.” She had even smiled, a rare occurrence. At the time, I thought she was just having a good day. “How long?” “One month and three days.” “And you think you know him?” “Enough.” She lifted her chin, defensive now. “He’s not like you people—obsessed with margins and bottom lines. He’s clean. He’s pure. When he looks at me—” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He doesn’t see a CEO.” I didn’t speak. Outside, the September evening light was fading, the sunset plating her silhouette in burnished orange. Twenty-three years ago, our families lived in the same exclusive gated community in Connecticut. She used to wear a sun-bleached floral dress, crouching under the old oak tree to count ants. I had walked over and asked what she was doing. She didn’t look up: “The ants are moving house. It’s going to rain.” It did rain that day. We hid in the mudroom, and she shared half a chocolate bar with me, softened by the warmth of her hand. Later, her father’s tech venture went public, and they moved to a larger estate. My father’s hedge fund caught the right tailwinds, and our families remained equals in tax brackets and influence. The engagement was set at a dinner party when we were seventeen—a half-joke made over brandy that solidified into an alliance. I remember she sat next to me that night, head bowed, aggressively stirring a bowl of crème brûlée, the tips of her ears burning a violent shade of red. From that day on, everything changed. She stopped punching my shoulder and calling me “Cole.” She stopped shoving failed test papers at me to forge her dad’s signature. She stopped calling at midnight to ask about physics. Instead, she started critiquing the color of my ties, criticizing my rapid speech patterns in meetings, and acting the perfect debutante in front of our parents. But alone with me, she turned into ice. It took me a long time to figure it out—she had taken it seriously. She had taken a drunk dinner table promise and treated it as gospel. And now, for another man, she was here to dissolve the very covenant she had spent years quietly honoring. “Okay,” I said. She froze. “…What did you say?” “I agree. The engagement is off.” I opened my drawer and pulled out the draft agreement, a document that had never actually been notarized. “It was a joke between our parents, Caroline. No need to make it a tragedy. Take it back, burn it, whatever you like.” The thin paper lay on the mahogany desk, clipped with a photo taken five years ago at a gala. She was in vintage Chanel; I was in bespoke Savile Row. We sat side by side, smiling politely, miles apart. She didn’t reach for it. “You…” Her lips parted. She looked like she wanted to ask a question but was terrified of the answer. I waited three seconds. “Anything else?” Her lashes finally dropped, heavy and defeated, curtaining her eyes. She reached out, grabbed the paper, and crushed it in her fist. The crisp sound of crumpling bond paper filled the silence. “Nothing else.” She turned and walked out. Her heels struck the marble floor—clack, clack, clack—a rhythm that faded into the corridor. The office returned to silence. I looked down and pulled the next file from the stack. The sunset outside sank behind the skyline, surrendering to the twilight. My assistant knocked and entered to turn on the lights. He saw my pen moving steadily across the page and hesitated. “Mr. Harrison, are you…” “Speak.” “Ms. Prest… she stood by the elevator bank for a long time after she left.” “Hm.” “She seemed to be waiting for you to go after her.” I flipped a page of the report. “Her new boyfriend. Is it the marketing intern?” My assistant blinked, struggling to keep up with the pivot. “Y-yes, sir. Noah Valenti.” “Competence?” “…Mediocre at best. But he’s very charming.” My assistant chose his words carefully. “Ms. Prest has been bringing him to events recently. There are rumors.” “What kind of rumors?” He didn’t dare say it. I said it for him. “That she’s lost her mind over a pretty face?” He lowered his head, a silent confirmation. I placed the signed document in the ‘Out’ tray. “Everyone has their own path.” “But sir, you and Ms. Prest have an engagement—” “Had. It’s dissolved.” My assistant’s head snapped up, shock written plainly across his face. He had been with me for seven years. In seven years, he had never seen me crack, and he wasn’t seeing a crack now. He opened his mouth, but eventually just said, “Yes, sir.” As he backed out of the room clutching the files, he couldn’t resist glancing back one last time. I was already reading the next spreadsheet. Noah didn’t quit. Not because I wouldn’t let him go, but because Caroline wouldn’t let him. She transferred him to the Executive Office. His title shifted from “Intern” to “Special Assistant to the CEO.” Rumor had it she fought the board for two hours over it, finally slamming a stack of reports on the table: “My assistant, my choice.” Her executive secretary of eight years resigned on the spot. Caroline didn’t ask her to stay. When this news reached me, I was at a charity auction for the Met. The organizers had seated Caroline and me in the same row, separated only by the central aisle. She arrived late. When she entered, heads turned—not for her, but for the man on her arm. Noah was wearing a white tuxedo. The bowtie was perfect, and a faint, modest smile played on his lips. He was undeniably handsome—clean-cut, boyish, like a poet from a liberal arts college brochure. He walked half a step behind her, projecting humility and devotion. “Who’s the kid with Caroline?” “Heard he’s the new favorite at her firm.” “Christ, look at the way he looks at her…” The whispers rippled through the ballroom like a tide. Caroline didn’t notice, or perhaps she didn’t care. She turned to say something to Noah; he leaned in close to listen, his jawline tense but soft. It was a beautiful image. Cinematic. The auction reached lot seventeen—a Ming Dynasty jade archer’s ring. Opening bid: eighty thousand. I had no interest in jade, so I prepared to tune out, but then I saw Caroline raise her paddle. “One hundred thousand.” A murmur went through the crowd. The market value was sixty, maybe seventy thousand tops. “One-twenty,” someone countered. “One-fifty.” Caroline didn’t blink. Noah tugged gently at her sleeve. His voice was low, but pitched perfectly to be overheard by the surrounding tables. “Caroline, it’s too much. I’m not worth it.” Caroline turned to him. I had never seen that look on her face before—soft, exposed, almost begging to be used. “If you like it, you’re worth it.” She won the ring for two hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She slid it onto Noah’s thumb right there at the table. He looked down at his hand, smiling shyly, like a delicate flower trembling in the wind. I took a sip of my champagne. My assistant leaned in, voice lowered. “Mr. Harrison, that ring is appraised at seventy thousand, max.” “Hm.” “Ms. Prest has always been such a disciplined investor…” “Love lowers the IQ,” I said. “It’s a physiological response.” My assistant choked on air. He looked at the couple holding hands across the aisle, then at my unmoving profile. He looked at me like I was a monster. “Sir,” he managed, “do you really… not care at all?” I placed the empty flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “She’s buying her boyfriend a gift. Why would I care?” “But you’re her fiancé—” “Ex-fiancé.” My assistant shut his mouth. When the auction ended, we moved to the dinner reception. I was heading for the bar when Noah blocked my path. He stood at the corner of the corridor, the recessed lighting stretching his shadow long and thin. His white suit was spotless, his eyes cast down in practiced deference. “Mr. Harrison,” he said softly. “I’ve admired you for a long time.” I stopped. “Caroline talks about you often. She says you’re the person she respects most. I’ve always wanted to learn from you; I’m glad I finally have the chance.” He paused, offering a sheepish, self-deprecating smile. “I know I have a lot to learn, but Caroline encourages me. I’m terrified of letting her down.” The speech was perfect. The tone was humble. It was flawless. I looked at him. He looked back, his eyes clear and wide, like a shallow stream where you can see every pebble at the bottom. “Do good work,” I said. He waited three seconds. When I didn’t add anything, his eyelashes fluttered. “You aren’t going to ask me… if my intentions with Caroline are real?” “That’s a question for her.” He pressed his lips together. The smile was slipping. “Aren’t you even curious? She broke off her engagement with you for me.” I finally looked him in the eye. He was twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. Smooth skin, innocent eyes. He had calibrated his tone perfectly—30% hesitation, 30% innocence, 40% predatory confidence. “Mr. Valenti,” I said. “That engagement was a dinner table joke between two old men. It was never legal. If she wanted to end it, I was always going to sign the papers.” He blinked, stunned. “As for whether you’re genuine—” I paused. “If she chooses to believe you, no one else has the right to comment.” I stepped around him and kept walking. From behind me, his voice drifted over, light as a sigh. “You really are a… strange man, Mr. Harrison.” I didn’t look back. At dinner, Caroline and Noah sat at the head table. She served him food, picking the bones out of his fish, placing the tenderest cuts on his plate. He whispered thank you, and she smiled—a smile that looked satisfied but exhausted, like a traveler who had finally found a place to rest her head. I sat two tables away, eating quietly. My phone lit up. Grace Miller: [How’s the auction? My mother is asking about the wedding timeline again. I told her you were busy.] Me: [Let’s discuss in person next week.] Grace Miller: [Sounds good. By the way, did you see Caroline today?] Me: [Yes.] Grace Miller: [Is she okay?] Me: [She’s in love. She seems fine.] There was a pause on the other end. Grace Miller: [Are you okay?] I stared at those three words. Outside, the November night was dark, the city grid carved up by neon and headlights. In the reflection of the glass, my face was a blank sheet of paper. Me: [I’m always okay.] December. The Prest Group Annual Gala. I was invited as a strategic partner. In previous years, Caroline and I would walk the red carpet together. This year, her plus-one had changed. Noah wore a custom suit, his cuffs fastened with the limited-edition Cartier links she had won at auction the week before. He stood by her side, smiling like polished jade, handling the media’s questions with rehearsed grace. “Mr. Valenti, what is your relationship with Ms. Prest?” He lowered his eyes, ears turning a charming shade of pink. “I am Ms. Prest’s assistant.” Caroline grabbed his hand, looking straight into the camera. “He is my boyfriend.” The flashbulbs nearly blew the roof off the ballroom. I stood on the periphery of the crowd, holding a glass of red wine I hadn’t touched. My assistant leaned in, voice barely audible. “Sir, PR is asking if we should suppress the trending topics.” “No need.” “But this affects your reputation—” “What reputation?” I turned to him. “My relationship with the Prest Group is purely commercial. Her romantic life is her freedom. It has nothing to do with me.” My assistant looked like he was going to explode. He stared at me, started to speak, stopped, and finally choked out, “Mr. Harrison, are you… a monk?” “Did you achieve nirvana in a past life?” I placed the wine glass on a passing tray and patted his shoulder. “Stop watching so many soap operas.” Halfway through the gala, Noah took the stage. Speaking as the “Special Assistant to the CEO,” he presented the quarterly results for the group’s digital transformation. The PowerPoint was exquisite—smooth animations, curated stock photos. But the data. There was a glaring logical fallacy in the user acquisition cost column. I frowned. Caroline sat in the front row, looking up at him, her eyes shining. She didn’t see the error. Or rather, she didn’t want to see it. The speech ended to thunderous applause. Noah bowed and left the stage. As he passed me, he slowed down. “Mr. Harrison,” he said, turning his head slightly so only I could hear. “Caroline told me you used to walk the red carpet with her every year.” I waited. “She said she wasn’t happy then,” he said. “But she’s happy now.” There it was. The long, drawn-out performance, the constant, deliberate flexing—it was finally out in the open. I looked at him. There was a secret smirk in his eyes, like a cat that had finally stolen the cream. “Mr. Valenti,” I said. “Do you know how long I’ve known her?” He hadn’t expected a question. He faltered. “Twenty-three years,” I answered for him. “In those twenty-three years, I know exactly when she was happy and when she wasn’t. I don’t need you to tell me.” The smile on his face stiffened. “Also,” I said, stepping past him. “Next time you run the numbers, triple-check them. That logic error in your deck? Anyone who bothered to do the math in their head caught it.” Silence behind me. I didn’t look back.

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“Natalie, the fireworks! They caught your house—your parents are still inside!” It was New Year’s Eve, the kind of night where the air feels brittle with frost and expectation. My childhood friend, Hailey, had insisted we go out to celebrate. She wanted a spectacle, something to mark her “return” to our small town, so she’d dropped nearly two thousand dollars on professional-grade pyrotechnics. I’d watched her line them up along the dry brush at the edge of my property, my stomach doing slow, anxious somersaults. I tried to talk her out of it, pointing out how close they were to the porch, how the wind was picking up. She’d just brushed me off with a sharp, practiced laugh. “I know what I’m doing, Nat. Lighten up for once.” She didn’t wait for an answer before she struck the match. I couldn’t watch. Feeling a headache coming on, I retreated to a neighbor’s house to play cards, trying to drown out the booms with small talk. I hadn’t even finished my first hand when she burst through the door, breathless and wild-eyed, screaming that my parents were being burned alive. I froze, the cards slipping from my numb fingers. My parents? That was impossible. I was the only one spending the holidays at the house this year. … My first instinct was that this was one of Hailey’s twisted jokes. She’d always had a flair for the dramatic, a need to be the center of every tragedy. “Hailey, stop. My parents aren’t—” “I’m serious!” she shrieked, grabbing my arm so hard her nails dug into my skin. “I’m not lying! We have to go, now! The fire is out of control!” She hauled me toward my house. Before we even cleared the treeline, the heat hit me—a physical wall of shimmering, orange air. The fire had turned the Victorian structure I grew up in into a skeletal furnace. Neighbors were frantic, tossing buckets of water that vanished into steam before hitting the flames. Above the roar of the fire, I heard it: a low, guttural moaning from inside the house. Someone was screaming a name, the sound muffled by the crackle of burning cedar. My heart hammered against my ribs. If my parents weren’t home—and they shouldn’t have been—then who the hell was in there? I reached into my pocket, my fingers trembling as I tried to dial 911. Before I could hit ‘call,’ Mr. Henderson, the head of our local neighborhood association, intercepted me. He looked haggard, his face smeared with soot. “Natalie, honey, your parents… they’re trapped. The fire’s too hot. We’ve tried everything, but…” He trailed off, wiping a hand across his red-rimmed eyes. “You need to prepare yourself.” I looked at the house. Through the shattered parlor window, I could see two silhouettes wreathed in flame, thrashing in a desperate, final dance of agony. A wave of nausea rolled over me. Even if it wasn’t my parents, I had to save whoever was in there. But as my thumb hovered over the emergency button, Mr. Henderson snatched the phone right out of my hand. “No, Natalie. You can’t call the police.” I stared at him, bewildered. “What are you talking about?” “Our town is in the final running for the ‘Safest Heritage Community’ grant,” he said, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. “If word gets out about a fatal fire caused by illegal fireworks on New Year’s, we lose everything. The funding, the reputation… we can handle this ourselves. We’ll get the fire out.” I opened my mouth to scream at him, but Hailey was suddenly there, flanking me. “He’s right, Nat. Don’t make a scene. Look at everyone helping you—if you call the cops now, you’re basically stabbing the whole neighborhood in the back. Just let them put it out. That’s all that matters right now.” Their logic was insane, a product of small-town desperation and warped priorities, but the roar of the fire was louder than my thoughts. I didn’t fight them. I grabbed a bucket and joined the line. We fought the flames until three in the morning. When the last ember finally hissed into silence, the air was thick with the cloying, sweet-metallic scent of charred meat. Two blackened shapes were carried out on stretchers and covered with white sheets. Hailey didn’t wait for me to process it. she collapsed into the dirt, wailing into her hands. “Natalie, I’m so sorry! Your poor parents… I never should have lit those fireworks. I didn’t think… I didn’t know your house was the only one that would go up. Please don’t hate me.” She was performing, making herself the victim before I could even find my voice. Two people were dead, and she was worried about being blamed. I clenched my fists, the grief and rage finally bubbling over. “I warned you, Hailey! I told you it wasn’t safe, but you had to have your ‘moment.’ Now my house is gone, and people are dead. Do you think an apology fixes that?” Hailey looked up, her eyes swimming with well-rehearsed tears, and sobbed even harder. One of the neighbors, a woman named Mrs. Gable, stepped forward to shield her. “Honestly, Natalie, shouting won’t bring them back. You’re being cruel.” “Exactly,” another man added, crossing his arms. “It’s just bad luck. Everyone else’s house is fine. Maybe your place was just a tinderbox. You can’t pin that on Hailey.” Then, Mrs. Gable let out a long, airy sigh. “And look on the bright side, dear. At least you won’t have to worry about the cost of assisted living anymore. That’s one hell of a silver lining, isn’t it?” I felt the blood drain from my face. “What did you just say?” “I’m just saying, the elder-care burden is halved! You should be thanking her for the closure.” “You’re disgusting,” I whispered, stepping toward her. I wanted to tear that smug look off her face. Mr. Henderson stepped between us. “Enough. Natalie, don’t take it out on her. She’s just… being practical. Look, you can stay at my place for a few days. We take care of our own.” Hailey reached out, catching my sleeve. “Stay with me, Nat. It’s the least I can do. I’ll be your family now. My parents can be your parents. Please?” I looked at her. Her eyes were darting everywhere but at me. I remembered the fireworks—how she’d aimed the Roman candles directly toward my roof, laughing like it was a game. A cold realization began to settle in my gut. Mr. Henderson kept pushing. “Let’s just get the bodies to the funeral home for a private cremation before the sun comes up. No need for an autopsy, no need for the county coroner to get involved.” He signaled for a few men to lift the stretchers. I smiled, a cold, hard thing. “There’s just one problem, Mr. Henderson. My parents didn’t come home for the holidays. Those two bodies? They aren’t mine.” “I think we should call the police and see who they actually belong to.” The entire group froze. The silence was absolute. Hailey was the first to break it. She scrambled to her feet, pointing a trembling finger at the sheets. “That’s impossible! Who else would be in your house? You’re just saying that because you want to call the cops! Natalie, for God’s sake, have some perspective! Is your pride really more important than this town’s future?” Perspective? I couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. What was even more chilling was the way the rest of the neighbors nodded, their eyes turning cold and accusatory. Mr. Henderson frowned, his voice laced with a hidden threat. “Natalie, I know you’re grieving, but don’t make this difficult. If you turn this into a crime scene, nobody in this town is going to help you with the burial. You’re a young woman—you think you can handle this alone?” “It’s over. We’re burying them in the local plot at dawn. Simple as that.” He barked an order at the men, but it was New Year’s Day, and the grim reality of handling charred remains had dampened their enthusiasm. Nobody moved. Hailey shoved me toward them. “Natalie, don’t just stand there! Give them some cash for the trouble. Don’t you know how things work? You’ve been in the city too long. You owe these men at least a thousand each for the hazard pay.” “Pay up. It’s your family. Do the right thing.” A thousand dollars each? It wasn’t “hazard pay”; it was an extortion tax to keep me quiet. Suddenly, ten men found the energy to step forward, holding out their Venmo codes like vultures. I didn’t move. I raised my voice, letting it carry through the cold morning air. “I told you. Those aren’t my parents. I don’t know who those people are.” Hailey’s face contorted. From the back of the crowd, Mrs. Gable scoffed. “Stop lying! I saw your parents at 8:00 PM last night! I waved to them in the driveway!” “Me too,” another woman chimed in. “We were all at the end of the block. We saw them go inside. Why would we lie about that? It’s bad luck to lie about the dead.” Their certainty was terrifying. My head started to throb. My parents had told me they were staying in the city. But why would all these people insist they were here? Hailey gripped my shoulder, her voice dropping to a faux-sympathetic coo. “Nat, I know it’s hard to accept. But everyone saw them. If you don’t believe us, why don’t you just call them? Prove us wrong.” My hands began to shake uncontrollably. Someone thrust a phone in my face—a grainy doorbell camera clip from a neighbor’s house. It showed two people, dressed in my parents’ winter coats, waving to the street before entering my front door. I fumbled for my own phone and dialed my father. Straight to voicemail. My heart hammered against my teeth. I dialed my mother. Ringing… ringing… no answer. I tried five more times. Nothing. I took a shaky breath and called my older brother, my last hope. He picked up on the third ring. “Natalie? It’s five in the morning, what’s up?” “Jack,” I whispered, my eyes burning. “Did Mom and Dad go back to the house last night? To the old place?” Jack chuckled on the other end. “Yeah, Dad was obsessed with those two sea bass he had in the deep freeze there. He insisted on having them for New Year’s dinner. I drove them down myself last night. Why?” The air left my lungs. The phone slipped slightly from my ear. I could hear my nephew crying in the background, and then the line went dead. I looked at the two white sheets. My knees turned to water. Hailey caught me, pulling me into a suffocating hug while whispering in my ear. “Just give them the money, Nat. Let them rest. It’s almost over. Everyone is waiting.” I was shaking with a mix of horror and fury. I knelt in the dirt before the stretchers. After a few jagged breaths, I reached out and peeled back the sheet. I wanted to find something—a ring, a watch—that would tell me it wasn’t them. But the fire had been too thorough. They were unrecognizable. I broke down, sobbing into my hands. Behind me, I felt Hailey’s hand on my back, and I could swear I heard the faint, satisfied click of her tongue. “It’s okay, Nat. It’s over now.” Over? How could it be over? If she hadn’t lit those fireworks, they’d be alive. I reached for my phone, intent on calling the authorities, grant be damned. Hailey slapped the phone out of my hand. “I said no police! Are you deaf?” I reached for the phone again, and she kicked it three feet away into the ash. I felt a surge of pure, primal adrenaline. I stood up, ready to swing at her, when a voice drifted from the driveway. “Natalie? What is everyone doing on our lawn so early?” I spun around. My mother and father were standing there, holding a grocery bag, looking perfectly healthy and utterly confused. If my parents were standing there… then who was under the sheets? The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, and punctuated only by the sound of Hailey’s jaw hitting the floor.

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Word on the street was that the moment the Huntington heir graduated, his parents gifted him ten million dollars and a ten percent stake in the family empire. I sat in my cubicle, gnawing on a stale bagel I’d saved from the day before, practically drooling with envy. I ran the numbers in my head. Even if he never lifted a finger for the rest of his life, just living off the interest and dividends, he’d be pulling in a cool six million a year, easy. For a pathetic, corporate drone like me, getting paid to do absolutely nothing was the ultimate dream. It was the summit of my existence. Then came the day the Chairman and his family found me. They told me I was their biological son, lost for twenty-three years. My buddy warned me, “Look, Wes. Families with that kind of money? They have rules. Dozens of them. You won’t survive it. Besides, they’ve raised Tristan for over twenty years. They won’t have any real feelings for you.” I flashed him a jagged, cynical grin. “It’s fine. I’m not in it for the love. I’m in it for the cash.” I was whisked away to the Huntington estate. On the drive over, the butler briefed me on the lay of the land. … The Huntingtons had three children: the eldest daughter, Harper; the second daughter, Blair; and the third son, Tristan. After I went missing all those years ago, Mrs. Huntington—Catherine—was inconsolable. To fill the void, they went to an upscale orphanage and adopted a boy. That was Tristan. Tristan was smart, sensible, and achieved straight A’s effortlessly. He had grown up basking in the adoration of his parents and sisters. The moment the car pulled up to the manor, I was blocked at the entrance by the second daughter, Blair. She raked her eyes over me, her gaze lingering on my cheap sneakers and worn-out jeans with undisguised disgust. She scoffed, looking at me sideways. “So. You’re Wes?” I nodded and pointed to the butler beside me. “Apparently. That’s what they tell me. But you can still call me by my real name, Wes Miller.” She sneered, a cold, sharp sound. “You look like trash. You don’t even compare to Tristan’s little finger.” She took a step closer, her perfume expensive and overpowering. “Give up now. Even if you’re back, you will never replace Tristan. This family only has one son, and that is Tristan! You can’t compete with him in anything.” “I’m warning you,” she hissed, lowering her voice. “Know your place. Be polite to Tristan. Don’t do anything that makes me hate you. Otherwise, I have a million ways to make you disappear.” Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and marched into the villa. I rolled my eyes at her retreating back. Who cares if she hates me? I’m here to secure the bag, not to fight for affection. Once I get the money, she won’t have to chase me out; I’ll be on the first flight to the Caribbean. Tristan, the adopted son, got ten million and ten percent of the shares just for graduating. As the biological son, asking for an extra two million wouldn’t be excessive, right? I was about to push the heavy oak doors open when they were pulled from the inside. A guy about my age stood there. Our eyes locked. He quickly plastered a radiant smile on his face, grabbing my hand with an enthusiasm that felt rehearsed. “You must be Wes!” “Come in, come in! Mom and Dad are waiting for you!” No surprises here. This was the legendary Tristan—high EQ, high IQ, the golden boy. He ushered me into the living room. On the plush velvet sofas, an elegant middle-aged couple immediately stood up. When she saw me, Catherine Huntington froze. She walked slowly toward me, her manicured fingers trembling slightly as she reached out to touch my face. “Wes… is it really my Wes?” Then, she pulled me into a desperate, crushing hug. “Mom has finally found you.” “All these years… did you have a hard life out there? I’m so sorry… Mom is so sorry…” I had prepared myself for a cold reception, but being suddenly embraced by this stranger who smelled like lavender and money… it stirred something complicated in my chest. I grew up in the system. I had never felt anything resembling familial love. Just as I was calculating the appropriate emotional response, the sound of shattering glass cut through the air, pierced by Tristan’s high-pitched scream. Everyone’s attention snapped to him instantly. He was sprawled on the floor, clutching his elbow, sobbing. “Mom… it hurts…” Drops of blood hit the pristine white marble floor. Catherine immediately released me and rushed over to him. Her eyes were filled with panic and heartache. “Tristan!” “Quick! Call the doctor!” Mr. Huntington, Richard, crowded around too. Once he saw the blood, he turned and roared at the hovering maids. “How do you do your jobs? Why did you let the Young Master pour the tea himself?!” Tristan grabbed Richard’s arm with his good hand, his voice trembling. “Dad, don’t blame them. I was just thinking… since my big brother is back, I wanted to pour him a cup of tea personally.” “It’s my fault. I’m too clumsy. I missed a step.” He leaned weakly into Catherine’s arms, defending the servants. He looked like a fragile angel. Anyone seeing this would feel their heart break for him. The family doctor arrived quickly. After a simple bandage job, Blair wasn’t satisfied and insisted they go to the hospital for a full check-up. Naturally, the whole family prepared to escort him to the ER. As they were heading out the door, Catherine seemed to remember I existed. She turned back, looking apologetic. “Wes, I had prepared a welcome dinner for you, but this… with Tristan…” Before she could finish, Blair stomped back, grabbed her arm, and cut her off. “Oh, come on, Mom. Why bother with a feast for a gutter rat? The priority is Tristan! He lost so much blood, aren’t you worried? Let’s go!” Two seconds later, I heard the heavy thud of the front door slamming shut. Instantly, the massive villa was silent. Just me. I sat on the sofa, glancing around the opulent room. My hand brushed against a leather-bound book on the coffee table. A photo album. I opened the first page. Tristan, holding a coconut, smiling brilliantly on a white sandy beach. Then came summer camps, international math competitions, and the whole family surrounding him for birthdays, blowing out candles on cakes that cost more than my rent. Most of the photos were from 2013. I was twelve that year. I hit a growth spurt in middle school. The orphanage was crowded, resources were thin. To make sure I got enough to eat, I went to the cafeteria right after school to help the lunch ladies wash vegetables in exchange for leftovers. While I was worrying about starving, he was vacationing in Fiji with his parents and sisters. Comparison really is the thief of joy. I sat in that living room until nearly midnight. There was no sign of them returning. I decided to head back to my apartment. I grabbed my bag and stood up just as the door opened. Catherine walked in, supporting Tristan. She looked surprised to see me. “Wes? It’s so late. Where are you going?” “It got late, and you guys weren’t back. I didn’t know where I was sleeping, so I figured I’d go home.” Hearing my answer, she paused, guilt flashing across her face. “Mom was just busy and forgot.” “Tch. Stop playing the victim,” Blair sneered from the doorway. Catherine turned to the housekeeper behind her. “Mrs. Higgins, take Wes to his room to rest.” “Mom, let me take my brother,” Tristan volunteered, stepping forward. Catherine smiled at him, relieved. “Tristan is always so sensible. Go ahead, take your brother up.” Tristan walked up, grabbing my hand with that practiced familiarity, and led me upstairs. He pushed open the door to a bedroom on the second floor. “Brother, you can stay in this one.” I looked inside. It was spacious, warm, beautifully decorated. Before I could speak, Blair dashed up and blocked the doorway. “No! This is Tristan’s room! Tristan, why are you giving your room to this hillbilly?” “People like him are manipulative. You’re too kind, don’t let him bully you!” Tristan looked at her, feigning a scolding tone. “Blair, the room Mom prepared isn’t as big as mine. I figured… Brother has suffered so much out there for years. I’ve replaced him here, enjoying all this happiness. Now that he’s back, I should compensate him.” “I occupied his spot. It’s time to give it back.” He turned to me, his eyes wide and fearful. “Brother, you won’t blame me, right? Don’t worry, I’ll return everything that belongs to you. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just… please don’t chase me away.” “I just love Mom and Dad so much. I can’t bear to leave them…” Jesus. So Tristan wasn’t just a golden boy; he was a master manipulator. A text-book “Pick-me” boy. “Nonsense! What replacement? You are my son, Tristan Huntington!” Richard Huntington had appeared behind us. Hearing Tristan’s speech, he barked out the words sternly. He walked over and ruffled Tristan’s hair. “Silly child, don’t think like that. Your mother and I raised you by hand. To us, blood doesn’t matter. You are the child we love the most.” Hearing this, Tristan’s eyes instantly filled with tears. He turned and clung to Richard’s arm, whining affectionately, “Dad, of course I’m your son. I just feel bad for Brother, and I don’t want to leave you guys…” While they enacted their touching father-son moment, I walked to the room next door and pushed it open. It was fine. Smaller than Tristan’s, but clean and bright. A hell of a lot better than my rat-hole apartment. “I’ll take this one.” Tristan froze, opening his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “Relax. I don’t rob people of their things.” Without waiting for a reaction, I tossed my bag inside and shut the door. Reviewing the day, I realized that aside from Catherine showing a flicker of maternal instinct, the rest of them viewed me as an intruder. Rumor had it that the Huntington empire was originally Catherine’s family business. Richard had married into it. After the old patriarch died, and Catherine showed no interest in business, the reins were handed to Richard. But in this house, Catherine still held the purse strings. Which meant my strategy was simple: Suck up to Mom. Human beings die for wealth just as birds die for food. I’d treat this like a job. I gave myself one year. Get ten million cash and the shares, then I resign and vanish. The next morning, there was a knock on my door. It was Mrs. Higgins. She said the eldest sister, Harper, was back, and Madam wanted me downstairs. When I got down, the family was happily distributing gifts Harper had brought back. Harper saw me and paused, then picked up a gift box from the table and handed it to me. “You must be Wes. This is a gift I brought back from Europe. It’s the same as Tristan’s.” “Thanks,” I said politely, taking it. It seemed she was slightly more decent than Blair. I opened it. A diamond-encrusted watch. It looked heavy. Expensive. Harper was generous. She went onto the “Safe List.” Just as I was mentally calculating the resale value, Tristan shouted to someone off to the side, “Margot! Can I come to your birthday party the day after tomorrow?” I realized there was a stranger sitting on the sofa. She was beautiful, with an air of effortless arrogance. Old money. Perhaps sensing my curiosity, Harper introduced her. “This is my best friend, Margot.” Margot turned, her eyes meeting mine. For a split second, shock flashed through her gaze. But a moment later, her expression shifted. Her eyes crinkled into a smile, and she waved at me. “Hello there, Wes.” Tristan’s smile stiffened. “Oh, Margot,” Catherine interjected eagerly. “Tristan cares so much about your birthday. He’s been preparing a gift for months. If you don’t invite him, he’ll be heartbroken for ages!” Margot smiled politely. “Sure,” she said, her voice cool. “The more the merrier. Harper, bring both your brothers.” Tristan looked at me with disbelief, then forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Margot. We’ll definitely be there!” After Margot left, Tristan’s face fell. He sat on the sofa looking like a kicked puppy. Seeing this, Catherine pulled a black card from her purse and handed it to him. “Don’t be sad. She agreed, didn’t she? That’s huge progress compared to how she used to treat you.” “Take Mom’s card and go to the mall. Buy some new clothes, get a facial. Our Tristan is so handsome; you’ll make sure Margot can’t take her eyes off you!” “Don’t worry. The position of Margot’s husband belongs to our precious Tristan.” He took the card, glancing at Catherine with wide, teary eyes. “Thank you, Mom.” Catherine then noticed me standing there. She looked me up and down, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her face. “Um… Wes, maybe you should go buy some clothes too?” I looked at her and said bluntly, “I’m broke.” She seemed to remember something, pulled out her phone, and tapped on the screen. A moment later, my phone buzzed. Bank notification: Account credited $200,000. I glanced at the unlimited black card in Tristan’s hand. Still playing favorites, I see. I thought for a second, then put on my best pathetic face. “I’ve never been to a party like this. I don’t know how to dress so I won’t embarrass the family. Do I need jewelry?” Catherine paused. Then she nodded fervently. “Right, right. This is your debut as a Huntington. You need to look dignified.” She turned and went into her bedroom. A moment later, she came out holding a velvet box. She opened it in front of me. Diamond cufflinks. They sparkled so hard I almost squinted. She handed them to me. “Here. Wear these. I didn’t have a welcome gift prepared for you when you came back. Consider this Mom’s compensation.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tristan’s face twist in shock and rage. I suppressed my excitement and took the box with feigned politeness. For the first time, I called her Mom. “Thank you, Mom.” Hearing that, she beamed so hard I thought her face might crack. These cufflinks were worth at least half a million. She wasn’t just a mom; she was an ATM. Calling her ‘Mom’ was the least I could do.

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When my mother asked which man I wanted to marry into the Sterling family, I didn’t choose Julian this time. Instead, I chose his uncle, Sam Sterling. My mother looked at me, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. After all, everyone in the elite circles of North Heights knew that Julian and I were childhood sweethearts. I had spent ten years following him like a shadow, loudly proclaiming to anyone who would listen that I wouldn’t marry anyone else. I offered her a bitter, weary smile. My mind drifted to my previous life—the years spent in a hollow marriage where Julian never touched me. I had spent those years convinced he suffered from some secret, shameful illness, going to great lengths to protect his dignity. It wasn’t until our golden wedding anniversary that I accidentally stumbled into the basement vault he had forbidden everyone to enter. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with thousands of candid photographs of my cousin, Stephanie. In that moment, the truth shattered me. He wasn’t cold; he just didn’t love me. He never had. Since the universe had seen fit to give me a second chance, I decided to step aside and let them have each other. But later, when I walked toward his uncle in a Vera Wang gown, Julian’s face turned deathly pale. And then, he lost his mind. … Three days after the engagement was finalized, I ran into Julian at an upscale lounge. His friends saw me walk in and immediately began to snicker, their eyes gleaming with mockery. “Look, Julian, your little shadow is back!” “Hey, Nancy, the contract is signed, isn’t it? Do you really need to keep him on such a short leash? Can’t the guy even grab a drink with the boys?” When Julian saw me, his irritation was palpable. He looked at me as if I were a stain on his expensive suit. “Nancy, are you really that desperate?” he hissed, stepping close enough for me to smell the bourbon on his breath. “Going behind my back to get our families to settle the contract? Now everyone in the city thinks we’re engaged. You really outdid yourself this time.” The disdain in his eyes used to make my heart ache. Now, it just felt like a dull, distant noise. I took a slow breath and spoke calmly. “I didn’t need your permission. Because the man I’m marrying isn’t you.” The room went dead silent for a heartbeat before erupting into laughter. Julian’s friends were practically doubled over. “Julian, man, go comfort your little fiancée!” one of them wheezed. “Or she’s going to find an even crazier way to get your attention!” Julian frowned, his ego clearly bruised by my lack of tears. “Nancy, is this a new game? Playing hard to get?” He scoffed, stepping into my personal space. “Marrying into the Sterlings? If it’s not me, who else could it be? You’ve been screaming about being my wife since you were in pigtails. Everyone already considers you my property.” He leaned down, whispering harshly into my ear: “I’ll let the engagement thing slide. But remember this—I’ll give you a grand wedding to keep the families happy. But the legal papers? The actual marriage license? I’m saving that for the woman I actually want.” I looked up at him, stunned. In my last life, Julian had followed his family’s orders perfectly. We had signed the papers and married almost immediately. Did he… remember? Was he reborn, too? Before I could read the expression on his face, Stephanie arrived. The moment she saw Julian and me standing together, her eyes welled up with practiced precision. “Nancy… Julian…” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “I heard you’re… you’re getting married soon. I didn’t bring a gift, but I just wanted to wish you… wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” Before she could finish, she turned and ran out of the lounge, crying. “Look what you did!” Julian snarled at me. He didn’t spare me another glance before charging out after her. When they finally returned, they were holding hands, fingers interlaced. Stephanie’s lips were swollen and red, and there was a very deliberate, dark hickey on Julian’s throat. The crowd watched me with hungry eyes, waiting for the explosion. In the past, if I saw another woman so much as breathe near Julian, I would have caused a scene, screaming and crying until he looked at me. Julian stepped in front of Stephanie, shielding her, his face set in a look of defiant anticipation. He was waiting for me to break. But minutes passed, and I just sipped my sparkling water. Julian looked surprised, then let out a cold, mocking laugh. “I see you’ve finally grown some sense. At least you aren’t making a fool of yourself tonight.” When the party ended, Julian caught me by the arm. “It’s late. It’s not safe. I’ll drive you.” I didn’t decline. A free ride was a free ride. As I walked toward the car, I moved for the front passenger door, but Julian blocked me, his body a solid wall. “Sit in the back,” he said curtly. He then held the front door open for Stephanie, ushering her in with a gentleness he had never shown me. “I’m so sorry, Nancy,” Stephanie chirped from the front seat, looking back with a faux-pitying smile. “Julian is just so worried about me. He knows I get car sick if I’m not in the front.” I said nothing and climbed into the back seat—exactly where I had intended to sit anyway. The entire drive was filled with their hushed giggles and whispered inside jokes. At a red light, Stephanie leaned over, pouting, asking Julian to help her apply lip gloss. They lingered, their faces inches apart, their breathing becoming heavy and synchronized in the quiet cabin of the car. Suddenly, Julian glanced in the rearview mirror, as if remembering I was there. When he saw me staring blankly out the window, completely indifferent, his expression shifted. His jaw tightened, and he slammed the car into gear, his mood turning inexplicably foul. When we reached my house, I moved to get out, but Julian caught my wrist again. He shoved a small jewelry box into my hand, his tone condescending. “Fine. Stop with this ‘indifferent’ act. It’s beneath you.” He sighed. “This bracelet is your engagement gift. Just be a good girl, and I’ll give you the wedding. At least in the eyes of the city, you’ll be my wife.” I looked at the box, then at him. “And the marriage license? Who are you signing that with? Stephanie?” Julian’s temper flared, though there was a flicker of smug satisfaction in his eyes. “I knew you were faking. I’m warning you, Nancy—don’t you dare say a word of this to our parents. What Stephanie and I have is beyond your understanding. She’s fragile, she’s kind, and she doesn’t have a manipulative bone in her body. If you hurt her, don’t blame me if I call off the wedding entirely.” I almost laughed. He was so cowardly, so afraid to stand up to the Sterling patriarchs, yet he framed it as if I were the villain in his tragic romance. I didn’t answer. I simply turned and walked into my house. The second I closed the door, my phone buzzed. It was a video from Stephanie. In the video, Julian was carefully fastening a diamond necklace around her neck. I recognized the brand—a luxury boutique. I realized then that the bracelet Julian had shoved at me was likely a “gift with purchase” from that very necklace. The camera tilted. Their lips met, and the wet, rhythmic sound of their kissing filled my quiet hallway. “Nancy,” Stephanie’s text followed. “Julian told you, right? After the wedding, he’s signing the papers with me.” “Think about it—a marriage that isn’t legally recognized means no inheritance. No rights. I think it’s my turn to be the billionaire’s wife this time around, don’t you?” My blood ran cold. Stephanie had been reborn, too. No wonder they were moving so fast. In the previous life, they had hidden their affair for decades. Now, they were trying to rewrite history together. I looked down at my phone, remembering the business trends from my past life. After Julian and I “married,” the Sterling Group had suddenly exploded with new contracts and unprecedented growth. Everyone said I was his lucky charm. I had lived in that lie for fifty years before seeing those photos. My mother came into my room then, her voice soft. “Sam is coming back from London in five days.” I felt a spark of genuine hope. In my last life, Sam Sterling—Julian’s uncle—had never married. He was the ghost of the family, a powerful, silent figure who lived mostly abroad. I remembered him as a kind, older-brother figure from my childhood. Marrying him felt like finding a safe harbor in a storm. The next day, I went to my “secret garden”—a private glass conservatory on the rooftop of my family’s office building. I had spent years filling it with exotic blooms, all of them Julian’s favorites, in a desperate attempt to please him. Now that my future husband had changed, the garden needed to change, too. I spent the next few days clearing out the old and planting the flowers Sam preferred—deep blue hydrangeas and white lilies. I stepped away to the breakroom for a coffee, and my phone pinged. I opened Instagram to see Stephanie’s latest post. My heart stopped. The photos showed my conservatory in ruins. My carefully tended flowers were snapped at the stems, petals scattered like blood across the floor. In the center of the carnage, Julian was holding Stephanie, both of them beaming at the camera. “Julian knew I needed a place for my photoshoot, so he found this hidden gem for me! It feels so good to be loved!” I sprinted back to the roof. Inside, Julian was plucking a stray jasmine bloom—one of the few left—and tucking it behind Stephanie’s ear. “This is my private space!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “How dare you bring her here? How dare you destroy my garden!” Stephanie flinched, her eyes instantly brimming with tears. “Julian… did I do something wrong? Why is she so angry? I’m so scared…” Julian stepped in front of her, his face darkening. “Nancy, quit the theatrics. You grew these flowers for me anyway, didn’t you?” He gestured vaguely at the wreckage. “I was bored of your little obsession with this place. What does it matter if Stephanie uses it for a few photos? Stop making everything about you.” I looked at the crushed lilies on the floor, my eyes stinging. “Who said these were for you? I was preparing this for my future husband!” Julian let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. “Give it a rest, Nancy. We all know I’m the only man you’ve ever wanted. I’ve already agreed to marry you—stop acting like a brat.” I looked at the broken petals and began to cry. Just then, a crew of workers began hauling in massive crates of sunflowers—Stephanie’s favorite. As they began to unpack them, the air became thick with yellow pollen. My throat tightened instantly. My skin began to flush a violent red. Julian knew. He had known since we were ten years old that I was deathly allergic to sunflower pollen. But his eyes weren’t on me. He was busy directing the workers, his face lit up as he watched Stephanie twirl among the bright yellow blooms. Suddenly, Stephanie let out a small gasp. “Julian… I think I scratched my finger on one of Nancy’s roses. It hurts…” Julian’s face twisted into a mask of maternal worry. He swept her up into his arms, then turned to me, his voice a roar of fury. “Nancy! Even your flowers are as spiteful and vicious as you are! If Stephanie gets an infection from this, I swear to God, you’ll pay for it!” He turned and carried her out, ignoring the way I was clutching my throat, my face turning purple, my hand reaching out to him in a desperate plea for help. I don’t know how long it took me to crawl out of that room. Every breath felt like swallowing glass. When I finally reached my medication in the office below and the air began to return to my lungs, the cold truth settled in my gut. In the past, I thought Julian just didn’t love me. I never realized he was capable of watching me die for the sake of a scratch on Stephanie’s finger. I leaned against the wall, shaking. Thank God. Thank God I wasn’t marrying him. I took several hours to compose myself. Tonight was the formal family dinner to welcome Sam back. I needed to look perfect. I needed to make a good impression. When I reached the underground parking garage, I saw a car rocking rhythmically in the distance. As I got closer, I recognized Julian’s silver Maserati. The driver’s side window was half-down. Julian had Stephanie draped over his lap. Her eyes were glazed, her body moving in a slow, steady rhythm. Even though I no longer loved him, the sheer audacity of it—doing this in the family garage before a formal dinner—made my chest tighten. Julian opened his eyes and locked onto mine. A flicker of panic crossed his face, but it was gone in a second. Instead of stopping, he reached up, brushed a strand of hair from Stephanie’s face, and kissed her deeply, moaning loudly enough for the sound to echo off the concrete walls. He was doing it on purpose. He wanted to break me. I looked away, climbed into my own car, and drove toward the Sterling estate. On the way, I stopped to pick up a silk tie I had ordered for Sam. I arrived at the mansion at the same time as Julian. As he stepped out of his car, I could see discarded wrappers on the floor of his passenger seat. He saw the gift bag in my hand and his smirk returned, full of smug entitlement. “Bought me a gift? Let me see.” I pulled the bag behind my back, my pulse racing. “It’s not for you.” He chuckled, lighting a cigarette and blowing a cloud of smoke toward me. “I saw you in the garage, Nancy. I know you’re dying inside.” He leaned against his car. “I told you already. You get the wedding. Stephanie gets the license. She’s the one making the sacrifice here, really.” He flicked ash onto the pavement. “She’ll be my legal wife. What we do is natural. She’ll probably stay at our house sometimes. You’ll have to get used to it. It’s for your own good, really—keeps the family name intact.” The level of his delusion was staggering. I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my arm. “Listen. My uncle Sam is going to be there tonight. The whole family answers to him. This dinner is serious.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low warning. “I’m giving you enough face by showing up. If the elders ask about the marriage license, you tell them we’ve already signed it. Understand?” “Also, Stephanie’s finger is still sore. After dinner, you’re going to apologize to her. If you don’t… well, I can always call off the wedding before it’s official.”

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To celebrate my promotion, my boyfriend, Asher, insisted on treating me to dinner. He also invited his childhood friend, a woman who allegedly worked in the police force. Throughout the meal, this friend, Audrey, didn’t stop lecturing me. “With your profile,” she said, tapping a manicured fingernail on the table, “at the Fraud Division, we’d classify you as a classic high-risk case.” Asher sat beside her, nodding enthusiastically like a bobblehead. “Audrey sees this stuff every day. If she says something’s off, it’s off.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I excused myself to use the restroom, but as I walked down the corridor, their hushed voices drifted from the slightly open door of our private booth. I stopped, the silence of the hallway amplifying their words. “Ash, seriously, your girlfriend is suspicious,” Audrey’s voice was sharp, clinical. “I just ran a background check. Three properties in her name, two luxury cars. She’s a mid-level corporate manager; where does she get that kind of liquidity?” “She’s definitely a ‘Pig Butchering’ scammer,” she continued, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The ‘fattening’ phase. She packages herself as a wealthy socialite to lure you in, makes you feel secure, and then—bam. She gets you to invest, and you lose everything.” “I’ve worked cases like this for years. These women are ruthless. You need to cut her off immediately. Push her WeChat… I mean, give me her number. I’ll go undercover. I guarantee I’ll leave her with nothing.” My grip tightened around my phone until my knuckles turned white. A cold fury, distinct and sharp, settled in my chest. I turned on my heel and walked to a quiet corner of the lobby, dialing my father. “Dad,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Call Uncle Grant at the precinct. Tell him I think there’s a mole—or an imposter—in his Financial Crimes Unit.” … When I returned to the booth, Asher and Audrey were laughing, a picture of old friends reconnecting. The moment I stepped in, the smile vanished from Audrey’s face, replaced by a mask of professional severity. “Sloane,” she began, clasping her hands on the table. “Asher and I were just discussing your situation. I think a warning is necessary.” “Someone like you—young, no obvious family wealth, yet spending far beyond your tax bracket—you’re a magnet for criminals. Or, you are the criminal.” Asher shifted closer to me, taking my hand. His palm felt clammy. “Audrey is an elite officer, Sloane. She’s doing this for your own good. She’s worried you’re getting mixed up in something.” I pulled my hand away, a cold sneer forming internally. Worried I’m getting scammed? The biggest scam is sitting right across from me. “Thank you for the concern, Officer,” I said, my voice dropping to a temperature that could freeze vodka. “I’ll be careful.” My indifference clearly annoyed her. She glanced at the Patek Philippe on my wrist—a gift to myself for the promotion—and let out a scoff of disbelief. “Careful? How? That watch alone costs more than your annual salary,” she said, leaning back. “Don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but vanity is a slippery slope. It leads girls like you down dark paths.” Asher looked uncomfortable now, caught in the crossfire. He tugged at my sleeve. “Sloane, come on. Audrey means well. Don’t be stubborn.” “Just tell us where the money comes from,” he pleaded, his eyes wide and earnest. “We can analyze it for you. Make sure you aren’t inadvertently laundering money for someone.” I trembled, not from fear, but from a rage so pure it felt like adrenaline. I whipped my head toward Asher. “What is that supposed to mean? You suspect me, too?” I had always thought he was just easily influenced, a bit soft. But looking at him now, I realized the rot went deeper. He actually agreed with her. He bought into this absurd, fabricated narrative. Under my questioning gaze, Asher flinched, but he doubled down. “I’m not suspecting you, I’m worried about you,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “You come from a normal family, Sloane. Where did you get the money? Audrey’s right. It doesn’t add up.” Audrey seized the momentum. “Asher, you’re too naive. In my line of work, we see this all the time. Victims think they’re wealthy, only to realize they’re just mules for a cartel. Or worse, they’re part of the scam.” Her eyes narrowed, fixing me with a predator’s stare. “Sloane, I’m asking you one more time. Is your source of funds legitimate? If you confess now and cooperate, I might be able to pull some strings for leniency.” The other diners in the open area nearby began to whisper. “She’s a cop, she must know what she’s talking about.” “Yeah, you see it on the news all the time. Fake heiresses laundering crypto.” The humiliation pricked my skin like needles. I forced myself to breathe, to find that quiet center my father always talked about. “Every cent I have is clean,” I said, my voice low and controlled. “But you, ‘Officer’—abusing your alleged authority to investigate a private citizen’s finances without a warrant and discussing it in public? I’m pretty sure that violates about a dozen departmental protocols.” Audrey’s face stiffened. She hadn’t expected the pushback. Asher immediately jumped to her defense, his tone sharp. “Sloane! Watch your tone! She’s trying to save us! If you have nothing to hide, why are you scared of an investigation? Show us your bank statements. Prove us wrong.” My heart turned to ash. This was the man I had loved for three years. Faced with baseless accusations, he didn’t stand in front of me; he stood with my accuser, demanding I strip myself bare to prove my innocence. I stood up, grabbing my purse. The leather felt cool and grounding against my palm. “I’ve lost my appetite,” I said. “Asher, I’m leaving.” I turned to go, but Asher lunged, gripping my wrist hard enough to bruise. His face was flushed, eyes red with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Sloane, if you walk out that door right now, don’t expect me to come begging for you back!” Audrey chimed in, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Oh, Asher, calm down. She’s just embarrassed. Girls have thin skin when they’re caught.” She draped a hand on his arm, practically gluing herself to his side. “Sloane, don’t be mad. It’s an occupational hazard. I just want what’s best for you.” I looked at her—at the smugness barely concealed behind her concern—and felt a wave of nausea. “Don’t bother,” I said, ripping my arm from Asher’s grasp. “My affairs are none of your business, Officer.” I looked at Asher one last time. “As for you… I hope you don’t regret this.” I walked out without looking back. Behind me, I heard Audrey’s triumphant voice. “See, Ash? She ran. Guilty conscience. Women like that… you can’t be too nice to them.” I had barely stepped into my apartment when my phone buzzed. It was Chloe, my best friend. “Sloane, what the hell is going on with Asher?” Chloe practically screamed into the phone. “He just posted a status saying he ‘finally saw someone’s true colors’ and thanked his ‘brother in arms’ for the wake-up call. And there’s a picture of him and that Audrey girl!” I collapsed onto the sofa, the silence of the empty apartment wrapping around me. I gave her the short version. “Are you kidding me?” Chloe yelled. “Is he blind? He throws away a diamond to pick up a rock? A fake rock, at that?” My nose stung, tears threatening to spill. “I’m done, Chloe. I want to break up.” “Break up? You need to destroy him! Stay there, I’m coming over.” A few minutes after hanging up, my phone rang again. Asher. I picked up, and his voice assaulted my ear immediately. “Sloane, you’ve got some nerve. Tattling to my mother?” I blinked, confused. “I didn’t call your mother.” “Don’t lie! She just called and chewed me out, told me I should apologize to you. If it wasn’t you, was it Audrey?” He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Trying to use my mom to pressure me? I didn’t realize you were this manipulative.” I actually laughed. “Asher, are you delusional? I only called my dad. If your mom is yelling at you, it’s because she has more sense than you do. And for the record, we are done. Do not contact me again.” He paused, stunned by the breakup, before his anger surged back twofold. “Done? You’re dumping me? Stop playing hard to get, Sloane! Audrey analyzed this—it’s a classic manipulation tactic. You think if you throw a tantrum, I’ll come running?” “I haven’t even started counting your shady assets yet, and you’re acting like the victim?” In the background, I heard Audrey’s voice, sweet and poisonous. “Ash, don’t fight with her. She’s just spiraling. Give her time to cool off. She’s scared. If she’s really innocent, she’ll cooperate with the investigation. Acting like this just proves she’s guilty.” That was the spark Asher needed. “Did you hear that? Even Audrey is more mature than you! I’m giving you three days, Sloane. Think it over, then come apologize to Audrey. Otherwise, we are officially over!” He hung up. A second later, a photo landed in my WeChat. It was a selfie of Audrey leaning intimately on Asher’s shoulder. The background was Asher’s bedroom. The caption read: Don’t say I didn’t warn you, sis. Men like women who are compliant. Your little games don’t work on an expert like me. The doorbell rang. Chloe. She took one look at my face, grabbed the phone, saw the photo, and exploded. “Oh, absolutely not. This bitch is dead.” She hit the dial button on my phone. Audrey picked up. “Hello? Sloane? Ready to apologize?” Chloe didn’t hold back. “Apologize my ass! You homewrecking, fake-badge-wearing psychopath! You think you can steal a man and act tough? I will rip that weave right off your head!” Silence for two seconds, then Audrey let out a pitiful, trembling sob. “Why… why are you yelling at me? I was just trying to help Asher avoid being scammed…” Then Asher’s voice, thundering. “Sloane! You got someone to harass Audrey? You have no class! She’s trying to help, and you treat her like this? You are venomous! I was blind to ever date you!” “We are done! Do you hear me? Done!” I took the phone back from Chloe. My voice was eerily calm. “Asher, relax.” “From this moment on, we are strangers.” “I hope you and your bitch live happily ever after.” I thought the breakup would be the end of it. But when I returned to the office on Monday, the internal announcement for my promotion had been pulled. Colleagues I usually lunched with averted their eyes, scattering like roaches when I walked down the hall. I was blindsided. Before I could process the atmosphere, the Department Director called me into his office and slammed a stack of printed screenshots onto his desk. “Sloane, look at this mess! The whole company is talking about how my department is harboring a scam artist. You’re embarrassing me!” I picked up the papers. My pupils constricted. It was a thread on the company’s anonymous forum: Exposing the “Heiress” Supervisor: Is she running a Pig Butchering Scam? The post was a masterpiece of slander. It listed my job title, my recent purchases, my car model—details only someone close to me would know. “…Her assets are totally disproportionate to her income. Large, unexplained transfers. Typical money laundering profile.” “A friend in the PD told me this is a new type of romance scam. They package themselves as rich, bait executives or trust fund kids, and drain them dry.” The dagger was at the end. The author had tagged Asher’s corporate account. “Rumor has it her latest target was Asher. Luckily, his friend in the force exposed her just in time. She’s been dumped, so watch out—she’s hunting for a new victim in the office.” The comments section was on fire. And there, in the middle of it, was a reply from Asher’s verified account: Thanks for the heads up. Eyes wide open now. Consider it a lesson learned in fraud prevention. His comment felt like a physical slap. The Director tapped the desk impatiently. “HR and Legal are taking this very seriously. Your promotion is frozen. Until this is cleared up and the reputation damage is fixed, don’t expect to move up.” As I walked out of the office, dazed, a commotion erupted at the main entrance. Audrey walked in, arm-in-arm with Asher. She looked victorious. She scanned the room, locked eyes on me, and smirked. She marched up to me, pulled a laminate ID card from her purse, flashed it quickly, and adopted her ‘official’ voice. “Sloane Sterling, in light of the public outcry and significant discrepancies in your asset origin, I am formally requesting you accompany me to the station for an investigation. This is official police business.” Asher stood beside her, looking at me with a mix of pity and self-righteousness. “Sloane, I told you to come clean. Audrey can help you. Why did you let it get this far?” Colleagues gathered around, whispering, pointing phones. I felt like a prisoner being paraded before execution. Just as Audrey puffed out her chest, convinced she had me cornered, my phone rang. It was Dad. Audrey frowned. “No calls during an investigation!” I ignored her and answered. My palms were sweating, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Dad…” My father’s voice came through, steady as a mountain, calm as deep water. “Sloane, I spoke to Captain Grant. He ran the roster for the entire precinct and the city’s Fraud Division. There is no officer named Audrey on the payroll.” In a split second, the fear, the confusion, the humiliation—it all evaporated. So that’s it. I looked at Audrey, tapping her foot impatiently, and the foolish man standing next to her. The corner of my mouth quirked up. I hung up the phone without saying another word to my father. I looked Audrey dead in the eye. “Okay,” I said, my voice smooth. “I’ll go with you.”

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It started with a dare. A stupid, drunken game that ended with my boyfriend’s mouth on another woman’s. Bennett and I hadn’t even shared a kiss that night before Tina lunged forward, pushing me aside to claim his lips for herself. “Stop messing around, Tess. It’s Claire’s birthday,” Bennett said, his voice laced with that infuriatingly indulgent tone as he pinched her cheek. The room went deathly silent. My friends sat frozen on the velvet sofas of the lounge, eyes darting between me and the girl currently preening under my fiancé’s touch. Tina giggled, a sharp, girlish sound. “Don’t be mad, Claire. Bennett doesn’t even see me as a girl. Right, Ben?” Bennett looked at me, his expression shifting into that familiar mask of weary patience. “It was just a dare, Claire. Don’t be so sensitive. Don’t ruin the night.” … Everyone expected me to explode. They were waiting for the tears, the screaming match, the usual dramatics that defined our three-year cycle of “Bennett and Tina vs. Me.” Instead, I felt a strange, hollow calm. I reached down, slid the engagement ring off my finger, and took Tina’s hand. I slipped the diamond onto her ring finger. It glided on perfectly. “Let me know when the wedding is,” I said quietly. “Oh my God, Bennett! You’re so sweet. What have you been eating? Honey?” Tina’s voice was a saccharine coo that filled the private booth. Bennett had been looking at her with a soft, reminiscent smile, but as the silence of the room finally registered, he noticed me—standing there, having been shoved onto the edge of the sofa. He let go of Tina’s face and gave her a playful swat on the back of her head. “Alright, enough. It’s Claire’s birthday.” Tina pouted, her lower lip trembling with practiced precision. “Ugh… Claire isn’t going to be that girl, is she? It was just a dare.” The air in the room felt thick. This wasn’t a harmless slap on the wrist or a shot of tequila. This was a kiss. A real one. I saw a few of our friends pull their shoulders in, bracing for the impact. They knew my history. They knew I usually fought for him until I was breathless. But I just looked at the ring. Then I looked at Tina. I walked over and slid it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. Eerily so. I forced a smile. “Invite me to the wedding.” The room gasped. Even Tina looked stunned, her eyes wide as she stared at the rock on her hand. “Claire, it’s a game. Are you seriously doing this right now?” Bennett’s voice had turned icy. “I know it’s a game,” I replied, my voice steady. “I’m just helping you guys win.” Bennett’s face darkened, a muscle leaping in his jaw. Tina tugged at his sleeve, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Fine, Bennett. It’s my fault. I didn’t realize she’d be so… fragile about it.” She slipped the ring off and tossed it toward me with a careless flick of her wrist. “Here. Stop being mad. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The ring hit me square in the cheek before clattering onto the floor. Clink. The silence was absolute. My cheek stung, but my heart felt nothing. I bent down, picked up the ring, and looked at it one last time. “If you don’t want it, then it’s useless,” I said. I tossed it into the tall trash can by the door. “Claire, are you insane?” one of our friends yelled. “That’s your engagement ring! Bennett spent a fortune on that!” “Quick! Get it out!” “Where did it go? I can’t see it!” Suddenly, half the party was scavenging through the trash, hands diving past discarded watermelon rinds, beer cans, and someone’s half-eaten burger. But the ring was small, and the trash was deep. Tina looked panicked now, clutching Bennett’s arm. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bennett, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she’d react like this. Is it me? Am I the problem? We’ve just always been so close, I forgot…” Bennett stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “Stop! Everyone, stop looking!” They froze, looking up at him from the trash can. His eyes pierced through me, cold and judgmental. “If you can’t handle the game, why did you play?” he spat. “Now everyone is miserable because of you. Are you happy now?” A lump formed in my throat, but I refused to let it break. Tina was the one who kissed my fiancé. I was the one being “flexible.” And somehow, I was the villain who ruined the party. In the past, I would have sobbed. I would have pointed at Tina and listed every boundary she’d crossed since we started dating. But looking at them now, I just felt… finished. I picked up my purse. “Then I’ll leave. Enjoy the rest of the night.” As the heavy door swung shut behind me, I heard someone whisper, “Wait… it’s Claire’s birthday. It’s kind of messed up that she’s leaving, right?” Bennett’s voice was sharp, impatient. “Let her go. She needs to grow up. Anyway, Tina just got that faculty position at the university. Since the cake is already here, let’s celebrate her instead.” The room erupted into cheers again. “Congrats, Tina! To a brilliant career!” I felt something cold on my cheek. I wiped it away. I was crying. But I wasn’t sad. I was just… empty. I grew up in the faculty housing of a prestigious university, always the quiet girl in the shadow of the golden boy, Bennett. He was the star, the genius, and I was the one who studied until my eyes bled just to see my name next to his on the Dean’s List. I never had Tina’s spark. I was the polite stranger in his life until we got to college. When Tina went to a local state school and got a boyfriend, I finally found the courage to tell him how I felt. And by some miracle, he said yes. From that moment on, every choice I made was for him. He wanted to stay and teach, so I turned down a fellowship in Europe. My advisor begged me to go, citing all the brilliant researchers who had gone on to become department heads before thirty. I just blushed and told her, “A quiet life with him is enough for me.” I gave him everything. And he never even considered me. Standing in the freezing night air, I took a long, shaky breath and dialed my old mentor. “Professor? Is that spot on the Dublin project still open?” There was a pause, then a surprised laugh. “Claire? Did you finally come to your senses?” “I think I did.” “Of course it’s open! I’ve been fending off interns for weeks hoping you’d call. When can you be here?” I smiled. “Give me two weeks. I need to get my affairs in order.” I spent the next few hours deep-diving into the project details. Dublin was hours ahead. By the time I finished the call, the sun was starting to peek through the clouds in Ireland. Here, it was nearly 3:00 AM. My head throbbed. I ran a hot bath and sank into it, letting the steam coat my skin. The exhaustion hit me like a wave. I put on some ambient music and drifted off right there in the tub. I woke to the sound of the front door slamming. “Claire?” It was Bennett. His voice echoed through the apartment, growing more agitated as he moved through the rooms. When he finally shoved open the bathroom door, his expression was dark. “Claire.” He looked at me with genuine reproach. I didn’t understand what he was angry about. Was he mad I wasn’t waiting on the sofa to scream at him? Mad I didn’t ask where he’d been for the last four hours? “You’re back,” I said, my voice raspy. “Sorry, I fell asleep. I didn’t hear you.” I gripped the edge of the tub and looked at him. “Could you please step out?” My tone was polite, distant. Like I was talking to a landlord. He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted. “I’m late because Tina was wasted. Her ex has been stalking her again, and I couldn’t just leave a girl alone in that state…” “I get it. Safety first,” I said. He froze. I gave him a small, tight smile. “You’re… not mad?” I actually laughed. “Why would I be mad? You’ve been best friends since you were in diapers. Of course you’d see her home. Especially since she lives alone.” For a second, Bennett looked at me like I was a stranger. I waited for him to move, but when he didn’t, I simply stood up and reached for my towel. We lived together; he’d seen it all before, but suddenly, the familiarity felt wrong. I wrapped the towel around myself and walked past him. He grabbed my wrist. “Claire, just say it. Whatever you’re thinking, just spit it out.” I blinked. “Say what?” “You… you usually have a lot to say,” he muttered, his grip loosening. I thought about it. In the past, every fight involving Tina was a marathon of me trying to explain why his “friendship” felt like a betrayal. But I realized then that you only go crazy when you’re still trying to save something. I didn’t feel the need to save anything anymore. I gently pried his hand off. “Don’t be silly. It’s after 2:00 AM and I have lab work tomorrow. Let’s just go to sleep.” His hand stayed suspended in mid-air. I yawned. “Don’t stay up too late. Goodnight.” I climbed into bed and closed my eyes. A moment later, a thunderous BANG shook the walls. Bennett had slammed the bedroom door from the outside. I knew why he was angry. He had offered me a “truce”—a chance to play my part in our usual drama—and I had refused to take the bait. I slept better than I had in years. The next morning, I was ordering takeout when the door opened. A small, elegant cake was placed on the table. Bennett sat behind it. “Late birthday wish. Happy birthday, Claire.” I paused, my thumb hovering over the ‘pay’ button on my phone. “I know yesterday was a mess,” he said, his long, pale fingers sliding his phone toward me. “And I know the ring is gone. It was an old style anyway. Pick a new one. Tina… she’s a child, Claire. Don’t take her seriously. That kiss meant nothing to her. She’s just impulsive, you know how she is—” “You got me a custom cake? Thank you, Bennett. That’s so sweet.” The sudden interruption cut him off mid-sentence. He stared at me, dumbfounded. “Claire?” I leaned over the cake, reading the inscription: To my girl, eighteen forever. “What a lovely sentiment,” I said brightly. “I love it.” He scowled. “Claire…” I started grabbing plates and forks. “What?” He looked down. “Nothing.” “This bakery has the best buttercream in the city,” I chirped. “I can never get a reservation. You really put effort into this.” He gave a noncommittal grunt, looking unsettled. “Claire… the ring. Look, this one is the biggest they have. You can’t waste this one.” I slid the largest slice of cake onto a plate for him. “Here. You can’t let this go to waste.” I took a small bite of my own. “Is this a new flavor? It’s delicious.” “Claire.” His voice was tight. “Will you please look at what I’m showing you?” I looked down at his phone. It was an order page for a Tiffany & Co. True Love setting. The kind of ring that’s marketed as a once-in-a-lifetime promise. My hand trembled slightly. If he had shown me this twenty-four hours ago, I would have burst into tears of joy. Now? It just looked like an expensive piece of carbon. “No, thank you,” I said, chewing slowly. “It’s a lot of money for something so symbolic. It’s fine.” “Claire?” He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. I smiled. “Really. I’m just over that kind of thing. Don’t waste the money. The cake is more than enough.” I set my empty plate down. “I have a meeting, so I have to run. Put the dishes in the dishwasher, okay?” I turned to go to the bedroom to change. Creeeeeak—thud! The sound of his chair being shoved back. I turned around. Bennett was pocketing his phone, his face a mask of cold fury. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll give it to Tina. She actually appreciates nice things.” He slammed the door on his way out. He hadn’t touched a single bite of the cake. A few days later, I was walking past the faculty lounge when I heard the squeals. “Oh my God, it’s stunning! Look at that pavé work!” “Who bought this for our girl Tina? If a man buys you this, you marry him on the spot!” I glanced through the glass. Tina was surrounded by a gaggle of admiring TAs. On her finger sat the very ring I had seen on Bennett’s phone. The “True Love” setting. They say the meaning behind that specific cut is Love Until Death. “Oh, stop it! It’s just a gift from a friend,” Tina giggled, her eyes darting toward Bennett, who was sitting at a nearby desk. When she saw me, she feigned a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh! Claire! I didn’t see you there.” She lowered her voice, though not enough. “This isn’t from Bennett, I swear! Don’t get the wrong idea!” She had made eye contact with me the second I walked in. She had been flaunting that hand the entire time. The room went quiet. Everyone remember the “incident” at the birthday party. They all looked at me, waiting for the explosion. Bennett looked at me, too, his expression unreadable. I walked right up to Tina and took her hand, lifting it to the light. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Your boyfriend has excellent taste.” Tina froze. Bennett’s hand, holding a coffee cup, tensed. The silence stretched until someone nervously laughed. “Well, Claire knows her jewelry. If she says it’s good, it’s good! Tina, your mystery man really pulled through.” Someone whispered loudly, “See? If it were Bennett’s, Claire would be screaming. It must be someone new.” The tension broke. “Tina, who is he? Don’t keep us in suspense!” “When’s the wedding?” Tina’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then she looked at me, her voice trembling with a hint of malice. “Well, I don’t know how he chose it. I just said I liked it, and he bought it for me. I didn’t think he had such… sophisticated taste.” “Take it off.” The voice was sharp. Sudden. Tina blinked, looking at Bennett.

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Everything changed the day my parents brought Daisy home. My parents, my older brother, my fiancé—the entire axis of my world tilted in her favor. I went from being the Huntington family’s crown jewel to a pariah, unwanted and unseen. Every scream, every tear, every desperate clawing for attention was just an attempt to reclaim a fraction of the love I’d lost, but it was all futile. Then, just as I decided to let go of everything, my mind shattered. I developed dissociative amnesia. The doctor called it a defense mechanism; my brain simply chose to delete the people and memories that caused me pain. At Daisy’s engagement party to my fiancé, I looked at him and saw a stranger. On my birthday, which I spent entirely alone, I forgot the brother who once swore to protect me forever. And on the day my parents threatened to disown me for Daisy’s sake, I forgot I even had parents. In the end, I left the city without a backward glance, unburdened and free. And that was when they all began to regret. 01 “Blair, are you done making a scene yet?” Harrison’s voice drifted up from the living room, dripping with disgust. I stood at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the tableau below. My parents, Archer, and Harrison were all clustered around Daisy, seated on the plush velvet sofa. When they looked up at me, their eyes held nothing but estrangement and loathing. It felt as though the marble steps beneath my feet had physically cleaved the world in two. In their world, Daisy was the fragile princess, the celestial body around which they all orbited. I was the villain in her story, the malicious stepsister whose every breath was met with impatience and defensiveness. But in my world, it felt like standing in a freezing, ceaseless downpour. I was running aimlessly, soaked to the bone, unable to find a single overhang to shelter me. It wasn’t always like this. I forced my face into a mask of indifference, though my eyes betrayed a hollow confusion. Before Daisy arrived, I was the cherished daughter. I was spoiled, yes, but I was loved. My parents were busy, high-powered executives constantly flying between New York and London, but whenever my father came home, he would catch me as I launched myself into his arms, lifting me high into the air. “Did my little Blair Bear miss her daddy?” he’d ask, his voice thick with indulgence. And if I screamed, “Yes!” he would laugh, rubbing his stubbled cheek against mine until I shrieked with giggles. The gifts they brought back would practically bury me. Even when they were away, I was never lonely. I had the best big brother in the world, and the gentlest boy next door. Archer and Harrison filled the silence of the big house. Even though Archer was five years older, neither of them ever treated me like a nuisance. They played my childish games with infinite patience. I basked in that golden glow until I was seventeen. That was the year my parents brought home a girl my age. Daisy. And the lights went out. Daisy was the daughter of my mother’s college roommate, a woman named Florence. They had stayed in touch over the years, though Florence, proud and middle-class, refused to take handouts from the wealthy Huntingtons. Their friendship lived mostly in emails and holiday cards. Then came the car accident that killed Daisy’s parents. My mother, heartbroken for the girl and furious at relatives who were tossing Daisy around like a hot potato, decided to take her in. “Blair,” my mother had said, her hands on my shoulders, “Daisy is tragic and fragile. You need to yield to her. Make space.” I made space. And in doing so, I lost my place entirely. 02 Daisy and I were nothing alike. She was delicate, ethereal, with eyes that always seemed to be brimming with unshed tears. If anyone raised their voice a decibel above a whisper, she would crumble. On the very first day, I made her cry. All I did was call out “Mom.” The word apparently triggered Daisy’s grief for her deceased parents. I stood there, stunned, as my mother shot me a look of sharp reprimand, forcing me to take a stumbling step back. In the first month, I was accused of pushing her into the lake. Behind the Huntington estate lies a sprawling garden centered around a private lake. Near the water stands a treehouse my father commissioned for me when I was six. It was my sanctuary. Daisy was always crying. Mom said she missed her parents. Mom insisted I take Daisy to the treehouse. I refused. The treehouse was mine. It was the repository of my secrets, the place where I watched the stars when I was sad, the place where Archer would always find me to wipe away my tears. “Can’t we go somewhere else?” I asked, reluctant. “It’s okay, Auntie,” Daisy said, her voice thin and trembling. “If Blair doesn’t like it, I won’t go.” My mother’s voice sharpened, leaving no room for argument. “Blair Huntington, is this how I raised you?” Defeated, I led Daisy to the garden. Standing by the lake, looking at my sanctuary, I felt a sullen heaviness. But I swallowed it, ready to play the good hostess. That was when Daisy stumbled. She collided with me, and we both toppled into the dark water. By the time they found us, the cold had seeped into my bones, sapping my strength. Through the hazy, waterlogged blur, I saw Archer swimming toward me. My heart screamed, Archer, save me, please save me. But from the shore, my mother’s voice pierced the air like a hammer, shattering my hope. “Archer! Get Daisy first! She’s weak! If anything happens to her, how will I explain it to the dead?” In my despair, I saw Archer hesitate. He looked at me—a look of agonizing guilt—and then turned his back on me, swimming toward Daisy. I opened my mouth to scream his name, but the bitter lake water rushed in, filling me up like the grief that would soon drown my life. I was eventually hauled out by security. Daisy recovered quickly. I, however, had inhaled too much water and lay in a coma for three days. When I woke up, the world had rewritten itself. My mother looked at me with pure disgust. “I can’t believe I raised such a vicious daughter.” My father shook his head, disappointment etched into his features. “Blair, we taught you to be kind.” Archer looked at me with a mix of guilt and confusion. “She wasn’t a threat to you, Blair. Why did you try to drown her?” That’s when I learned that Daisy had woken up three days prior. She had spun a tale through her tears: I had pushed her. I had told her I would only be happy if she disappeared. “That’s not true!” I screamed, my throat raw. “I didn’t push her! She fell into me!” But truth is a currency, and I was bankrupt. The more I explained, the more guilty I looked. From that day on, the pampered princess became the villain. I couldn’t do anything right. If I crossed paths with Daisy, I was accused of bullying her. When my parents returned from business trips, they brought gifts only for Daisy. I was forgotten. After six months, I finally exploded. “Mom, Dad, who is your actual daughter? This is cruel!” I saw a flicker of guilt in my mother’s eyes, but she quickly armored herself in self-righteousness. “Daisy has no one. We have to care for her more. Why are you so petty? You’re nothing like me.” My father sighed, reaching for his wallet. “Here’s a card, Blair. Go buy yourself something nice, okay?” But Daisy was crying again. That soft, inescapable sound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, ensuring everyone heard. “It’s my fault. I don’t want the gifts. Give them to Blair.” My mother’s face hardened. “Blair, look at yourself. We are so disappointed in you.” I watched Archer wipe Daisy’s tears and felt a chasm open up between us. I was terrified. I was insecure. I was heartbroken. But I only knew how to be proud. I bit my lip and shouted, “I don’t want your charity!” before running to my room. I refused to cry. Dad used to say, Blair is a princess, and a princess’s tears are diamonds. You can’t waste them. I tossed and turned that night, agonizing over the why. Was Daisy simply more lovable? The acid of jealousy burned in my chest, making it hard to breathe. But I wouldn’t lose. My pride wouldn’t let me bow. I decided that if Daisy had stolen everything, I would simply steal it back. 03 From seventeen to twenty-three. I spent six years learning a brutal lesson: The tighter you try to grasp sand, the faster it slips through your fingers. I became a complete failure. Family, love, career—I had nothing. All I possessed was my parents’ irritation, Archer’s cold indifference, and Harrison’s resentment. I lifted my chin, mimicking the posture of the princesses in the stories Harrison used to read to me. A princess never bows her head. “I’m done making scenes,” I said, my voice steady. I looked down at the group in the living room—the people I once thought were my eternal safety net. My family. My lips curved into a faint, ironic smile. “You’re all a happy family now. What reason do I have to cause trouble?” Archer looked up at me. His finger twitched. He knew me best; he had watched me grow from a newborn into a woman. Something in my tone made him flinch, a sudden, inexplicable panic rising in his chest. But before he could grasp that feeling, Mom spoke, shattering the moment. “Blair, I don’t care what game you’re playing. Tomorrow is Daisy’s engagement party, and you will be there.” Tomorrow. Daisy and Harrison. It had taken me a month to process the reality of it. Or rather, to be forced to swallow it. I tilted my head, my hand instinctively brushing the fresh bandage on my arm beneath my sleeve. Mom must have forgotten. When I was seven, Harrison had stripped the thorns off a rose from his mother’s garden with his clumsy little fingers and brought it to me. “Blair,” he had whispered, “when we grow up, can I marry you?” Our parents and Archer had laughed at the two toddlers making life plans. But Harrison hadn’t laughed. He stood there, blushing and earnest. “Harrison,” my mom had teased, “do you know what marriage means?” “It means protecting Blair forever,” he had said solemnly. “She’s so delicate, Auntie. No one else will take care of her properly.” Every year on that day, he would ask the room, “Am I big enough yet? Can I marry Blair now?” It wasn’t until middle school that he realized how silly he’d been, but he still took my hand that year and said, “Blair, I promise. I’ll make you my wife one day.” The boy who promised to protect me forever was now standing in front of Daisy, looking at me with hatred, as if I were a monster about to strike. I felt suddenly exhausted. I had wasted my life in this house, tallying up moments of affection like a miser, comparing my share to Daisy’s. If I got a scrap more, I was happy. If I got a scrap less, I crumbled. Somewhere along the way, I had lost myself. And for what? To be branded the villain? These people downstairs were my blood, my heart. If they didn’t love me, who ever would? I had tried. God, I had tried. Maybe my childhood had been too happy, and now the universe was balancing the ledger. Since seventeen, I had been paying off a debt I didn’t know I owed. I nodded. “Understood. I’ll be there.” I didn’t have the energy to decipher their expressions—shock, relief, suspicion—as I turned and walked back to my room. 04 The moment the door clicked shut, the steel rod in my spine dissolved. I slid down the wood to the floor. My mind was a blur of everything and nothing, the world feeling distant, as if wrapped in gauze. My fingers absently traced the scab on my arm. I had used a razor blade a few days ago. For the last year, the desire to leave this world had grown from a whisper to a roar. With Daisy here, my death wouldn’t leave a ripple in their lives. Yet, I kept struggling to breathe. Every time I held the blade, memories of childhood warmth would flood in—unwanted, uninvited—weakening my grip. I unlocked my phone. My contacts list was a wasteland. Since Daisy arrived, I had been tethered to her. I got into an Ivy League school; Daisy didn’t. Mom donated a new library wing to force her in. After graduation, I joined the family business. Daisy was immediately placed in my department. Thanks to her performance, everyone saw me as the high-handed, temperamental heiress. No one wanted to get close to me. Daisy was the trembling victim, easily winning hearts and buying “friends” with Huntington money. I had nowhere to vent. Resentment, numbness, and agony bounced around inside my ribcage, threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. I curled into a ball on the plush carpet. After a long silence, a single tear escaped. Dad, you lied. My tears aren’t diamonds. No one cares if I cry. I wanted to scream, to run downstairs and shake them. Tell me! What do you want me to do? But instead, I pulled my knees tighter to my chest. Sleep, Blair. Just sleep. When you close your eyes, the day ends. My sleep was jagged, eyes darting beneath lids, breathing shallow and fast. But as dawn approached, a strange calm settled over me. My breathing steadied. I woke to a pounding on the door. I pushed my aching body off the floor and opened it. Archer stood there, cold and impatient. “Why aren’t you ready? It’s Daisy’s engagement party. Don’t tell me your princess syndrome is flaring up again?” My head throbbed. I ignored his taunt. Perhaps seeing how pale I was, his voice softened imperceptibly. “What’s wrong with you?” I took a step back. “Nothing.” He looked offended by my distance. “Blair, you used to be so sweet. You used to—” “I’m tired of hearing about what I used to be. Go be with your favorite sister. If you keep talking, I really will miss the party.” I shut the door in his shocked face. As the warm water of the shower hit my skin, I frowned. Engagement party? Daisy and… who? 05 It wasn’t until I was dressed, seated in the car, and arriving at the luxury hotel that I saw the photo outside. I read the names on the welcome board. “Daisy… Harrison.” When I said the second name, a faint confusion floated in my voice. Harrison. It sounded familiar. But when I searched the archives of my mind, the file was missing. I followed the guests into the banquet hall, moving like a ghost. Everyone was terrified I would cause a scene, so I had been essentially banished to the foyer, mingling with distant acquaintances rather than family. Cause a scene? Why would I do that? “Well, well. If it isn’t the difficult Miss Huntington.” A shrill voice grated on my ears. I looked over. Harper. Daisy’s attack dog. For years, she had been Daisy’s loyal shadow, taking every opportunity to mock me. Usually, I would bite back. I lifted my chin. “Still auditioning for the role of family servant? Being Daisy’s lackey isn’t enough?” Harper eyed my custom couture gown with envy before sneering. “You’ve only got your mouth left. Everyone knows today is Daisy and Harrison’s day. Even your parents can’t stand you. Maybe you should reflect on why.” Usually, these words would sting. I would yell, causing a commotion. But strangely, clarity washed over me. To the outside world, I was pathetic. Why was I holding on? “So?” I asked, my voice flat. “Even if you fight Daisy’s battles, my parents aren’t going to adopt you too.” Harper blinked, surprised I hadn’t taken the bait. Usually, Daisy would swoop in about now, crying and hiding behind Archer until Mom scolded me. “Harrison and Daisy are getting engaged,” Harper pressed. “They’re soulmates.” I nodded agreeably. “Sure. Soulmates.” “He doesn’t love you anymore, Blair. Pretending to be calm won’t bring him back.” With a sneer, she “accidentally” tipped her glass of red wine. The crimson liquid splashed across the front of my dress. “Blair! What are you doing?!” she shrieked. Heads turned. The ceremony was about to begin. Harrison and Daisy were walking toward the stage. Whispers crawled into my ears. “That’s the biological daughter. The black sheep.” “The Huntingtons prefer the adopted girl.” “Imagine being so toxic your own parents choose a stranger over you.” “She’s lucky they haven’t disowned her.” “Marrying the adopted daughter is the same for the business merger, anyway.” My hand clenched the fabric of my dress. “Blair, not again!” Archer marched over, brows furrowed. “Sorry everyone, please continue.” I looked at him calmly. “Harper threw the wine on me.” Archer scoffed. “Always the victim. You just want to ruin this for Harrison, don’t you? You need to grow up. Feelings change. Harrison loves Daisy. Why can’t you accept that?” His voice was drowned out by the officiant. “Two hearts, one vow…” I heard something snap in my mind. A clean, sharp break. I looked at Archer. “Why can’t I accept it?” He sighed. “Blair, if Daisy hadn’t insisted, you wouldn’t even be allowed here. She treats you like a sister. She wanted you to witness her happiness. Just be good, okay?” 06 As Archer dragged me out of the banquet hall, I wondered: Was I really not good? He stopped a few feet away from the doors. “Let go of your obsession with Harrison. The childhood stuff was just a joke. Don’t take it seriously.” He shoved a credit card into my hand, dismissing me. “Go buy a new dress. Change. We have a family dinner tonight. Don’t be rude.” I looked at him and finally asked the question that had plagued me all morning. “Who is Harrison?” Archer’s face contorted. “Blair, stop it.” He rubbed his face in frustration. “Who am I?” “Archer,” I said lightly. “And who am I to you?” “My brother.” “See? You remember. You’re terrible at faking amnesia. I have a speech to give. If you cause one more problem, I really won’t defend you anymore.” He glared at me. “It’s been six years. Stop being selfish. Just be a sister to Daisy, alright?” I didn’t answer. I just held the card. The heavy doors of the banquet hall swung shut, sealing my past inside. I walked slowly out of the hotel. The red wine stain looked like a gaping wound on my chest. I used to panic if there was a single wrinkle in my clothes. Now, after years of emotional battering, I didn’t care. I walked until I reached the bridge overlooking the river. I stood on my toes, peering over the railing at the dark water. I heard that when you die, you get a next life. Would my next parents love me? Hope flickered in my chest. Maybe next time, I’d get to be the happy one. Without thinking, I reached out, struggling to hoist myself over the cold metal railing. “Excuse me.” A deep, magnetic voice spoke from behind me. 07 A suit jacket, still warm from body heat, was wrapped around my waist. Strong hands gripped me, lifting me effortlessly back onto the pavement. I turned around. First impression: A man. Second impression: Old money. He was wearing a black shirt, buttoned all the way to the top—repressed, austere. I couldn’t guess his age, but his aura was terrifyingly calm. His eyes were like the deep ocean, steady and unreadable. He stepped back politely. “What are you doing?” I snapped. Old habits die hard; defensiveness was my armor. He didn’t frown. He just tilted his head. “You were flashing the traffic.” I almost laughed. I wanted to die, and he was worried about my modesty? I thought he was going to give me a “life is worth living” speech. I pursed my lips, the suicidal impulse fading. I wasn’t that fragile. “Thank you,” I mumbled, looking down. “Mr. Roman, it’s 2:10,” a man said, stepping out of a black Maybach parked nearby. The man—Roman—looked at me. I moved to hand the jacket back. “Keep it,” he said, his voice cool. “Your dress is ruined.” He got in the car without another word. I stood there holding the jacket, and found a business card in the pocket. Roman. I had heard Archer mention him. The head of one of the city’s oldest dynasties. A shark in the business world, barely thirty but feared by men twice his age. Archer worshiped him. On the back was a private number. It was probably an accident. I didn’t want to owe a man like that anything. I tore the card into confetti and tossed it into the river. Before I went home, I threw the jacket in a dumpster. By the time I walked back to the villa, it was dark. My parents and Archer were in the living room. Daisy was sobbing softly. As soon as I entered, my mother stood up and swept a crystal fruit bowl off the coffee table. Crash. “Blair! You didn’t come back to the dinner! Harrison’s parents think you disapprove of the marriage! They’re looking at Daisy differently now!” My feet were bleeding from walking miles in heels, but no one looked down. I looked at the scene I had lived a thousand times. “Daisy,” I asked, “aren’t you tired of crying for six years?” Daisy froze, then wailed louder. “I know you hate me, Blair! I’m sorry! I just wanted a family! I’m sorry I’m so greedy for Mom and Dad and Archer’s love…” Mom pulled her into a hug, glaring at me. “Blair, you have turned this house into a war zone. If you can’t behave, I’m cutting you off.” I stood straight. It had never been about the money. It was about the love. “Mom,” I said, the word fragile on my tongue, “why does her need for a family mean destroying mine?” 08 For a second, my mother faltered. But then Daisy whimpered, looking like a wilted white flower. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll leave so Blair isn’t angry.” Mom’s face hardened into stone. “Don’t think a few pathetic words will fix this. Blair, until you genuinely accept Daisy as your sister, you don’t get a dime.” I looked at my father. He looked away. I looked at Archer. He was handing Daisy a tissue. “Okay,” I nodded. “I understand.” If I fought, I lost. If I surrendered, I lost. “Since you’re so stubborn,” Mom said coldly, “don’t bother sleeping here tonight. Pack your bags.” I stiffened, then nodded. No one remembered that tomorrow was my birthday. I went to my room, dragged out a suitcase, and threw in some clothes. I sat in the dark, waiting for dawn. Before Daisy, the night before my birthday was magical. I would go to sleep buzzing with excitement. I would wake up to Archer waiting at my door to lead me to the “Gift Room.” He would spend the whole day with me. At midnight, he would give me a necklace. “Our little princess is a year older.” After Daisy arrived, she watched my birthday celebration and then swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. After that, no one celebrated my birthday. Only Archer would remember to buy a small cake. I waited all day. Archer didn’t come with a cake. I dragged my suitcase to the front door just as Archer and Daisy walked in. “Why are you still here?” Archer frowned. “Mom told you to leave.” I walked past him without a word. I caught Daisy’s triumphant smirk in my peripheral vision. I wasn’t a princess. Princesses are brave. I just wanted to run and forget. I couldn’t beat Daisy. So I surrendered. Walking out of the gates, I felt strangely light. I had no money, just a suitcase, walking until the world spun. Blackness took me. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room. A man was sitting there. The guy who got engaged to Daisy. I searched the depths of my mind for his name. “Harrison?” It felt foreign on my tongue. “What did you call me?” He looked angry. Was that wrong? Maybe he preferred a title. “Brother-in-law?” I tried. Harrison looked agitated. “Call me what you used to call me. I’m just engaged to Daisy. Our feelings haven’t changed.” I propped myself up. “Used to?” “Did we know each other before?” 09 Harrison stood frozen, staring at me with horror. He slammed his hand on the nurse call button. His fingers were trembling. Weird. Isn’t he Daisy’s fiancé? Why is he panicking because I forgot him? Doctors and nurses swarmed in. “We need a psych consult,” one said. “No head trauma. She fainted from exhaustion.” I thought about it. Why didn’t I sleep? I couldn’t remember. So I lay back. My parents kicked me out because of Daisy. I accepted that. But the years before that… Huh? The memories were foggy, chopped up, missing key frames. The psychiatrist arrived. “Dissociative Amnesia,” he concluded. “The patient has undergone severe stress and has subconsciously chosen to block out painful memories. Recovery depends on her willingness to remember. There is no pill for this.” I smiled at the doctor. “Thank you. I don’t need treatment. If the memories hurt, I’m better off without them.” Behind the doctor, a glass crashed to the floor.

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The holidays were screaming toward us—that frantic, tinsel-draped stretch between Christmas and New Year—when my parents dropped the bomb. They were leaving. Not for a vacation, but for good. “Tyler and Madison said things are too crazy at work,” my father announced, not looking me in the eye as he packed a crate of old records. “They can’t get the time off to fly back here. It’s too much of a hassle.” “So your father and I decided we’ll just go to them,” my mother added, her face lit with a glow I hadn’t seen in years. She looked twenty years younger just talking about it. “If Madison and I hit it off, we might just stay through the spring. Maybe longer.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re going to start trying for a baby soon. They’ll need me there. A grandmother’s touch, you know? It’s different from hiring help.” They kept talking, their voices overlapping in a frantic, joyful duet. They were already mapping out a new life in a city halfway across the country, a place where my brother Tyler had built a life they actually wanted to be part of. I felt a coldness settle in my chest. “And me?” I asked, my voice cutting through their excitement. “Where am I supposed to go for the holidays?” My mother paused, a look of genuine confusion flickering across her features. “Don’t you have Mark’s family? You’re married, Nora.” … “You’re one of them now,” she continued, patting my hand as if she were comforting a distant cousin. “Spend the New Year with the in-laws. When you have a long weekend, you can fly down and visit us. You’ll be our guest.” A guest. The word tasted like ash. My brother gets married, and suddenly my childhood home—the very concept of ‘home’—migrates to whatever city he happens to live in? I looked at her, my mind racing back to three years ago. Back to the reason I was even standing in this kitchen in suburban Ohio. I had been in love with Simon. We had been together for eight years, a lifetime of shared jokes and Sunday mornings. He was perfect—or as close to it as a human can get. His family was the kind you see in Hallmark movies, and more importantly, his city was the hub for my industry. Moving there wouldn’t have just been a romantic choice; it would have been a career leap. My salary would have tripled overnight. But my mother had spent every night for a month weeping. She’d sit at the edge of my bed, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching my hand. “They say travel is easy now,” she’d sob. “A three-hour flight, they say. But you’ll have a life, Nora. You’ll have a job. You won’t have two days to waste on airports just to sit in this living room for a few hours. You’ll make excuses. You’ll stay away.” She’d bring up the neighbors. “Look at Sarah. She moved to Seattle and we haven’t seen her in three years. There’s always a sick kid or a deadline. I only have maybe thirty years left, Nora. Am I only going to see you thirty more times before I die?” That was the line that broke me. It was the ultimate emotional ransom. I chose my mother over my soulmate. I walked away from Simon and the high-paying career, moved back to this sleepy town, and married Mark—a “stable” local guy I met through a family friend—just to be near her. I wanted to be the daughter who took her for walks when her knees gave out, the one who brought her favorite pastries on a Tuesday just because. And now, the moment Tyler—the golden son—called from the sun-drenched coast, her “thirty years” didn’t seem to matter. Her proximity to me was suddenly a disposable luxury. It was a masterclass in hypocrisy. “But Tyler’s city is thousands of miles away,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “If you and Dad move there, you won’t be coming back here much, will you?” My mother laughed, a light, airy sound. “Why would we come back? My son is there. My grandson will be there. That’s where the roots are now. I suppose they’ll fly us back in boxes when we’re gone, but until then? We’re looking forward, Nora.” She didn’t even look sad. She was vibrating with the thrill of a fresh start, one that didn’t include me. “But I’m still here,” I whispered. “I married a local man. It’s going to be hard for me to just drop everything to see you.” She didn’t even register the hurt in my voice. “Oh, honey, you need to focus on your own little family. Build a good relationship with your mother-in-law. Be a good wife so Mark doesn’t have a hard time. And really, you two should start thinking about kids. It’s time.” She kept preaching about how I belonged to Mark’s family now, how my duty was to them. If that was the case, why did she chain me here three years ago? I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a fit. What would be the point? To force a hollow apology? To make her stay and resent me the way I secretly resented her? I wasn’t going to beg for a place in a heart that clearly had no room for me. I numbly helped her pack. I drove them to the airport. I watched them disappear through security without a single backward glance. A week later, she called. “Madison’s pregnant! It’s happening, Nora! We’re selling the house here—we need the cash to help them put a down payment on a bigger place with an in-law suite. If anyone wants to tour the house, I told the realtor you’d have the keys.” Even the house wasn’t mine to return to. The last physical tether was being severed for a down payment in a city I’d never been to. On the second day of the New Year, I was at Mark’s parents’ house, doing exactly what was expected of me. I was the “good wife,” hosting his sisters and their families, managing a mountain of laundry and a twelve-person dinner by myself. I didn’t mind the work. The busyness kept the silence in my head from getting too loud. I told myself I could handle this. People move on. Families change. But then, the doorbell rang. Standing on the porch was a woman I recognized from old photos on Mark’s phone. It was Becca, his ex. She was holding a toddler who looked to be about two years old. “He’s Mark’s,” she said, her voice trembling but defiant. “And Mark needs to step up.” I froze. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Mark walked up behind me, his face turning a sickly shade of gray. “Becca? If you were pregnant when we broke up, why the hell didn’t you tell me?” She let out a harsh, jagged laugh. “Your mother hated me, Mark. She made it clear I wasn’t ‘good enough’ for this family. If she knew I was pregnant, she would have shredded me. I wasn’t going to let her touch my baby.” I knew their story. They had been “the” couple in high school. Madly in love, until Mark’s mother decided Becca’s family background wasn’t prestigious enough. She had used every guilt trip in the book—the tears, the “heart palpitations”—to force them apart. It was a mirror of my own story, only Mark had folded even faster than I had. “Why now?” I asked, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. If she had come forward sooner, I never would have married him. Becca looked at me with bored eyes. “I’m young. I want a life. I found someone—a guy with money—and he doesn’t want another man’s baggage. This kid is a Miller. He belongs to you people.” She practically pushed the boy into Mark’s arms and walked away. Mark didn’t stop her. He just stood there, holding a child that was a living testament to a life he’d lived before me. Inside, the house erupted. Mark’s mother and sisters were already hovering, cooing over the boy. “Look at his eyes,” his sister whispered. “He’s the spitting image of Mark at that age.” The joy in the room was suffocating. They had a new toy, a new legacy. No one looked at me. No one asked how I felt about my marriage being firebombed on a Tuesday afternoon. That night, Mark sat on the edge of our bed, his head in his hands. “The timeline works out,” he said. “I’ll do a DNA test tomorrow, but… if he’s mine, Nora…” He looked at me, and I saw the resolve in his eyes. “I can’t turn my back on my own blood.” “So I’m just supposed to be a stepmother?” I asked. “Just like that? Overnight?” I started shoving clothes into a suitcase. He jumped up, trying to grab my arm. “Where are you going? Your parents sold the house, Nora. You have nowhere to go.” It’s the classic line from a bad movie. Where will you go? You have no one. I lived ten minutes from the street where I grew up, and my husband was telling me I was homeless. “There are hotels, Mark. We need space. I need a plan. Because I’m telling you now: I didn’t sign up for this. If this is the new reality, I want a divorce.” I wasn’t being cruel; I was being honest. I had spent my life being the “sensible” one, the one who sacrificed. I wasn’t going to sacrifice my future for a child that was a product of a lie by omission. But as I tried to leave, his mother and sisters blocked the hallway. They took my suitcase out of my hands. They swarmed me like a hive of angry bees. “The baby is here, Nora. You can’t just put him back!” “Even if you leave, who are you going to find? A thirty-year-old divorcee? You’ll just end up with some other guy’s kid anyway. At least this one is family.” “Don’t be so selfish. This is a blessing for the Miller family.” I couldn’t even finish a sentence before they drowned me out. I was trapped. I had a phone, but who was I going to call? My parents were three time zones away, busy playing house with Tyler. I had stayed for them, but when the storm hit, I realized I was standing in an open field alone. I locked myself in the guest room and cried until my throat burned. When Mark eventually came in, he didn’t apologize. He didn’t hold me. He just got into bed and turned his back to me. “He’s my son,” he said into the darkness. “I’m not giving him up.” The betrayal felt like a physical weight. I had tried so hard to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. And in the end, I was just a placeholder. I thought about Simon. I wondered if he was happy. I wondered if he had a wife who didn’t have to fight for her right to exist in her own home. For the first time since I said goodbye to him, I felt the sharp, agonizing sting of regret. The next morning, I woke up with a fever that made my bones ache. My throat was so swollen I could barely swallow. But the house was empty. They had all gone to the clinic for the DNA test, then to look at preschools. They had started their new life without me. I needed help, but it was the holidays. Every friend I had was busy with their own families. I lay there, shivering, the silence of the house mocking me. Eventually, I had to crawl—literally crawl—to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of lukewarm water from the tap. The DNA results came back a few days later. 99.9%. When they gathered in the living room, glowing with the news, I handed Mark the papers. “I want a divorce.” The insults started immediately. They called me heartless. They called me “less of a woman” for not having an instinctual love for the boy. “You think you’re so special?” Mark’s mother hissed. “Go ahead. Leave. See where you end up. Your brother won’t want you cluttering up his new guest room.” Mark didn’t defend me. He just watched me walk out the door. The only stroke of luck I had was a single cancelled ticket on a train heading east. As I sat in the quiet car, watching the Ohio landscape blur into a grey smudge, I sent Mark a draft of a settlement. I told him I’d let the lawyers handle the rest. I was going to a city where I knew no one. I was starting over with a bruised heart and a resume that was three years out of date. But as the train picked up speed, I felt a strange, terrifying lightness. I was finally, for the better or worse, on my own.

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I was moving to London to teach, and Declan was my biggest cheerleader. Everyone told me I’d hit the jackpot with him. They whispered that he was secretly planning a wedding, a grand romantic gesture to surprise me before I left. But then I found the files. Hundreds of emails and formal requests saved on his laptop, all petitioning the department head for one specific transfer. He wasn’t just sending me away; he was trading me. He was bringing a girl named Lacey back to the States. And the wedding files in the hidden folder? The bride wasn’t me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw things. I didn’t even cry. I actually found myself wishing them well. Because, honestly? I just didn’t care anymore. I only felt bad for the Declan who would look for me later, the one who would eventually lose his mind when he realized I was gone for good. 1 “Nora, are you absolutely sure about this? You know checking this box makes the transfer indefinite, right?” The department secretary lowered her voice. “And… shouldn’t you check with Declan about the date? This clashes directly with that ‘big event’ he’s planning.” I stared at the screen of Declan’s open laptop, my eyes unfocused on the rows of pdfs. My colleagues had been winking at me all week, telling me to act surprised, that Declan was in full groom-mode. Declan himself had been tight-lipped, vibrating with a nervous energy I had foolishly mistaken for romance. I thought, Finally. After eight years, he’s trying. But every vendor contract, every venue inquiry, every draft invitation on this screen bore the names Declan & Lacey. Not Nora. It all made sense now. The way he’d practically packed my bags for London. He wasn’t supporting my career; he was clearing the board. My departure was the condition for her return. A one-for-one swap. I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper, then looked the secretary in the eye. “The wedding… it doesn’t concern me. Keep the flight date as is.” Eight years of devotion, and this was the severance package. If that was the price of his love, I couldn’t afford it anymore. The moment the ticket confirmation landed in my inbox, Declan’s ringtone cut through the air. “How long are you going to make everyone wait?” His voice was sharp, impatient. “I know it’s your going-away party, Nora, but do you have to act like a princess and show up late?” I glanced at the clock. The reservation wasn’t for another thirty minutes. His irritation had arrived ahead of schedule. I mumbled a non-committal excuse and hung up. My eyes fell on his phone case—a custom one I’d bought us as a joke for our anniversary. He hated it. Called it tacky. Said it made him look unprofessional at the university. He’d promised to only wear it at home, to humor me. Looking at it now, a wave of nausea rolled through me. I tossed it into the nearest trash can and headed for the restaurant. The moment I walked in, a colleague shoved a massive bouquet of red roses into my arms, winking frantically toward Declan. “You sure know how to pick ’em, Nora! Look at this!” Usually, when I upset Declan, he bought flowers to apologize. But never roses. It was always carnations—cheap, supermarket filler. My colleague, caught up in the excitement, snatched the small card from the bouquet and read it aloud before I could stop her. “To my dearest Lacey. You are as timeless as a rose, and I will always protect you. Love, Declan.” The room went dead silent. I dug my fingernails into my palms, letting the sharp pain tether me to my dignity. I forced a smile. “Oh! Right. These… aren’t for me.” Footsteps clicked on the hardwood floor behind me. A petite woman in a pale dress stopped at my side. She reached out, took the heavy bouquet from my hands, and buried her face in the blooms, inhaling deeply. “Declan hasn’t changed a bit,” she sighed, her voice sugary and light. “He always sends me roses.” She turned to me, beaming. “You must be the ‘bro’ Declan talks about! Thank you so much for agreeing to the swap so I could come home from London.” 2 I looked at the roses in her arms and let out a soft, dry laugh. I remembered a night years ago. Declan had smashed a set of dishes in a temper tantrum. He hadn’t replaced them. When I came home late from work, hungry and tired, there were no plates. He felt guilty, so he ran out into a pouring rainstorm. He came back soaking wet, holding a bundle of white carnations. At the time, I had laughed, calling him hopeless. “Who buys carnations for an apology? They look like funeral flowers.” Seeing Lacey holding those deep red roses, I realized he wasn’t hopeless. He wasn’t lacking in romance. He just didn’t want to waste it on me. That was why, for eight years, I only ever got the cheap stuff. “Right,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m Declan’s ‘bro.’ Let me show you to the table.” When Declan saw Lacey walk in, he shot out of his chair, his eyes glued to her. Carter, Declan’s best friend, slid into the seat next to me. “Nora, look, don’t read into it. He just hasn’t seen Lacey in a long time. Don’t be that jealous girlfriend.” I waved a hand dismissively. “Who’s jealous? Don’t they look good together?” Carter frowned. This was the same man who had watched me drag myself out of bed with a 102-degree fever to bring Declan hangover meds. The man who had answered my 3:00 AM calls when Declan didn’t come home. To Carter, and probably to Declan, I wasn’t a partner. I was a placeholder. A warm body. That’s why he felt comfortable coordinating Lacey’s arrival. Carter didn’t know what to say, so he drifted away. Declan had left his phone on the table. I flipped it over. The case was gone—the one I bought him. In its place was a clear case, displaying a passport-style photo of him and Lacey, heads leaning together. I picked it up, my hands trembling. In eight years, Declan didn’t have a single photo of me on his phone. “We see each other every day,” he’d say. “Why do we need photos?” I believed him. Like an idiot, I believed him. But his laptop was a shrine to Lacey. Thousands of photos. Every angle. Every smile. The party that was supposed to be my farewell turned into Lacey’s homecoming. Declan didn’t leave her side. He blocked every glass of wine offered to her. When I kept a polite, frozen smile on my face, Declan leaned over and hissed, “Stop looking at her like that. Can’t you be generous for once? What is wrong with you?” My head pounded. The acid in my stomach rose. He had traded my life for hers, and I was the one being selfish? I grabbed a margarita from a passing tray, needing something to dull the edge. Declan’s hand shot out, knocking the glass from my grip. It shattered. Red liquid splashed everywhere. His other hand immediately clamped over Lacey’s eyes. “Lacey, don’t look! You know you faint at the sight of blood.” Lacey giggled, peeling his fingers away. She pinched his cheek. “Oh my god, Declan. That was a lie I told during Truth or Dare in high school. You still remember that? You dork.” Tears finally pricked my eyes. Not because of the wasted drink. But because Declan remembered a throwaway lie from high school, yet he couldn’t remember a single thing about me. I hated the color blue. I’d told him a hundred times. Yet when we moved in together, he painted the living room navy. “I thought you liked blue,” he’d said, looking genuinely confused. I used to tell myself he just had a bad memory. I was too afraid to admit the truth: he didn’t want to remember. Eight years is a long time to leave no trace. Lacey walked over, patting Declan’s chest soothingly. “Nora, don’t be mad. He gets intense when he drinks. I used to make him hot water with honey, and he’d settle right down.” 3 I didn’t answer. I just watched Declan lean into her touch, like a plant turning toward the sun. “Nora,” Lacey chirped. “Do you have honey at your place? I can text you the recipe. You should make him some.” She was the childhood sweetheart. The one who got away. How could I compete with that mythology? I couldn’t. It was better to just fold. “Why don’t you come back to our place and make it for him?” I said. Declan’s head snapped up. He looked shocked, then panicked. We hailed a cab. There was only one. Declan opened the back door for Lacey, ushering her in. He started to hold it for me, but I stepped back. “No thanks,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on a reunion ten years in the making.” Declan ducked his head, refusing to meet my eyes. Inside the cab, I watched them. Declan rested his head on her shoulder. When he felt sick, he sat up and breathed through the window. I laughed out loud. “What, you aren’t going to puke on her?” When I used to pick him up, he’d vomit all over the upholstery. I was the one who had to apologize to the driver and pay the cleaning fee. He respected her too much to ruin her dress. He caught my eye in the rearview mirror and looked away after two seconds. But he stayed upright. When we got to the apartment, the honey water worked its magic. “Declan,” Lacey said, looking around with wide eyes. “I just got back and… I haven’t found a place yet. Can I crash here?” Declan agreed before she finished the sentence. He grabbed her luggage and carried it straight into the master bedroom. “Declan,” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you sleeping in there with her tonight?” He stopped. His voice was ice cold. “That’s none of your business.” I chuckled. Why did I even ask? I went to the guest room. To my surprise, Declan followed me in a few minutes later. “Nora, look. It’s not what you think.” I almost applauded the audacity. “I know,” I said. “I get it.” “But, Declan… we’re breaking up.” He frowned, opening his mouth to argue, but Lacey burst into the room, tears streaming down her face. “Declan! I’m scared! I feel like someone is watching me through the window!” We lived on the 28th floor. Unless Spiderman was a peeping tom, nobody was watching her. But Declan didn’t hesitate. He rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her trembling shoulders. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. I’ll stay with you.” I watched him make a pallet on the floor of the master bedroom. Fine by me. Let them have the bed I paid for. Back in the guest room, I knocked over a lamp in the dark. It shattered, slicing a deep gash into my palm. Blood welled up immediately. I had to go to the ER. Declan saw me in the hallway, holding a towel to my hand. He frowned. “I’ll drive you.” Old Nora would have been grateful. New Nora just shook her head. “No.” His face darkened. He walked me to the door, his hand on the knob. “Nora,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t do unnecessary things to get attention.” There it was. When you don’t love someone, even their pain is an inconvenience. The last flickering ember of my love for him finally went out. 4 I dragged myself home at dawn. Declan was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. In eight years, he had never cooked for me. Not once. Even when I was pulling double shifts, he’d call me to ask when I was coming home to make dinner. The smell of bacon and eggs made my stomach turn. I wasn’t qualified to eat his cooking. That was a premium subscription feature reserved for Lacey. I ignored the bowl of porridge he’d set out for me and grabbed a packet of instant oatmeal. Declan snatched the packet from my hand. “You just got back from the hospital—” “Declan!” Lacey’s voice drifted from the bedroom. “Come read to me! I want to sleep in a bit longer!” She poked her head out, looking at me with big, innocent doe eyes. “Sorry, Nora. He’s just so used to babying me. You don’t mind, do you?” Declan dropped the oatmeal packet. “Ignore her,” he muttered to me, and walked away. My phone didn’t ring, but his did. Over and over. “Hello, sir. Regarding the wedding venue… any other specific requests?” To ensure this bridge was thoroughly burned, I decided to leave them a parting gift. I sat at the table eating my dry toast. Declan walked in, holding Lacey’s hand. When he saw me, he dropped her hand like it was hot iron. “She… she gets dizzy in the mornings. I didn’t want her to walk into a wall.” I smiled pleasantly. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want her to bruise before the big day.” Declan stared at me, stunned. Usually, I fought for every scrap of affection. I used to start a war if I caught him texting another girl. Now? I was Zen. “Nora,” Lacey said, buttering a piece of toast. “Declan booked a bridal fitting for me this afternoon. It’s a surprise for… well, just for fun. You should come help me choose!” “Declan, you’re crazy,” she giggled, hitting his arm. “Making me wear a wedding dress right after I land!” I shook my head. “Can’t. Haven’t finished packing for London.” Declan slammed his fork down. “What is wrong with you? She doesn’t know anyone here. Would it kill you to be nice for one afternoon?” I set my spoon down gently. “I am moving to another continent. My flight is next week. I need to pack. Is that valid enough for you?” Declan deflated slightly. He looked down at his plate. “The flight isn’t until next week?” He was pushing me out the door, yet didn’t even know when I was leaving. When I didn’t apologize, his temper flared again. “Nora, you think I’m going to beg you to stay? You think that little breakup speech last night means anything?” He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. “Fine! We’re done! Happy?” He grabbed Lacey’s hand and stormed out. I finished packing. I looked around the apartment and realized there was almost nothing of me here. I checked Declan’s social media. His pinned post was an announcement for a “Welcome Home” party tonight. A wedding reception in all but name. My flight was actually today. I’d lied about the date. I recorded a video message for the happy couple, scheduled it to send, and headed to the airport. As I sat on the tarmac, my phone began to buzz. Once. Twice. Then a continuous vibration. “Where are you?! Why did you post that video?” “It’s not what you think!” “Come back right now!” I declined the call and powered off the phone. The engines roared to life.

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