Category: English

The lights went out right in the middle of our engagement party. In the sudden pitch-black, I stepped backward, right onto the jagged edge of a shattered champagne flute. A sharp, hot pain sliced through my ankle, and I felt the wet warmth of blood pooling instantly against my shoe. Amid the chorus of startled gasps echoing through the ballroom, my first instinct was to call out his name. “Wayne!” He heard me. I saw the silhouette of his shoulders stiffen in the dimness, but instead of turning toward me, he swept right past, pushing through the crowd toward Sadie Wells, who was standing near the stage. When the dim amber glow of the emergency lights flickered on, the first thing I saw was Wayne holding Sadie tightly against his chest, shielding her from the room. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice thick with a panic he had never shown for me. “Did it scare you?” The master of ceremonies stood frozen on the stage, holding his microphone. He cleared his throat, leaning down to whisper, “Mr. Reynolds, Ms. Aldridge is bleeding over there.” Only then did Wayne look back. He saw the dark stain spreading around my foot. His brow furrowed, but only for a fraction of a second. “Sadie has severe claustrophobia, Mona,” he said, his tone flat and defensive. “Do you really have to pick right now to compete for attention?” At that moment, the entire ballroom fell dead silent. Wayne Reynolds was famous in our industry for being cold and unapproachable. He was a man of steel and silence—except when it came to Sadie. They had grown up together, and if she so much as mentioned being afraid of the dark, he would walk out of a multi-million-dollar board meeting to fly to her side. Meanwhile, I had been engaged to him for three years. I had spent those years managing his mother’s grueling post-stroke physical therapy, and I had even turned down a prestigious design fellowship in Copenhagen just to stay by his side and support his firm. He always told me, “You’re strong, Mona. You’re the stable one. You don’t need hand-holding like Sadie does.” It wasn’t until tonight that the truth finally clicked. “Stable” was just his shorthand for someone who could take a hit and didn’t need to be comforted afterward. “Fiancée” was just the title he gave to the person he felt safest sacrificing. … Sadie sobbed, gently pushing at his chest. “Wayne, go. Go check on Mona.” Instead of moving, Wayne kept his eyes locked on me, his expression tightening with impatience. “Don’t start with the attitude, Mona. There are too many eyes on us today. Just play nice.” I looked down at my white satin heels, now ruined and stained with dark, heavy red. Slowly, I reached down and slid the engagement ring off my finger. “Wayne,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “For once, I’m not going to play nice.” When the diamond hit the polished floor with a sharp, metallic clink, Wayne’s face turned absolutely rigid. “Mona Aldridge,” he hissed. “Have you had your little tantrum yet?” I didn’t answer. I bent down, unbuckled my shoes, and picked them up in one hand. The blood from my ankle was tracing a slow path down my calf, cutting a vivid line across the pristine white hem of my dress. Behind him, Sadie’s shoulders shook as she wept. “Mona, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Wayne instantly pulled her closer, his hand resting supportively on her back. “You have nothing to apologize for.” When he looked back at me, his eyes held nothing but a cold, warning glare. “We have family and major clients sitting in this room. Are you seriously going to humiliate everyone over this?” A quiet, humorless laugh escaped my throat. So, my injury was just an inconvenience. My pain was an embarrassment, a sign that I lacked grace and discretion. At the main table, my parents looked sick. My mother made a move to get up, her face pale with worry, but my father gently held her arm, keeping her back. I caught my father’s eye and shook my head, silently pleading with him to stay where he was. Then, I turned to the coordinator. “The engagement party is over. Cancel it.” A collective gasp swept through the room. Wayne’s mother scrambled to her feet, her voice tight with panic. “Mona, sweetheart, let’s talk about this. Don’t do anything rash!” I didn’t look at her. Holding my shoes, I began the long, limping walk toward the exit. Behind me, Wayne’s voice cut through the murmurs, low and dangerous. “Walk out that door, Mona, and there’s no turning back.” I paused for a second, but I didn’t turn around. “I won’t be the one turning back.” But the person who chased me out into the cool night air wasn’t Wayne. It was Sadie. She ran after me, holding up the skirt of her delicate dress, panting as she caught up to me on the sidewalk. “Mona, please! You’re completely misunderstanding. When the lights went out, I got so terrified. I didn’t mean to grab onto Wayne.” I stopped and looked at her. “You didn’t mean to grab him. And I suppose the sudden change in the hotel’s lighting schedule was someone else’s idea too?” Sadie’s face went entirely white. I had only been bluffing, trying to see if she had any hand in the abrupt blackout, but the sudden panic in her eyes confirmed my worst fears. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. She quickly cast her eyes downward, her voice dropping into a soft, fragile whisper. “I only wanted to give you a surprise. The hotel staff told me they could set up a romantic, dimmed light show before the toasts. I had no idea the system would short-circuit.” Before I could reply, the glass doors of the venue swung open, and Wayne stepped out. Without a word, he slipped his charcoal suit jacket off and draped it over Sadie’s bare shoulders. “It’s freezing out here. Go back inside.” Sadie clutched the lapels of his jacket, looking up at me with wide, fearful eyes. “Wayne… does Mona hate me now?” Wayne didn’t look at me as he spoke. “She’s not in her right mind right now.” Hearing those words, the throbbing pain in my ankle suddenly didn’t seem so bad. It was entirely numb. I hailed a cab and drove straight to my design studio. My business partner, Gwen Kelly, was still at her desk, working late. When she saw me push the door open, she jumped, nearly spilling her lukewarm coffee all over her keyboard. “Mona? What the hell happened? Weren’t you supposed to be getting engaged tonight?” I tossed my clutch onto the desk. “It’s off.” Gwen rushed over, dropping to her knees to inspect my leg, and let out a string of curses. Without letting me argue, she dragged me straight to the nearest 24-hour clinic. The doctor spent twenty minutes picking a tiny shard of glass out of my flesh, put in two neat stitches, and warned me to keep it dry for at least a week. By the time we got back to the office, my phone finally lit up. It was a text from Wayne: Sadie is still severely shaken up. I’m driving her home. Go get your ankle looked at. Gwen read over my shoulder and let out a harsh, angry laugh. “Who the hell was he supposed to be marrying tonight?” I didn’t reply. When the nurse had pressed the alcohol swab to my open wound earlier, the pain had been so sharp I’d nearly bitten through my lip. But looking at the screen, I felt absolutely nothing. Half an hour later, Wayne walked into the studio. He pushed the door open, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, looking for all the world like I was the one who had spent the night making his life difficult. He walked over to my desk and reached out, his hand automatically moving toward my hair in a gesture that used to feel comforting. “Does it still hurt?” I tilted my head, deliberately evading his touch. His hand hovered in the empty air for a second before he slowly let it drop. “Mona. Stop being childish.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “Did you look into it?” “Look into what?” “The power outage.” Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was just faulty hotel wiring. I’ll have someone from the operations team follow up with them tomorrow.” I stared at him. “Sadie told me she personally authorized a change in the lighting schedule.” He went quiet for a beat. “She wanted to give you a surprise.” I let out a soft laugh. “So her ‘surprise’ turns into a disaster, I end up with stitches, and she gets to play the innocent victim.” “Do you always have to target Sadie?” Wayne’s voice took on a sharp, defensive edge. “She already feels sick to her stomach about what happened.” A heavy weight settled deep in my chest. After a long silence, I spoke. “Wayne, the engagement is off. We’re done.” He looked at me as if I were a difficult child throwing a tantrum. “Just because I ran to her first tonight?” “No,” I said, making sure he heard every single syllable. “Because you choose her first. Every single time.” The room fell quiet. Then, my phone rang. It was my dad. I pressed the receiver to my ear. His voice sounded thick, gravelly with unshed emotion. “Sweetheart, come home. Mom made some soup.” Hot tears finally stung the backs of my eyes. “Dad.” “Yeah, baby?” “Wayne doesn’t need to come over anymore.” There was a brief pause on the line. Then my father spoke, his voice firm and steady: “Good. He isn’t welcome in our home anyway.” When I got to my parents’ house, my mother sat on the edge of the sofa, carefully re-wrapping my bandage. Her hands were shaking so much she dropped the medical tape twice. “How did it cut you this deep?” she whispered. “Just a broken glass,” I murmured. She didn’t pry. She just leaned down and gently blew on the stitches to soothe the sting. At the kitchen table, my dad kept piling food onto my plate, while my mom sat opposite me, her eyes rimmed with red. I laid my fork down. “Dad, Mom… I’m not getting married.” My mother’s tears finally spilled over. My father looked at me, his expression grave. “Are you sure about this, Mona?” “I am.” He slid the bowl of warm soup closer to me. “Then we don’t do it.” I blinked, momentarily speechless. His voice softened, though it remained incredibly heavy. “We didn’t raise you for twenty-seven years just to watch you learn how to suffer in silence in someone else’s house.” A tear slipped from my cheek, landing directly in my bowl. In reality, I should have seen this coming a long time ago. Three years ago, when Wayne’s firm was on the brink of bankruptcy, I was the one who walked through muddy, half-constructed job sites with him, shaking hands with contractors. When his mother suffered a stroke, I was the one who spent every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon guiding her through her rehabilitation exercises. The day I received my acceptance letter for the Copenhagen fellowship, Wayne had held me tight at the airport gate, whispering, “Wait for me, Mona. Just until the firm is stable, and then I’ll pack your bags and take you to Europe myself.” But once the firm stabilized, Sadie returned from her years abroad. She decided she wanted to be an interior design influencer. Wayne immediately handed over our newly finished model homes for her photo shoots, redirected our prime business inquiries to her inbox, and even had me stay up past midnight to edit her scripts. I had asked him once, “Don’t you think Sadie is getting a little too involved in our personal and professional space?” He hadn’t even looked up from his tablet. “Grow up, Mona. She just got back to the States. She doesn’t have anyone else to rely on.” So, I grew up. I became mature, stable, and accommodating—so accommodating that I forgot that I was allowed to bleed too. The next morning, I walked into the office and printed two formal documents. The first was a withdrawal from our personal residential design project—the house that was supposed to be our home. The second was a formal resignation from the South Side Hotel development team. Gwen saw the papers on my desk and placed a fresh coffee next to them. “Are you really walking away?” “Yes.” “Can you actually let it go?” I picked up my pen and signed my name at the bottom of the sheets. “Even if it hurts, it’s time to give myself back to myself.” At noon, the cafeteria was packed. I had barely sat down with my lunch when Sadie slid into the seat opposite me. Her eyes were puffy, and her skin looked dull, as if she had spent the entire night crying. “Mona, how is your ankle?” I didn’t look up from my salad. She pushed a small carton of Greek yogurt toward me. “Wayne told me you love this brand.” I stared at the plastic container. For years, I had fooled myself into thinking Wayne kept track of my preferences. But the stark reality was that while he knew Sadie’s precise dairy-free milk order by heart, he constantly forgot that I was severely lactose intolerant. Sadie bit her lower lip nervously. “Last night… Wayne only stayed at my place because we had to pull an all-nighter restructuring the South Side proposal.” I looked up, my eyes narrowing. “At your place?” She caught herself, her hands fluttering in frantic explanation. “Oh, no! It’s not what you think. I was just too terrified to be alone after the blackout, so Wayne stayed out in the living room to keep me company.” She paused, adding in a tiny, fragile voice, “He was actually incredibly worried about you.” Heavy footsteps echoed behind us, and Wayne dropped a small box of pills onto my table. “Antibiotics. Make sure you take them with food.” Sadie looked up at him, her expression instantly softening. “See? I told you Mona wouldn’t stay mad at us.” Wayne glanced down at me, his jaw set. “She’s just being stubborn.” Sadie let out a delicate, airy laugh. “I actually bet Wayne last night that you would be crying by this morning.” Wayne shrugged. “You lost.” He looked directly at me, his voice dry. “Mona’s grown quite a backbone lately. She’s even brave enough to throw a scene at her own engagement party.” Listening to them exchange their casual banter, a wave of profound nausea washed over me. My injury, my humiliation, the ring I had publicly stripped from my finger—to them, it was all just a harmless joke to be laughed off over lunch. I set my fork down. “Wayne.” He looked at me, expecting my usual quiet compliance. “We’re done,” I said, my voice cutting through the ambient noise of the cafeteria. “It’s over.” The surrounding tables went dead quiet. Sadie’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Mona… is this because of me?” “Don’t bother explaining to her,” Wayne snapped, cutting her off. He glared at me, his face darkening with anger. “Mona, have you had your little tantrum yet?” I picked up my tray. “I have. Which is why we’re finished.” By mid-afternoon, the entire office was buzzing with the news that the engagement was off. Gwen slipped into my cubicle, leaning over the partition. “Sadie was just doing a livestream from the model home, and a client’s wife completely lost her temper and called her a homewrecker right on camera.” My hand froze over my drawing tablet. “And?” “Sadie ended up tripping over a tripod as she scrambled to turn off the feed. Wayne practically carried her out of the building to take her to the emergency room.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “You would have thought she broke both her legs the way he was hovering.” I stared at the screen, silent. “Did she hurt her hands?” Gwen stared at me. “Mona, are you seriously still worried about her after everything?” I didn’t say anything. Sadie’s livelihood depended on her social media channels; if she had injured her hands, it would seriously impact her design work. Despite everything, I found myself walking into the clinic near the office. The door to her private room was slightly ajar. Sadie was sitting up on the gurney, a small patch of gauze taped over her knee. Wayne was leaning over her bedside table, twisting open a fresh bottle of water for her. He froze when he saw me standing in the doorway. Sadie spoke first, her voice weak. “Mona… you came.” I walked in. “How bad is it?” She shook her head. “Just a scraped knee, really.” Before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, Wayne’s voice sliced through the room. “Are you satisfied now?” I blinked. “What?” He set the water bottle down with a sharp click. “If you hadn’t insisted on making a massive scene about canceling the engagement, Sadie wouldn’t have been so distracted during her livestream today.” “And if she hadn’t been distracted, she wouldn’t have tripped and fallen. Do you see the chain reaction you caused?” It took me several seconds to fully process the words coming out of his mouth. “Wayne… you actually think this is my fault?” “Whose else would it be?” he said coldly. “You knew how fragile she is, and yet you had to broadcast our personal issues so the entire company was gossiping about it.” Sadie reached out, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. “Wayne, stop. Please don’t do this.” He ignored her, keeping his furious gaze locked on me. “I used to respect you, Mona, because you actually understood boundaries. You were mature.” “And now?” “Now, you’re so consumed by petty jealousy that you’re willing to humiliate everyone around you just to make a point.” A cold, tingling sensation spread through my limbs. “So, she gets called out by a client’s wife, and I’m to blame. She trips over her own equipment, and that’s my fault too?” Wayne’s brow furrowed. “Do you have to be so incredibly sarcastic?” “I’m just helping you finish your thought.” Sadie’s tears began to stream down her face. “Mona, I’m so sorry. I swear I never wanted to come between you two.” It was always the same routine. The second she started to cry, Wayne acted as though the entire world needed to stop spinning to accommodate her. Myself included. I took a slow step backward, toward the door. “Wayne, I’m going to say this one last time.” “Our engagement is off. Our professional partnership is officially terminated.” “From this moment on, whoever you choose to protect is none of my business.” His expression turned icy. “Mona, don’t force me to make things ugly for you in public.” I smiled, though it felt hollow. “Don’t worry. I’m never giving you the chance again.” As I turned to walk down the corridor, Sadie’s soft, trembling voice drifted out of the room. “Wayne… do you think Mona is never going to speak to me again?” And Wayne’s reply, quiet but confident: “She’s just throwing a fit. Give her a couple of days to cool off, and she’ll come around.” I kept walking, my footsteps even. Of course I would cool off. Once a heart goes completely cold, it never burns for you again. Over the next two weeks, Wayne didn’t call or text me once. But the office grapevine was relentless. Every day brought a new detail about him and Sadie. People said he was personally chauffeuring her to all her video shoots. They whispered that he had personally selected Sadie to be the face of the promotional campaign for the South Side Hotel project. Some even claimed that Sadie’s media consultancy fees had tripled overnight. Gwen practically slammed her coffee mug onto my desk. “She literally tripped her way right into the most prestigious contract of the year!” I kept my head down, refining my layout drawings. “Let her have it.” “Doesn’t it kill you?” My pen paused on the paper. “It hurts,” I admitted quietly. “But I’m not going back.” Later that afternoon, Sadie walked into the design department. She was wearing a flowing white linen dress, her eyes artistically rimmed with pink. “Mona,” she murmured. I didn’t look up from my screen. “Ms. Wells. Is there something you need?” She flinched. “You… you’ve never called me that before.” “My judgment used to be poor.” Around us, the clicking of keyboards slowed down. My colleagues were pretending to work, but every ear in the room was strained to listen. Sadie bit her lip. “Wayne’s stomach ulcer has been acting up terribly because of the stress. Can you please stop being so stubborn and just talk to him?” I finally looked up, meeting her gaze dead-on. “If his ulcer is acting up, you should drive him to a clinic. You shouldn’t be coming to me.” Her tears flowed right on cue. “I’m only trying to build a bridge for you two. Mona, you’ve been together for so many years. Is it really worth throwing all of that away over me?” I leaned back in my chair, staring at her. “Sadie, stop acting like you’re some innocent bystander.” “You knew exactly who he would choose, which is why your tears always seem to fall at the perfect moment.” Her face went entirely pale. “That’s not true…” “Sadie. Let’s go.” Wayne’s voice cut through the room. He walked over, his eyes fixed on me like twin chips of ice. “Don’t disrupt her work.” Sadie bowed her head meekly and fell in lockstep behind him as he turned away. Looking at them, a sudden wave of dark amusement washed over me. I was the one who had been wounded, both physically and emotionally. But in Wayne’s eyes, Sadie was the only one who ever suffered. That evening was the final presentation for the South Side Hotel development. As the lead architect and designer, I was responsible for presenting the entire blueprint package. But ten minutes before the board meeting started, Wayne pulled me aside in the hallway. “Sadie is going to deliver the opening presentation,” he said. My brow furrowed. “She doesn’t know the structural data.” “She’s the face of the marketing partnership. She needs the exposure.” “Wayne, this is a final board approval meeting, not one of her social media streams.” His expression darkened. “Mona, do not bring your personal vendettas into our professional obligations.” I almost laughed out loud. The meeting commenced, and Sadie took the podium. Her voice was noticeably tight, trembling slightly as she went through the slides. She managed to get through the first half of the deck without incident. But then, the lead client representative leaned forward, interrupting her. “Regarding the family-friendly wing, which class of fire-rated paneling did you specify for the walls?” Sadie panicked, shuffling through her notes frantically. “We… we specified standard wood veneer finish.” My heart stopped. That area required Class A fire-resistant gypsum and fire-retardant treated wood. It was a non-negotiable safety code for child-centric spaces. I immediately stood up. “My apologies, I’d like to clarify that point—” “Sit down, Mona,” Wayne commanded, his voice cold and sharp. I froze in place. The client representative’s face turned incredibly grim. “Standard wood veneer?” “Is Reynolds Development seriously treating child safety as a joke?” After the disastrous presentation concluded, the boardroom cleared out, leaving only the three of us. Wayne shut the heavy double doors, turned to me, and spoke his first words: “Mona, how did you let a mistake like that slip into the design package?” I looked at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Sadie read the wrong specifications.” “You were responsible for compiling the briefing documents.” “I gave her the correct, verified package. She chose to read from her old notes.” Sadie’s tears began to fall again. “Wayne, I’m so sorry. I got so incredibly nervous up there…” Wayne didn’t even glance at her. His eyes remained fixed on me. “You knew this was her first time presenting to a board of this scale. Why didn’t you run through the deck with her beforehand?” A cold sensation settled deep in my bones. “So… you want me to take the blame for this?” He slid a typed document across the conference table. “Sign it.” I looked at the header: Internal Incident Report: Lead Designer Mona Aldridge oversight in document preparation, resulting in incorrect project specifications delivered during presentation. I looked up. “Why?” Wayne’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact. “Sadie’s marketing contract went live today. If she takes the fall for a major safety compliance error now, her brand is ruined.” “And what about my career?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “You’re different.” “How am I different, Wayne?” “You’re my fiancée.” I stared at him, and the very last spark of warmth I held for him went completely dark. I finally understood. A fiancée wasn’t someone to be protected. She was just the most convenient shield.

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Ever since my mother lost my baby brother to a late-term miscarriage, and my father chose to spend his nights comforting his former classmate in her quiet suburban townhouse, I had been cutting him out of our family photos. The school called my mother one afternoon. My teacher had overheard me telling my desk mate that my father was gone, that I wanted his father instead. My mother froze over the receiver. When she finally spoke, her voice was a hollow whisper. “Yes,” she told the teacher. “He passed away early.” During the school’s father-daughter field day, my mother watched from the sidelines as I handed a crumpled ten-dollar bill to Mr. Higgins, the school security guard, asking him to play my dad for just one afternoon. She didn’t scold me. Instead, she quietly slipped a two-hundred-dollar bill into his palm so he would stay and walk me through the parent-teacher conference afterward. Whenever a father’s presence was required, my mother simply let me buy one. Then, my father suddenly realized he hadn’t heard from us in a long time. He canceled all his meetings and showed up to pick me up from school, only to be turned away by a frowning teacher who didn’t recognize him. Confused, he came home. The moment he stepped through the door, he heard me speaking to Mr. Henderson, our building superintendent. “My dad died,” I was saying. “Do you want to be my new dad?” 1 The living room wall was covered in framed photographs of my childhood victories, but the man standing beside my mother and me in every single one was a stranger. “Nydia, who the hell is this man standing next to you?” My father’s voice was so cold it felt like ice against my skin. His eyes were burning holes into the frame. I didn’t understand why he was so angry. I stood there, shifting on my feet, desperately trying to think of an explanation. Mr. Henderson wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Kiddo, what are you talking about? Your dad is standing right here!” He offered a tense, awkward smile and hurried out of the apartment. My father’s mouth twitched with rage. He was holding a bakery box, completely unaware that the cake inside had slipped and smashed against the hardwood floor. “I’ve only been gone for two months, and you’ve already told everyone I’m dead?” His chest heaved. “Is this how you raise our daughter, Nydia?” Terrified, I rushed forward to shield my mother. “No one taught me! Don’t blame Mommy. I said it myself!” His face went entirely dark. He reached up to tear the frames off the wall, ready to smash them, but his hand froze when he read the gold lettering on the certificates. His grip slackened, and he looked at me with a complicated, unreadable expression. I held my breath, waiting for the storm. He didn’t know that two months ago, when he “died” to us in Cassandra’s townhouse, my mother had already paid several men to stand in his place for my competitions. Hearing the noise, my mother emerged from the bedroom. In just two months, she had withered away. Her eyes were hollow, her steps unsteady, her clothes hanging off a frame that looked like nothing but fragile glass. But she didn’t scream. She didn’t cry or threaten him with a knife, demanding he choose between her and his mentor’s daughter. She just stared at him with an icy, absolute indifference. The anger in my father’s eyes sputtered out, replaced by a sudden, guilty swallow. He reached into his leather bag and pulled out a sleek, expensive camera, holding it out to her like a peace offering. “Nydia, look. It’s the new model you’ve wanted forever. And I know you want to get back into your photography, so I went ahead and submitted your old portfolio to the international gallery showcase.” My mother looked at the box. Her face remained a perfect, flat slate. There was no joy, no rush of relief. I recognized that camera. It was the one she had kept in her online shopping cart for two years. To save money for our household expenses, she had never bought it. When she finally brought herself to ask him for it, he had brushed her off, time and time again. He didn’t know that his gift was already outdated. She had saved up and bought the latest release herself. Sensing her coldness, my father’s brow furrowed. He sighed, gently taking her hand and placing the camera in her palm, his voice softening into that old, patronizing warmth. “Alright, sweetheart. It’s my fault. I know you’ve been fragile since the miscarriage, and I shouldn’t have raised my voice. But I promise you, Cassandra’s situation is almost sorted out. Just give me a little more time…” Time. I clenched my small fists, my heart aching for my mother. For two months, he had been a liar. He had made that exact promise fifty-two times, and not once had he kept it. My mother had waited for him until she lost the baby, until her clinical depression spiraled into self-harm. She had waited until she was covered in scars, and still, he had not come home. Instead, he had always snapped at her: “Nydia, I told you, she’s my late mentor’s daughter. We’re practically family. Why do you have to make everything a scene?” Suddenly, his phone blared. He answered it quickly, and the speakerphone carried the shrill, terrified wail of a little girl. “Daddy! Come back quick! Mommy’s head is so hot, and she’s lying on the floor and won’t get up!” Then came Cassandra’s weak, breathless voice in the background: “Why did you call him, Zoe? We can’t keep bothering him…” My blood boiled. I wanted to scream. He isn’t your daddy! He’s my daddy! But my father’s eyes instantly welled with tears. His voice trembled. “Cassie, what are you saying? I want you to bother me for the rest of my life.” He tossed the camera carelessly onto the bed. “Nydia, Cassie’s exhausted. I have to go check on them. I’ll come back and explain later.” He ran out the door, his keys jangling in his frantic grip. My mother and I stood in the silence, staring at the empty doorway. We both knew he wouldn’t be back tonight. My mother picked up the camera. She turned it on and scrolled through the internal storage. There, saved on the memory card, were dozens of photos of my father, Cassandra, and Zoe. I saw the dates. On the day my mother was in the hospital losing my baby brother, my father was riding the Ferris wheel with them. On the night my mother’s depression peaked and she was admitted for severe hemorrhaging, my father was holding Zoe up to watch the New Year’s Eve fireworks. A sharp pain pierced my chest. I began to cry. My father had plenty of time. He just chose never to give it to us. My mother was shaking violently. She pulled me into her arms, her voice raspy but entirely resolute. “Maisie, your father is dead. Right?” I nodded quickly, clutching her shirt. Something shifted in her eyes. She picked up the expensive camera and hurled it against the brick wall with all her might. It shattered into a hundred plastic teeth. I knew then that whatever was left of her heart had shattered right along with it. That night, before I fell asleep, I heard her on the phone with a man. “I’ll take the transfer to the London studio,” she said. “I’ll be there in a week.” In my half-asleep haze, I remembered that before she married my father, my mother had been a globally renowned photographer. Collectors and celebrities used to bid fortunes just to secure a print of her work. But she had surrendered her legacy for him, hiding away in New York, working a miserable, low-paying job where she was constantly mistreated. I smiled into my pillow. In seven days, the brilliant, shining version of my mother would finally be back. Five days before our departure. I came home from school to a chaotic mess. My father, who hadn’t stepped foot in the apartment for two days, was busy throwing my trophies and certificates into a large cardboard shipping box. Even the princess dresses my mother had saved up to buy me, along with my limited-edition dolls, were being ruthlessly shoved inside. My mind went blank. I looked at my mother, terror rising in my chest. Her face was pale, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe. “Alex, are you even human?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You haven’t checked on Maisie in two days, and the moment you walk through the door, you start stealing her things for those two?” My father didn’t even look up. He picked up one of my spelling bee trophies, examining it casually. “Nydia, I didn’t want to do this, but you posted that photo on social media. It triggered Cassandra and Zoe. Zoe’s been depressed ever since. Maisie has so much. What’s wrong with letting a fatherless child have some of her things?” My mother let out a dry, bitter laugh, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Only a filthy mind sees filth everywhere. I never bragged. Maisie and I earned those trophies. When you’re busy being a savior to another man’s wife and daughter, do you ever stop to think about your own?” My father scoffed. My mother took a deep breath, as if she had finally seen through him completely. She took out her phone and sent a message to the journalist who had been begging to interview us. “Hi, Susan. I accept the ‘Champion Mothers’ feature. Tomorrow night at seven. 302 Bayside Lane.” “Nydia! What do you think you’re doing?” My father lunged forward, snatching the phone from her hand. My mother looked down at him, her eyes dead. “If they want the trophies, they have to earn them. If they can survive a live press interview, they can keep them.” My father’s jaw clenched. “Do you have to make everything so ugly? What happened to the woman I married? You used to be so elegant, so understanding.” He ordered the movers to take the final box. Before he stepped out, he looked at her with deep disappointment. “They’re just toys, Nydia. I’ll bring them back when Zoe is done with them. Delete that interview request.” My chest felt heavy as I stared at my shoes. My mother stepped forward. “Don’t you dare walk out that door with—” “Mommy,” I interrupted quietly. I looked at my father and shook my head. “It’s okay. I don’t want them anymore. Let her have them.” A flash of relief washed over my father’s face. He smiled and reached down to pat my head. “That’s my good girl. Always so sensible.” After he left, I looked around the empty room. I went to my piggy bank, fished out a ten-dollar bill, and walked down the hall to the apartment of the college student who lived upstairs. “Sam,” I said when he opened the door, holding out the bill. “Can you be my dad for tonight? It’s my mommy’s birthday.” Sam’s voice cracked. “Did Alex…” “He’s dead,” my mother and I said in unison. Understanding softened his face, and he quietly followed us back to our apartment. We blew out the candles on the small cake, and as I started to sing happy birthday, my mother’s phone buzzed. Her hand shook as she opened the notification. I peeked over her shoulder. My blood ran cold. Cassandra had posted a new photo. The caption read: “I love breaking things. He never gets angry; he just smiles and hands me another.” Underneath was a picture of my hard-won trophies, smashed into pieces on her living room floor. Beside them, my beloved dolls had been defaced with black marker, painted to look like ugly clowns. Ding. A notification from the bank app popped up. My father had sent my mother a transfer of five thousand dollars. Then, a voice note: “Nydia, there was an accident with the trophies. Just take the cash and buy Maisie some new ones.” Tears hot and heavy blurred my vision. But Daddy, money can’t buy back the love we had for you. My mother squeezed her eyes shut. She took a screenshot of the post, of the bank transfer, and sent a voice note to our family lawyer. “Mr. Fletcher, I’m sending over the financial records and the evidence of Alex’s infidelity. Let’s get the divorce filed immediately.” My mother never replied to my father’s transfer. Instead, his calls came flooding in, one after another. “Nydia, it’s your birthday. I’m sorry I forgot.” “Why aren’t you accepting the money? Why do you have to be so difficult?” “Are you happy now? The reporters showed up at Cassandra’s place and made a scene. Is this what you wanted?” My mother read the texts silently. For the first time, she didn’t cry. She simply tapped his profile and hit block. Goodbye, Alex. You will never hear from her again. Three days before our departure. There was a community father-daughter sports day at the local park. My father had promised me over and over that he would show up. I sat on the wooden bench, clutching my mother’s hand, waiting. Five minutes passed. Then thirty. My mother’s phone rang. It was him. “There’s an emergency at the firm. I have to go in. I’ll make it up to Maisie next time.” Before he could finish, my mother hung up and blocked the temporary number he was calling from. I tried to force a smile to comfort her, but then, a familiar laughter echoed from the other side of the field. “You’re the best, Daddy Alex! We’re going to win!” My mind went entirely blank. I turned around. There was my father, lifting Zoe into the air, his face glowing with a bright, proud smile. I looked at my mother, lost. “I thought Daddy had to go to work.” My mother stood up, her face tight with rage, ready to confront him. I grabbed her hand, pulling her back. “Mommy, no. The race is starting.” We returned to our lane. It was a relay race. If I could run the first two hundred meters and hand the baton to my mother, we could win. The grand prize was a family vacation package—something we had dreamed of. Hope flared in my chest. At the sound of the starting gun, I ran with everything I had. Fifty meters… one hundred… one hundred and ninety… Sweat stung my eyes, but I reached out, desperate to hand the baton to my mother. Suddenly, a violent force shoved me from behind. I crashed onto the gravel path, my knees scraping raw. Blood seeped through my leggings. I gasped, tears springing to my eyes. Beside me, Zoe let out a piercing scream. “Why did you push me! Daddy, it hurts!” She lay on the ground, wailing at the top of her lungs. My mother flew toward me, wrapping her arms around me to protect me. But my father and Cassandra were already there, their faces twisted with anger. “Maisie! Why did you push Zoe?” my father roared. “I didn’t!” I screamed through my tears. Zoe pointed a trembling finger at me. “She did! She did it on purpose, Daddy!” My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. My mother stood up, her voice like a blade. “Check the cameras. If you don’t believe my daughter, let the footage speak for itself.” But my father didn’t care. He swept Zoe into his arms, glaring at us. “Cameras? You’ve raised her to be so manipulative, Nydia. Watching the tape will only humiliate her.” They rushed off toward the first-aid station. My face went pale, and I reached up to touch my mother’s cheek. “Mommy, it doesn’t hurt…” And then, everything went black. When I woke up in the medical tent, the speakers outside were blaring. “Congratulations to Zoe for winning the relay!” I stared at the ceiling, tears silent against my skin. I had been so much faster. Why did she win? Did my father pull strings for her again? My mother, her face set in a dark mask, stood up and marched straight toward Cassandra. “Oh, Nydia,” Cassandra purred, a cruel little smile playing on her lips. “You didn’t have to come over to congratulate us.” She leaned in, whispering so only my mother could hear. “Honestly, thank you. If it weren’t for Alex helping us, we’d be nothing. Technically, you guys were faster, but Alex just has such a soft heart… he can’t stand to see us cry.” Slap. My mother’s hand connected with Cassandra’s face, hard. She grabbed Cassandra by the hair, dragging her backward. “I told you to stay the hell away from my daughter!” Cassandra’s shrieks brought my father running. “Nydia! Have you lost your mind? Just because you lost a race, you’re attacking her?” My mother’s eyes were bloodshot. “Yes! I want you both to burn in hell!” My father slammed into her, shoving her away. My mother hit the ground, her hands flying to her throat as she gasped for air. Her panic attack. Her clinical depression was clawing its way out. Terrified, I scrambled to my feet, limping heavily as I reached into my pocket for her rescue medication. “Mommy!” But before I could reach her, someone’s foot tripped me. I went flying, the pills scattering across the dirt. Zoe stood over them, a malicious grin on her face, and brought her sneaker down hard, crushing the tablets into dust. “No!” The scream tore from my throat, raw and agonizing. Those pills were her lifeline. Without them, she could suffocate in minutes. As I crawled to save the remaining powder, Cassandra screamed. “Maisie, don’t push Zoe!” My father didn’t even hesitate. He shoved me back. Behind me was the deep, stone-lined ornamental lake. Before I could fall, my mother lunged forward, throwing her body in front of mine. Splash. The cold water swallowed her. She couldn’t swim. She thrashed, her face turning blue. I threw myself at my father’s legs, sobbing hysterically. “Daddy! Mommy can’t swim! She has depression! Please save her!” My father’s eyes widened. He took a step toward the water. But Cassandra wailed, “Alex! Zoe’s fainted! Help her!” My father froze. His heels pivoted. He picked up Zoe and ran, shouting over his shoulder to his assistant to pull Nydia out. I watched him run away, my heart tearing in two. Daddy, did you really just abandon us? At the hospital, after my mother was stabilized, I pulled another ten-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to the orderly. “Sir, can you play my dad for today? Just to look after my mommy?” The man looked at me, heartbroken. “Sweetheart, where is your dad?” My voice was quiet, dead. “My dad is dead.” He died the moment he walked away from my drowning mother. One day before our departure. My mother packed our suitcases and finalized our visas. My father came to the hospital every day. Whenever he saw the orderly helping us, his brow would knit into an angry scowl. “Maisie has a father, Nydia. Are you that desperate for a man’s attention?” Neither of us answered him. The orderly eventually kicked him out. He brought jewelry, designer clothes, and expensive toys. We quietly donated every single item to the pediatric oncology ward next door. He had no idea. Five hours before our flight. My mother took me to the amusement park. It was the one place I had begged to go, but her illness had always kept us home. “I’m so sorry I kept putting this off, sweetie,” she whispered, kissing my temple. I grinned, showing all my teeth. Suddenly, my smart watch buzzed. It was a text from my father. “Maisie, tell Mommy I’ve sent Cassandra and Zoe out of the country. I’m taking you both out tonight to make up for your birthdays.” My chest tightened. But then I looked across the plaza. There was my father, holding shopping bags, laughing as Cassandra clung to his arm. I didn’t tell my mother. I tapped the screen and blocked his number. Another lie. As we queued for the Ferris wheel, sirens suddenly began to wail across the park. A chaotic scream ripped through the crowd. Four massive, rabid guard dogs had broken loose and were charging toward the visitors. My mother grabbed my hand, trying to pull me toward the exit, but the stampede of panicked people tore us apart. “Maisie!” Fear anchored my feet to the ground. My legs felt like lead. Suddenly, my father’s voice boomed over the noise. “Maisie! Come here! Run to Daddy!” My eyes welled with tears. I started to run toward him. But Cassandra’s voice shrieked, “Alex! Zoe is trapped over there! Save her!” My father looked at me, then at Zoe in the distance. My mother’s voice was hoarse from screaming. “Alex! Save Maisie! Someone else is going for Zoe!” My father’s eyes darted back and forth. Finally, he looked at me. “Maisie, just wait there!” Wait. Always wait. He turned his back on me and sprinted toward Zoe, scooping her up as he fled. The four snarling dogs closed the circle around me. The last spark of love I had for him died in that moment. As they lunged, my mother charged through the crowd like a wild animal, brandishing a heavy wooden stake. She threw herself over me. The dogs tore into her legs. Blood soaked my clothes, but she looked down at me, smiling through the agony. “Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy’s here.” I sobbed, shaking uncontrollably. Just as the dogs lunged again, a team of security guards rushed in with tranquilizer rifles and subdued them. At the hospital, after the rabies shots were administered and her wounds were bound, my mother gripped her passport with bloodless knuckles. “Maisie, let’s go. I can’t breathe in this city for another second.” As the plane lifted off into the clouds, I had only one thought. Goodbye, Alex. You will never find us again.

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Mona walked out on our wedding. She did it to run to her ex-boyfriend—the same man who had abandoned her five years ago when she was on the verge of being permanently paralyzed. A collective gasp rippled through the chapel, the whispers rising like dry leaves. I gripped her wrist, fighting to keep my expression from crumbling in front of our guests. “Please,” I whispered, my voice thick with a desperation I hated. “Not now. Don’t leave.” Her eyes flickered with a brief, agonizing conflict. Then, finger by finger, she pried my hand off her wrist. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Wright. I have to go. I need to know why he left so ruthlessly back then.” Without a backward glance, Mona walked down the aisle, leaving behind a chorus of stunned whispers. Behind me, my mother—who had a severe, fragile heart condition—began to tremble violently. Before I could even process the humiliation of being left at the altar, she collapsed onto the floor. “Mom!” The world splintered around me. Somehow, through the panic and the blinding tears, I managed to get her into the ambulance. Sitting outside the emergency room, my phone buzzed in my trembling hands. Two notifications lit up the screen. The first was from Jerry: “I told you. The moment I came back, Mona would never choose you. You lose again.” The second was from Mona: “Give me thirty days. Let’s take a break for just thirty days, and then I promise I will love only you with all my heart.” I stared at the screen, my eyes as dead as a winter sea. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped my throat. This time, I wasn’t going to let myself lose. … The red light of the emergency room stayed lit for three hours. My mother had undergone bypass surgery two years ago. She had warned me, softly but firmly, that Mona was not the kind of woman who could ever truly belong to me. But I had been stubborn. I had clung to the belief that Mona loved me with the same quiet, desperate devotion I had for her. Now, every single one of those sweet, deluded assumptions felt like a violent slap to my face. I could barely breathe. My father paced beside me, frantic and hollow-eyed. “Wright, what if she doesn’t make it? What if…” “She will,” I interrupted him, though the words were meant more to comfort myself than him. “Mom is strong. She’ll make it.” But my voice cracked. I had never been this terrified in my entire life. Then, my phone vibrated again. Another text from Jerry—this time, a video. It was filmed inside a dim hotel suite. Mona was there, still flushed and disheveled from running out on our wedding, standing in front of him. “Why did you come back?” she demanded. Jerry didn’t answer. He just watched her. She was the one who lost control first, her eyes brimming with angry tears. “You walked away without a single word, and now you think you can just breeze back in and ruin my life? Who gave you the right to be this selfish, Jerry?” I walked down to the empty stairwell, seeking a quiet corner to watch the rest. The woman on the screen—this unraveled, raw version of Mona—felt like an absolute stranger. My friends had warned me more than once that Mona was too cold, too detached with me. But I had always brushed it off. “She’s a high-powered CEO,” I’d say, defending her. “She’s built to keep her emotions under lock and key. That’s just who she is.” But sitting in that cold stairwell, the illusion shattered. She was capable of losing her mind. She could cry, she could shake, she could beg. It was just that none of those raw, primal feelings were meant for me. They were reserved entirely for Jerry. I closed my eyes, forcing down the physical ache in my chest, and pressed play again. In the video, Jerry didn’t offer an explanation. He just stood there, letting her vent, knowing he held all the cards. Mona’s anger lasted only a moment before dissolving into a bitter, helpless laugh. All her resentment crumbled in an instant. She stepped forward and threw her arms around him. “As long as you’re back…” she whispered. Jerry wrapped his arms around her waist, his eyes locking with the camera lens. He smirked—a look of pure, triumphant malice. The video cut to black. I let out a soft, hollow laugh. Outside, a sudden roll of thunder shook the hospital windows as rain began to pour. So that’s what she looked like when she loved someone. Five years together, and I had never once seen that expression on her face. I wiped my face and walked back to the waiting room just as the heavy double doors swung open. I rushed to the surgeon, my throat tight. “Doctor, my mother… how is she?” “She’s stable. The worst is over,” the doctor said, removing his mask. “But you must keep her calm. Her heart cannot handle any more severe shocks.” I nodded, every muscle in my body coiled tight. “It won’t happen again. Thank you, Doctor.” My father collapsed into a chair, weeping with relief, as my mother was wheeled out. Looking at her pale, thin face, I wanted to strike myself. Why had it taken me this long to finally wake up? Shortly after we moved my mother into a private room, a specialist knocked on the door. “Mr. Simon? I’m the hypertension specialist sent by Ms. Kingsley. How is the patient doing?” At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. A text from Mona: “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize your mother would react so strongly. I’ve sent a top hypertension specialist to the hospital. She’ll be fine.” My hand shook so hard the phone nearly slipped from my fingers. It was laughable. Five years. We had been together for five years, and she didn’t even know what kind of heart disease my mother had. I took a deep, steadying breath, keeping my voice level. “We don’t need your services. Please leave.” After settling my parents, I walked down to the ground floor to pick up some of my mother’s routine prescriptions. Passing the gastroenterology clinic, I stopped dead. Through the crack in the door, I saw Mona and Jerry. She was holding his hand, her face etched with deep, frantic worry. The doctor was taking notes. “Describe his symptoms.” Before Jerry could even open his mouth, Mona blurted out the answers. “His stomach has always been sensitive. He never eats warm food when he should, and his immune system is incredibly weak. We’ve tried holistic remedies, but nothing seems to stick.” My feet felt like they were encased in concrete. Every word she spoke—detailing Jerry’s health with clinical, intimate precision—was a needle driving straight into my chest. She couldn’t remember my mother’s cardiac history, but she had memorized the digestive quirks of an ex-boyfriend she hadn’t seen in half a decade. I pulled out my phone, dialed my lawyer’s number, and kept my voice whisper-quiet. “Draft a divorce agreement. Send it to my email.” Then, I walked into an adjacent examination room. “I need to schedule an urgent endoscopy,” I told the physician on duty. “My stomach pain has been unbearable.” The doctor looked up, her brow furrowing as she recognized me. “Wait, I remember you. We caught your early-stage gastric ulcer last month. Why hasn’t there been any follow-up? It’s gotten incredibly severe.” A dull ache flared in my chest. A month ago, while Mona was away on a business trip, I had started experiencing sharp abdominal pains. The biopsy came back showing an early-stage ulcer. I hadn’t told her because I wanted to wait until after the wedding—I thought I’d tell her when we were finally in a quiet, happy place. I never could have guessed that Jerry would return, or that she would leave me standing at the altar like a fool. I was still wearing my tuxedo trousers, wrinkling under the hospital lights, looking thoroughly pathetic. “I just neglected it,” I said quietly. “Please, just schedule the test.” The doctor sighed, typing into her computer. “Fine. Tomorrow morning at nine, Exam Room One. Just check in at the front desk.” I thanked her and walked back to my mother’s room. I pulled out my phone. Our mutual friend group chat was buzzing with activity. Mona had just added Jerry back into the group. “Welcome back, Jerry! I knew you two would find your way back to each other,” one friend wrote. “Exactly. You two always belonged together anyway,” another chimed in. “Uh… guys? Wright is still in this chat, remember?” There was a sudden, heavy silence. I smiled bitterly. These people had only tolerated me because of Mona; they had never actually respected me. A second later, a system notification flashed across the screen: “You have been removed from the group by Mona Kingsley.” My lips went dry and pale. A direct message from Mona popped up immediately: “I’ll add you back in thirty days. Be good.” I stared at those words for a long moment, then closed the app without replying. Once my medical tests were done tomorrow, there would be nothing left to bind us. Two days later, my mother woke up, and my tests were completed. I returned to Kingsley Enterprises to submit my resignation. I had barely sat down at my desk in the executive suite when the elevator doors slid open. Mona and Jerry walked out together. She stopped in front of my desk, adjusting her blazer. “Is your mother’s blood pressure under control?” I clenched my fists beneath the desk, keeping my voice dripping with cold sarcasm. “She’s doing perfectly, Ms. Kingsley. Thanks to your expert recommendation.” Mona’s brows knit together. She hated this sharp, cynical version of me. She was used to a Wright who hung on her every word, eager to please. Shifting her gaze away in annoyance, she turned to Jerry. Her expression softened instantly into something almost worshipful. “You’ll start as my chief personal assistant here in the executive suite,” she told him. “Once you’re familiar with our operations, I’ll move you to project management.” Jerry glanced at me, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Sounds great. I’m still a bit rusty, Mona. Maybe Wright can show me the ropes?” I looked up, the anger burning in my throat. “I decline.” Jerry didn’t flinch. He just quietly waited for Mona to handle it. Sure enough, her cold, authoritative voice cut through the room. “You don’t have a choice, Wright. This is a business, not a playground. Your personal preferences don’t dictate my decisions.” She didn’t wait for my response. She grabbed Jerry’s hand and led him into her private office. My hands and feet grew cold. Outside, the morning sun vanished behind a sudden flurry of snow, and a draft from the window made me shiver. I sank back into my chair, hyper-aware of the quiet snickers from the other assistants. By afternoon, I had finished drafting my formal resignation letter. Before I could print it, Mona called me into her office. Her face was dark with fury as she threw a thick folder at my feet. “Wright, is this job a joke to you? You put down three hundred million for a thirty-million-dollar bid! The entire legal team is scrambling to clean up your mess!” I knelt to pick up the papers, my heart hammering. I scanned the numbers. “This is impossible,” I said, my voice rising. “I audited this draft five times. The numbers were perfect.” Then, my eyes drifted to Jerry, who was standing by the window. The subtle, pleased curve of his mouth made my blood run cold. “It was you,” I whispered. It made perfect sense. His sudden eagerness to learn this morning, sitting right next to me for hours—finding out my computer password would have been child’s play for him. “Wright!” Mona snapped, her voice shaking the glass walls. “Are you seriously trying to shift the blame?” I closed my eyes and took a slow breath to steady myself. “Let’s check the security feed. Jerry probably didn’t realize that the little decorative clock on my desk has a built-in camera.” Jerry’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. I caught it. Mona remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her hesitation was like a physical blow to my chest. Without waiting for her permission, I grabbed Jerry by the sleeve and dragged him out into the main bullpen, where dozens of employees were already whispering. “Wright, stop—” Mona called out behind us, but I ignored her. I pulled up the camera feed on the main presentation screen for everyone to see. The footage was clear. At 12:23 PM, while the rest of the floor was out for lunch, Jerry had sat at my desk. Every keystroke, every deliberate modification to the bid contract was recorded in high definition. Mona’s face drained of color. Whispers broke out among the staff. “It was Jerry? Why would he do that?” “Are you blind? He’s her ex. It’s a classic power move to get rid of the fiancé. Let’s see who Mona protects.” “My money is on Jerry. You rookies don’t know how crazy she was about him back in the day.” I kept my back straight, refusing to show how much their words stung, or how much Mona’s heavy, agonizing silence was tearing me apart. Jerry looked at me, a cold, mocking smile returning to his face. He turned to Mona, completely devoid of remorse. “It was me,” he said casually. “I changed the files to frame Wright. You can fire me if you want.” He stepped closer to her, holding her gaze. “Are you going to fire me, Mona?” My chest tightened. “She has to,” I thought. The proof was undeniable, and he had admitted to corporate sabotage. There was no way she could justify keeping him. I held my breath, waiting. After a long, agonizing pause, Mona looked away from Jerry and addressed the crowd. “The matter is closed. I will personally cover any financial losses incurred by this mistake.” Jerry’s smirk widened as he cast a pitying glance my way. A collective murmur of disbelief swept through the office. It felt like a physical strike to my face. “On what grounds?” My voice shook, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking. Mona looked at me, her expression incredibly defensive. “Jerry is my boyfriend now. He made a lapse in judgment, and as his partner, I am taking responsibility for his mistakes.” A hollow laugh escaped me. “Your boyfriend? Mona, did you forget we have a signed marriage license? He’s a homewrecker—” “Wright!” she snapped, her eyes freezing me in place. “He is not.” I looked down at the polished floor, the last of my hopes crumbling away. Jerry’s confidence hadn’t come from his own cleverness; it had come from Mona’s unconditional protection. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Fine,” I whispered. “He isn’t.” She ordered everyone back to work, then ushered me into her office and closed the door. She reached out, wrapping her arms around me, her tone softening. “I’m sorry, Wright. I didn’t mean to snap. But I told you—just give me thirty days. After that, I am entirely yours.” My fingernails dug into my palms, the pain grounding me. I forced a faint smile. “Okay. I believe you. By the way, I have a few routine documents that need your signature.” I slipped my resignation letter and the divorce papers into a stack of standard corporate contracts and handed them to her. The abrupt shift in topic caught her off guard, but seeing my calm demeanor, she let out a sigh of relief. Without reading a single page, she signed her name at the bottom of each sheet. Back at my desk, I scanned and sent the signed divorce agreement to my lawyer, then walked down to HR to hand in my resignation. I sat through the remaining hours of the day in silence. When dusk fell, I took one last look at the office where I had spent five years of my life, left my ID badge on the desk, and walked out. In the parking garage, Jerry was leaning against my car. I tried to walk past him, but he stepped in my way. “See? I told you,” he sneered. “The moment I come back, you’re out. If you have any self-respect left, Wright, sign the papers and walk away. Why cling to a woman who doesn’t love you?” I stopped, looking at him with quiet contempt. “Is that so? Too bad that until the legalities are finalized, you’re nothing but a cheap affair.” “Why you—” He lost his temper and swung, his fist connecting heavily with my jaw. “You bastard!” “Jerry!” Mona’s voice echoed through the concrete structure. She hurried over, her eyes lingering on my swelling cheek for a brief moment. I waited for her to scream at him, to demand why he had just assaulted her fiancé. Instead, she turned to me. “I’m sorry, Wright. I apologize on Jerry’s behalf. To make it up to you, I’ll make sure our wedding in thirty days is the grandest event this city has ever seen.” Jerry smiled, casually draping an arm around her shoulder. My whole body went numb. My eyes burned with unshed tears. Before I could say a word, she led him away toward her car. The garage fell silent. I stood there alone, my jaw throbbing. Finally, the truth settled in. Mona didn’t care about Jerry’s flaws, his manipulation, or how he had abandoned her in the past. She knew exactly what he was doing, and she chose to protect him anyway. Because she loved him. Jerry was right. I had lost completely. My first defeat had been three years ago. Jerry had texted me out of the blue, claiming that Mona kept a photo of him in her wallet that she let no one touch. I hadn’t believed him until I checked her wallet late one night. When I threw the photo away, Mona screamed at me—the first time she had ever raised her voice in our relationship. The second defeat was a year ago. Jerry had messaged me saying that every May sixth, the anniversary of his mother’s passing, Mona would spend the day with his family in his place. That day had also been my father’s sixtieth birthday. I had begged her, practically on my knees, to cut ties with Jerry’s family and come home with me. But Mona had simply brushed my hand away and walked out the door without a second glance. The third defeat was at our wedding, when she abandoned me without a backward glance. And now, this was the fourth. I got into my car and was about to start the engine when my father’s name flashed on the dashboard screen. When I answered, his ragged, hysterical crying filled the car. “Wright… your mother… she’s…” The world seemed to stop spinning. Panic seized my throat, and my hands shook violently as I sped back to the hospital. But when I reached the room, all I found was a bed draped in a white sheet. My knees gave out. I stumbled forward, sinking to the floor, my hands reaching out to touch her cold forehead. “Mom?” My voice cracked, tears blinding me. “Mom! What happened? She was fine yesterday! Why?” My father was collapsed in a chair nearby, weeping uncontrollably. “Some man sent her a text… he sent her a video showing you being humiliated at the office. He told her you were completely abandoned and that she should convince you to let go…” I closed my eyes, a name burning in my mind. “Jerry.” Mona appeared in the doorway of the hospital room, looking deeply uncomfortable. She tried to wrap her arms around my trembling, grief-stricken body. “I’m so sorry, Wright. Jerry didn’t mean to… he was just so scared of losing me that he acted rashly…” I shoved her away with everything I had left. I looked at her, my throat tight with disgust and despair. “Mona… how did I ever love someone as rotten as you?” I pointed at the door. “Get out. Get the hell out!” Her face went pale, and she let out a long, weary sigh. “I will make this up to you, Wright. The wedding preparations are still under way. In thirty days, I’ll send Jerry away and we can start fresh. Just take this time to calm down.” She turned and left. When I opened my eyes, the sorrow was gone, replaced by a cold, quiet hatred. The next morning, my father and I quietly buried my mother. Then, we booked one-way tickets to Los Angeles. But before I boarded the plane, I made one phone call. I reached out to the coordinator at the luxury estate where Mona was planning our rescheduled wedding. I transferred fifteen thousand dollars to his account, requesting that he deliver three specific wedding gifts to Mona on our supposed big day. Three surprises she would remember for the rest of her life.

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The preschool dressing room was absolute chaos, a frantic blur of pint-sized performers running around in bright, stiff costumes. “Todd, take your suit off. Let Sammy wear it.” My mother’s voice was clipped, her fingers already reaching behind my back to tug at the Velcro strap. I instinctively clutched my chest. The miniature blue cadet uniform was special. My dad had taken me to a local tailor shop to get it custom-fitted, measuring my shoulders and inseam with a yellow tape measure. I had waited two long weeks for it to be finished. “Dad bought this for me,” I said, taking a step back, my heel hitting a pile of plastic props. “Sammy doesn’t have a mom, Todd. His dad can’t afford a costume like this. He’s the lead soloist today, and you need to be the bigger person.” Without waiting for me to answer, she lunged forward and grabbed my shoulder. “Rrrrrip.” The Velcro gave way with a sharp, ugly tear. The uniform slid down my arms, leaving me in just my undershirt. The draft from the air conditioning hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps. Nearby, three other kids stopped playing to stare at me. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my chest from heaving. I looked up at her, my vision blurring slightly, and said, “Mom, I don’t want the suit anymore. Why don’t you go be someone else’s mom?” 1 My mother’s hand froze in midair. She looked at the crisp blue cadet suit in her hands, then down at me. “Todd, that is incredibly rude.” She turned away, sliding the uniform onto Sammy’s shoulders. She pulled his sleeves down, adjusted his collar, and placed the matching pilot cap on his head, gently patting the brim. “Mr. Sullivan has a hard enough time raising Sammy on his own,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “We’re fortunate. We should help where we can.” Sammy spun around in front of the vanity mirror, admiring himself. He was a little chubbier than me, and the waist of the trousers looked tight, the fabric straining. My mother knelt down, loosening the adjustable tabs at his hips. “Look at you,” she said, her voice softening into a warm, adoring tone I hadn’t heard in weeks. “You look like the handsomest little pilot in the world.” “Thank you, Ms. Davis,” Sammy chirped, his voice sweet and clear. Gary Sullivan walked over, his eyes shining with gratitude as he looked at my mother. “Rebecca, I honestly don’t know how to thank you. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what Sammy would have done today.” My mother stood up, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, Gary, don’t worry about it. We’re neighbors. Todd can wear anything on stage. He doesn’t mind.” The coordinator’s voice boomed over the intercom, calling the kids to the wings. My mother scanned the clothing racks quickly, pulled down an oversized white backup t-shirt from the choir surplus, and tossed it to me. “Put this on. Quickly. You’re going to be late.” The shirt was massive. The neckline slid halfway down my collarbone, and the sleeves completely swallowed my hands. I slowly worked my fingers out of the cuffs and tucked the massive hem into my waistband, trying to make it look intentional. When the lights went up, I was standing in the back row of the choir, tucked away in the far corner. Every other child around me wore tailored little blazers or matching dresses. Sammy was front and center. The stage lights caught him perfectly, making the thirty-six polished brass buttons on my cadet uniform gleam like tiny stars. I looked out into the darkened auditorium and found my mother. She was standing near the stage, holding her DSLR camera, her finger constantly clicking the shutter, capturing every angle of Sammy’s solo. During the second song, we were supposed to sway side to side. The boy next to me took a step and accidentally trod on the hem of my oversized shirt, which had escaped my waistband. I lost my balance and tumbled sideways, scraping my palm hard against the splintered stage floor. It stung—a sharp, hot burn as a patch of skin peeled away. But I forced myself not to cry. I scrambled back up, tucked my shirt in again, and kept singing. My mother never saw it. She was too busy recording a video of Sammy’s high note. When the show ended, we all went back to the classroom to wait for our parents. My dad finally arrived, running through the door, his face flushed. He’d had a crucial board meeting but had promised to meet me the second the curtain fell. He knelt in front of me, his eyes instantly locking onto the ridiculous white shirt. “Todd, where’s your cadet suit?” Then he saw my hand—the raw, red scrape on my palm. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening. I pointed toward the far side of the classroom. My mother was sitting at a desk, pouring water from a thermos for Sammy. Gary was standing right next to her, holding her trench coat over his arm. Sammy was still wearing my blue uniform. “Sammy has it,” I said quietly. “Mom took it off me.” The warmth drained from my dad’s face. He stood up, took my uninjured hand, and walked straight toward them. “Rebecca, what the hell is this?” Several nearby parents paused their conversations, turning to look. The smile on my mother’s face stiffened. She snatched her coat back from Gary and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “David, don’t start a scene here. Sammy was the soloist. He needed to look presentable.” “So you stripped your own son to dress someone else’s kid?” My dad stepped closer, lifting my scraped hand so she could see it. “Todd was tripping over a shirt three sizes too big because of you. He fell on stage and tore up his hand. Did you even notice?” My mother glanced at my palm, her expression barely wavering. “Kids fall down, David. It’s a scratch. If Sammy had gone on stage in his old clothes, the other kids would have made fun of him. Todd is mature. He understands.” “I don’t understand,” I said. My mother blinked, momentarily speechless. “I don’t understand,” I repeated, looking her in the eye. “You ripped the Velcro off my back. It hurt, and it made me sad.” Gary stepped forward, looking intensely uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck. “David, please don’t blame Rebecca. It’s my fault. I’m a screw-up who couldn’t even get his kid a decent outfit. Sammy, take it off right now. Give it back to Todd.” Gary reached for Sammy’s zipper, but Sammy immediately wrapped his arms around my mother’s leg, hiding his face. “Ms. Davis, I don’t want to. I love this suit.” My mother instinctively shielded Sammy behind her. “It’s just a piece of fabric, David. Are you really going to hold a grudge against a motherless child? I’ll buy Todd an identical one tomorrow.” “You can’t,” I said. “The tailor said those brass buttons were the last ones he had.” My dad let go of my hand and took a slow, deep breath. “Rebecca, you rob your own son just to play the saint for an audience. You make me sick.” Without waiting for her reply, he turned and led me out of the school. “David!” she called after us, her voice echoing down the hallway. “When are you going to grow up? You don’t have a single drop of empathy in you!” My dad didn’t look back. In the passenger seat of his car, I pulled the seatbelt across my chest. My dad pulled a sanitizing wipe from the glove box and gently dabbed at the dirt in my scraped palm. “Does it hurt, buddy?” “No,” I lied, shaking my head. I looked out the window. My mother was walking out of the school gates, flanked by Gary and Sammy. She unlocked her car, and Gary and Sammy climbed into the passenger seats as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This wasn’t the first time she had given my things away. Last month, my dad had waited in line with me for two hours to get a limited-edition dinosaur balloon at the street fair. We had barely walked a block when we ran into my mother and Sammy. Sammy pointed at the balloon, and my mother simply took the string out of my hand and handed it to him, telling me I was a month older and needed to be a good big brother. But I didn’t have a brother. The week before that, she had promised to take me to the adventure park to ride the giant rainbow slide. But at the entrance, Gary called to say Sammy had a fever and was crying for her. My mother left me in the park’s sandbox, telling me to play by myself. I sat in that sand for three hours. Eventually, a park security guard had to call my dad. By the time my dad left work and rushed over to get me, I had fallen asleep in the corner of the sandbox, my hair full of dirt. “Dad,” I said, turning to him. “Yeah, buddy?” “I don’t want anything Mom buys me anymore. I only want the things you get me.” My dad’s hand stopped moving. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. “Okay, Todd. From now on, whatever you want, Dad will get it for you.” Three days later, my mother brought home a massive cardboard box. Inside was a limited-edition Lego castle set. I was sitting on the living room rug, working on a puzzle, and didn’t look up when she walked in. She knelt beside me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Todd, are you still mad at Mommy?” I slotted a blue puzzle piece into place, keeping my mouth shut. “I didn’t think things through last time. Tell you what—tomorrow is the weekend. Just the three of us. No one else. We’ll go to the Westside Adventure Park and ride those double go-karts you’ve been begging to try. How does that sound?” The double go-karts required an adult to drive with a kid. My dad had been working late on a massive project and couldn’t take me, and I had begged my mother for weeks, but she had always claimed she was too busy with work. I stopped touching the puzzle and looked at her. “Just the three of us?” “Mommy promises.” She held up three fingers. “Tomorrow morning at nine. Just you, me, and Dad. We’ll drive out to the park.” I glanced at my dad, who was standing by the kitchen door, holding a glass of water. His face was expressionless, his eyes cool. He didn’t say a word. “Okay,” I agreed softly. My mother smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “That’s my good boy.” The next morning, I was up by eight, fully dressed in my sneakers and athletic gear. My dad had cleared his morning schedule and put on a casual pullover to join us. But when we walked down to the parking garage, my mother’s SUV was already running, and the front passenger seat wasn’t empty. Gary Sullivan rolled down his window, looking slightly embarrassed as he nodded at my dad. The back window slid down, and Sammy leaned out, clutching a giant rainbow lollipop. “Hi, Todd! Good morning!” I stood frozen beside the car door. My dad’s hand lingered on the door handle. He slowly turned his head to look at my mother through the driver’s side window. She offered a bright, easy smile. “David, Gary’s water main burst this morning, and the landlord has plumbers working in their apartment all day. Sammy was going stir-crazy with all the noise, so I thought it’d be nice to bring them along.” She pushed her door open, stepped out, and opened the back door for me. “Todd, sweetie, get in. You and Sammy can sit together in the back and share some snacks.” I stared into her eyes. “You said yesterday it would only be the three of us.” She knelt down to meet my gaze, her voice perfectly patient. “Todd, plans change. Sammy’s apartment is a total mess right now, and he was really scared by the plumbers. I know you’re a sweet, generous boy. Having a friend along will make it more fun, won’t it?” She always did this. She used this incredibly gentle, reasonable voice to hand my happiness over to someone else. “The go-karts only have two seats,” I pointed out. “Mommy can buy two tickets,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll take Sammy for a spin first, and then I’ll take you right after. Deal?” “No.” I pulled my shoulder away from her touch, taking a step back. “I don’t want to go anymore. Let’s go home.” Her smile faltered, but she kept her voice level. “Todd, it’s a beautiful day. Don’t throw a tantrum. I kept my promise, didn’t I? I’m taking you to the park.” “You didn’t keep it,” I said, shaking my head. “You said just us. There are other people in the car. You lied.” I grabbed my dad’s hand. “Dad, let’s go home.” My dad squeezed my fingers tightly. He gave my mother a cold, hard look. “Go ahead without us, Rebecca. Todd and I are staying behind.” My mother stood up, her brow knitting into a sharp line. “David, don’t encourage his bad behavior. Gary and Sammy are already in the car. If you refuse to go now, do you know how uncomfortable you’re making them feel?” Gary quickly opened his door and stepped out. “Rebecca, maybe we should just head back. We don’t want to ruin your family day.” “Don’t be silly, Gary. Your place is completely unlivable right now.” My mother put a hand on Gary’s arm, pushing him gently back toward the car, before turning her sharp eyes back to me. “Todd, stop being difficult. Get in the car.” I looked down at the gravel beneath my sneakers. “Mom, just take Sammy. He doesn’t have a mom, so you can just be his. I don’t want the go-karts anymore. And I don’t want you.” My dad didn’t take me home that morning. Instead, he walked me out of the neighborhood, hailed a cab, and took me to a pottery studio downtown. “Todd, you can mold whatever you want today. Dad’s right here with you.” I sunk my hands into the cool, wet clay, shaping a clumsy little cat and then a lopsided car. I didn’t cry or throw a fit, but when we went to get lunch, I could only manage a few bites of my food. By three in the afternoon, my neck started to itch. I scratched at it, feeling a cluster of raised, bumpy welts under my collar. My dad noticed me scratching, pulled my collar down to look, and his face turned pale. I’ve had a severe seafood allergy since I was a baby—the kind that triggers intense, sudden hives. Something in the broth at the restaurant must have been cross-contaminated. Within minutes, the red, swollen hives spread down my arms and onto my face. I was shaking from the intense itching. My dad scooped me up and ran out of the mall. “Don’t scratch, Todd. Dad’s getting you to the hospital.” The pediatric ER was a nightmare of weekend crowds. When my dad rushed me to the triage desk, the screen showed over forty people ahead of us. He pulled out his phone and dialed my mother. The first call went straight to voicemail. The second rang for a long time before she finally answered. “Rebecca, Todd is having a severe allergic reaction and the ER is packed. You know the chief of pediatrics here, don’t you? Call Dr. Henderson and see if he can fit us in immediately! We’re on our way up to the clinic.” The background on her end was noisy—the loud, mechanical roar of the amusement park rides. “Hives? Is it really that bad?” her voice sounded distant, competing with the noise. “He’s covered from head to toe, Rebecca! He’s clawing at his skin! Call Henderson now!” “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll text him. Take Todd straight to Room 3 on the second floor. I’ll meet you there.” My dad carried me up the stairs to the outpatient wing. Outside Room 3, about a dozen anxious parents were waiting. My dad gave the nurse our name, and she checked her tablet. “Yes, Mrs. Davis called ahead. Dr. Henderson said you can go in as soon as the current patient leaves.” My dad let out a ragged sigh of relief, sitting down on a vinyl bench and holding me close. I was miserable, my fingernails digged into my arms, leaving angry red tracks. My dad gently pinned my hands down, blowing cool air onto my skin to soothe the burn. The heavy wooden door of Room 3 clicked open, and a family walked out. But before my dad could stand up, a small group came rushing down the hallway. It was my mother. She was leading the way, with Gary close behind, holding Sammy in his arms. My mother marched straight to the clinic door. My dad stepped forward. “Rebecca, thank god. Get Todd in there, he’s miserable.” My mother looked at me, then put a hand on my dad’s chest, blocking him. “David, wait a second.” She turned, ushering Gary and Sammy forward. “Dr. Henderson, could you take a look at Sammy first?” she called into the room. “He had some ice cream at the park and he’s been vomiting and having diarrhea. He’s running a fever, and I’m terrified it’s acute gastroenteritis.” My dad stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Rebecca, are you out of your mind? Todd is covered in hives and can barely breathe from the itching, and you’re letting Sammy go first?” My mother turned around, her voice remaining smooth, measured, and entirely reasonable. “David, keep your head. Hives are just an itchy skin irritation; it’s not life-threatening. Sammy is different. He’s throwing up and feverish. Small children dehydrate so quickly. If we wait, he could end up on an IV.” She pushed Gary into the examination room. “Dr. Henderson, please, look at him first.” Gary glanced back at us over his shoulder, his face a mask of awkward apology. “David, I’m so sorry, Sammy’s really in bad shape…” The door clicked shut in our faces. I sat back down on the bench, staring at the sterile white door. Strangely, the itching on my neck didn’t seem as bad anymore. A cold, heavy weight was settling deep in my chest, pushing everything else out. Beside me, my dad was trembling with a quiet, terrifying rage. Finally, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Rae,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “Where are you right now?” Five minutes later, a tall figure in a cream-colored trench coat came rushing down the hallway.

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With our wedding just around the corner, I found a digital trail of highway toll receipts on my fiancée’s phone. Every trip had started in the dead of night. A twelve-hour drive, straight. To keep me from noticing, she would turn right around and make the grueling journey back the very next day. Looking at that exhausting, relentless schedule, my friends tried to reassure me. “It’s normal, man. Cold feet. Some women just panic before the big day. She’ll snap out of it soon.” But I didn’t buy it. So, I followed her through the night, all the way to San Francisco. And there, in the passenger seat of her car, I saw him. I watched them get out, laughing, and walk together into a boutique hotel. Panic flared in my chest. Blinded by a sudden, desperate anger, I lunged across the street to catch her, but I never made it. A passing car clipped me, sending me crashing hard onto the wet asphalt. As my vision blurred and the pain set in, my fingers trembled over my screen, typing frantically. “Please pick up. I’ve been in an accident.” On the hotel steps, Vera paused. She unlocked her phone, her eyes scanning the screen. My breath hitched in my throat, waiting, praying for her to call. But she didn’t. She slipped the phone back into her pocket, turned, and followed the boy inside. I blacked out. It wasn’t until seven that evening that I finally dragged myself back to our apartment, my leg set in a heavy plaster cast, throbbing with a dull, sickening ache. Only then did Vera’s name light up my screen, her voice dripping with artificial worry. “Liam! What do you mean you were in an accident? Are you okay? Which hospital are you at? I’m coming to get you.” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice entirely flat. There was no need to pick me up. And there was no need for a wedding anymore. … Perhaps it was the heavy silence on my end that tipped her off. Vera began to explain, her voice soft and defensive. “My phone died this afternoon. It was just such a crazy busy day, and I didn’t have my charger.” That had been her go-to excuse for the last three months. If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes, I’d probably still believe it. “Okay.” “How is your leg? Is it bad?” She sounded genuinely concerned. I glanced up at the wall clock. 7:40 PM. Exactly eight hours since I had sent her that text. I snapped a photo of my heavy white cast and sent it over. A comminuted fracture. Vera looked at it, but she didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she sent back a few photos of pink cherry blossoms. “They’re in full bloom here. It’s like a pink sea. The photos don’t even do it justice.” I stared at the images for a long moment before replying. “Is San Francisco really that beautiful?” Beautiful enough to drive twelve hours for, four times in a single month? She had sent me virtually the same photo four times now. Same angle, same composition. She couldn’t even be bothered to change up her lies. There was a pause. She clearly hadn’t expected the question. “Yeah. It’s nice.” After a brief hesitation, she added, half-shielding the truth, “Actually, I’m only half-vacationing. I’m mostly here helping a friend out.” I didn’t ask who the friend was. She wouldn’t tell me anyway, and I already knew. It was Bradley, her ex. Bradley had just updated his Instagram. He was wearing a perfectly tailored linen shirt, posing under a canopy of cherry blossoms. The photographer clearly loved him; every shot captured the perfect golden hour light. It was a stark contrast to the photos Vera took of me—blurry, out of focus, nine times out of ten my face was obscured. Whenever I teased her about it, she’d just laugh it off. “I’m just bad at photography, Liam. Cut me some slack.” But looking at Bradley’s feed, the truth clicked. It wasn’t a lack of skill. It was a lack of interest. Taking my silence as exhaustion, she said, “Get some rest, okay? I’ll head back early tomorrow morning.” I said okay and hung up. I clicked on Bradley’s post again, reading his caption. “Grad school is finally over! Four back-and-forth trips this month, but luckily, I had my favorite person helping me through it all. So grateful.” Four trips for him. Four twelve-hour drives for Vera. She hadn’t missed a single one. Meanwhile, our wedding venue, the caterers, the tuxedo fittings—she hadn’t spared a single second for any of it. My head throbbed, and my cast felt suffocatingly tight. After spending an hour online canceling our wedding venue bookings, I stared at the ceiling. It was nearly 2:00 AM before I finally drifted into a restless sleep. When I woke up, Vera was already back. The rich, savory scent of homemade chicken soup drifted from the kitchen. Seeing me stir, she walked over and gently brushed a hand against my cheek. “How did the accident even happen?” I stared at her for a moment. “I was out, and I thought I saw someone I knew. I tried to catch up to them, but I wasn’t fast enough.” She let out a soft, dismissive murmur. “Well, be more careful next time.” She didn’t ask where I’d been, or who I’d seen. Because she didn’t care. My flight itinerary to San Francisco was sitting right there on the entryway console, in plain sight. She didn’t even glance at it. My eyes stung. I gripped my crutches and swung myself out of bed. After a quick wash, I hobbled over to the dining table and reached for the ladle to pour myself a bowl of soup. “Don’t touch that!” Vera lunged forward, her voice sharp and panicked. I froze, the empty bowl trembling slightly in my hands. “It’s not for me?” She softened slightly, looking sheepish. “No… a friend of mine caught a really bad flu. I promised I’d whip up some soup for them.” She hesitated, then added, “But I mean, if you really want some, go ahead.” She forced a smile, but the underlying reluctance in her voice was impossible to miss. I didn’t say anything. I just looked down at my broken leg, set the bowl back down on the table, and let go. Relieved, Vera immediately sealed the thermos and packed a few side dishes into a paper bag. Once she was done, she finally looked at me. “What do you want for lunch? I can make you some grilled cheese?” “Who is this friend?” Our voices collided in the quiet room. “Just someone from school. You don’t know them,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced. I nodded. “A guy or a girl?” The faint smile slid off Vera’s face. She sighed, a trace of irritation bleeding through. “Liam, what is with you lately? They’re just a friend. That’s it.” “Are you just stressed out because of the wedding planning?” I didn’t push. She turned toward the kitchen to start lunch, but then her phone buzzed on the counter. Vera snatched it up, her eyes darting over the screen. Within seconds, she was untying her apron, grabbing the thermos, and hurrying toward the door. “Something came up. I have to run out for a bit. Make sure you eat something, okay?” Before I could even open my mouth, the door clicked shut behind her. She was in a frantic rush to tend to her ex’s minor cold, completely blind to her fiancé sitting there with a fractured leg. My phone vibrated. A notification popped up: “Your wedding dress rental cancellation has been processed successfully.” I tapped confirm, then opened a food delivery app and ordered a sandwich. After eating, I took an Uber to the clinic to pick up my pain medication. But as I walked through the lobby, I ran straight into Vera. She was carrying Bradley’s leather backpack in one hand and the empty soup thermos in the other. The moment she saw me, her laughter froze mid-air. But she recovered quickly, smoothing over her expression. “Oh! We just ran into each other outside.” Right. A coincidence. Just happened to be at the same clinic, and he just happened to have finished every last drop of her soup. Bradley didn’t offer an explanation. Instead, he flashed me a polite, easy smile. “Hey, Liam. Why don’t you grab your meds first? We’ll wait for you outside.” He sounded so comfortable, so welcoming. Like he was the host, and I was the guest. Vera nodded in agreement as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I said nothing. When we got to her car, I instinctively reached for the passenger door. Bradley looked at my hand, a polite but pointed smile on his lips. “Sorry, I’m so used to riding shotgun. Do you want me to move?” His tone was pleasant, but his body didn’t budge an inch. I looked past him. The seat’s height and the angle of the headrest were adjusted perfectly for him. Before I could say a word, Vera opened the rear door for me. “Liam, you should probably sit in the back. It’ll be easier with your leg anyway.” The entire drive back, they chatted and laughed, while I sat in the backseat behind an invisible wall, watching their world from the outside. Suddenly, she pulled over by a fresh produce stand. Without a word, she jumped out of the car and ran toward it. I rolled down my window, watching her go. Bradley spoke up from the front seat. “Don’t worry. She’s just grabbing some fresh figs.” I froze. Before I could process that, Vera was already jogging back, her eyes bright with excitement. “Bradley, look! I found them!” As she climbed back in, she suddenly remembered I was in the back. “Oh, Liam. Is there anything you wanted? I can go back and—” Before she could finish, Bradley split open a ripe fig and popped it right into her mouth. “Aren’t they amazing?” He didn’t pull his hand away immediately, his fingertips lingering on her lower lip for a beat too long. Vera’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. She shot a panicked glance at the rearview mirror, quickly adjusted her seat, and cleared her throat. “Right. Let’s get going.” Bradley sat back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. In the mirror, my expression remained entirely blank. When my eyes met Vera’s tense, searching gaze, I actually let out a soft laugh. The car suddenly lurched forward as she hit the gas. The second we dropped Bradley off at his apartment, Vera turned around to face me. “Please don’t overthink that, Liam. He’s always been a tease. It was just a joke.” “Do you even remember that you’re getting married?” The question was sharp, cutting through the thick air. Vera’s expression soured, and she fell silent. I turned my head toward the window, the passing streetlights blurring together. Vera and Bradley had always been the golden couple. Back in college, everyone knew them as the brilliant, perfect match. They ran debate prep together, won regional titles side-by-side, traveled the country. But they were both too stubborn, too competitive. They fought constantly, broke up, made up, and fought again. By graduation, reality caught up to them, and they ended it for good. Vera had cried like her entire world was ending. I’d never seen her look so fragile. I remember stepping off the campus shuttle, seeing her huddled on a bench, and gently placing my baseball cap over her head to hide her tears. I walked away before she could even look up. It was over a year before our paths crossed again. When they did, things progressed naturally. We exchanged numbers, started dating, and eventually built a life together. Our relationship was quiet, warm, and comfortable. There were no dramatic screaming matches, no devastating breakups. And that, I realized, was why she found it boring. “Stop reading into things. Nothing happened between us,” she said, her tone hardening. I looked up and locked eyes with her in the mirror. “He’s the friend from San Francisco, isn’t he?” “Yes,” she admitted, her voice flatly defiant. “He was sick, and I went to look after him. That’s all it was.” She looked back at the road, raising a massive wall between us. A wall meant to protect someone else, leaving me on the outside. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the ride. When we got to our building’s garage, my leg was throbbing from all the walking. I waited by the trunk, hoping she’d offer a hand. Vera walked over, turned her back to me, and crouched down. “Get on. I’ll carry you.” I was too exhausted to argue. I leaned onto her back, closing my eyes against her shoulder. As the elevator rose, her phone chimed. She hesitated, looking down at the screen, before murmuring my name. “Liam?” I didn’t answer, pretending to be asleep. Assuming I was out cold, she opened the text. It was a photo from Bradley—him shirtless, posing by a pool. “How does this look? Thinking of posting it on Instagram.” Vera’s breathing hitched, turning shallow and rapid. She typed furiously: “Don’t you dare post that.” “Why not?” Vera’s grip on my thighs tightened. “Because I’m your woman.” “Glad you finally admit it. Too bad you’re still marrying someone else.” This time, Vera didn’t reply. The elevator doors slid open. She carried me into our apartment with delicate, quiet movements, laying me gently down on the sofa. Then, she immediately hurried into the office, eager to check if Bradley had actually posted the photo. She didn’t see the damp patch on the back of her shirt where my tears had soaked through. It was more than two hours later when she finally stepped out of the office, looking entirely relieved. Seeing me awake, she ran a hand through my hair. “Hungry? What do you want for lunch?” “Just some fried rice,” I said, shifting my body slightly and brushing her arm away. Vera blinked, her eyes tracking my movement and landing on my bare hand. “Where is your ring?” I had taken it off the second I woke up in the hospital. “It gets in the way when I wash up.” “Did you put it somewhere safe? You can’t just lose your wedding band, Liam.” “Does the ring really matter?” Vera’s brows knitted together. “What kind of question is that? Of course it matters. It’s the symbol of our commitment.” Yet just minutes ago, she was wearing hers while flirting with her ex. When I stayed silent, she took a slow, deep breath, kneeling to take my hands in hers. “Liam, you need to have some faith in us. At the end of the day, you’re the one I’m marrying.” But that didn’t stop her from keeping her ex on a leash. I stared at her, genuinely wondering if she ever got tired of the juggling act. How did she find the energy to love two people at once? After lunch, I went into the bedroom under the guise of resting, and quietly packed a bag. When I hobbled back out, Vera was putting on her coat. “Going somewhere?” “An alumni dinner.” As if to preempt my suspicions, she added quickly, “Do you want to come?” “Yes.” I looked up and smiled at her stunned expression. “I’ll come with you.” It was the first time I had ever insisted on joining her friends. The look on Vera’s face was far from thrilled. Bradley was waiting outside the restaurant lobby when we pulled up. When he saw me limping beside her, his face stiffened for a fraction of a second. But he recovered instantly, plastering on a warm smile. “Hey, Liam. Glad you could make it.” “Thanks,” I said. My eyes fell on his shirt—a soft, powder-blue linen. Then I looked at Vera, who was wearing a powder-blue knit dress. Even their watches were matching. Walking behind them, I felt like a third wheel on a date. The moment we entered the private dining room, someone stood up with a loud grin. “Vera! We heard you’re getting married! When did you and Bradley finally get back together? You kept that quiet! After all these years, I knew you two would end up together!” Beside me, Vera froze, her entire posture stiffening. Bradley, however, didn’t look bothered at all. In fact, he turned his head slightly to look at me, scanning my face to see if I’d break. Someone who actually knew the truth cleared their throat, nudging the speaker. “Dude, you’ve had too much to drink. This is Liam, Vera’s fiancé.” The room went dead quiet. The guy’s face turned bright red, and he immediately apologized. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. My bad.” I offered a polite, easy smile. “Don’t worry about it.” Bradley let out a soft laugh. It was sharp, sudden, and dripping with condescension. A quiet mockery of my tolerance. This time, I didn’t let it slide. I turned to look at him directly. “What’s funny, Bradley?” He clearly hadn’t expected me to call him out in front of everyone. His smug smile faltered. “Nothing. I didn’t laugh, Liam. You’re being a little sensitive, don’t you think?” “Am I?” I said softly. “So when you texted my fiancée a shirtless photo of yourself in swimming trunks yesterday, was I just being sensitive about that, too?” The room went instantly, suffocatingly quiet. You could have heard a pin drop. Bradley’s face drained of color. He looked down, thoroughly humiliated, his jaw tight. Vera’s expression turned utterly venomous. She grabbed my wrist with an iron grip and pulled me toward the door. “Liam, that is enough! Stop making a scene!” My broken leg clipped the corner of the wall as she dragged me out, and a sharp, white-hot flash of pain shot up my spine. Once the pain subsided, I actually felt like laughing. I had just exposed her betrayal, and she was the one reprimanding me. “What are you so defensive about?” I asked. “I’m not defensive,” she snapped, her jaw clenched. “It was just a beach photo. Don’t be so provincial.” I nodded slowly. “Right. So if I texted my ex a photo of me in my underwear, you’d be totally fine with it? It’s just a photo, after all.” Vera rubbed her temples, looking incredibly weary. Behind the closed door, we could hear the awkward hum of her friends whispering. She didn’t want to do this here. “Just go home, Liam. We’ll talk about this at the apartment.” What was left to talk about? In a room full of people, when the lines were drawn, I was the one she cast aside. Her friends stared at me with varying degrees of pity as I gathered my coat. Behind them, Bradley stood leaning against the wall, crossing his arms with a smug, victorious little wave. I turned around and walked out. But I didn’t go back to our apartment. I took a cab to my parents’ place, where they were already waiting for me. We packed the last of my things into the trunk of their car. My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with a quiet, unconditional warmth. “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” she asked. I nodded. “I am.” By then, they had already sent out the notices to our relatives: “The wedding has been canceled.” On the drive to my parents’ house, my phone buzzed. Bradley had posted again. “Perfect reunion with the old crew! Let’s do this again next year!” In the group photo, Vera was pressed flush against him, her arm looped playfully through his. But I didn’t feel the sting anymore. I had already walked off the battlefield. At 8:00 PM, Vera finally unlocked the door to our apartment. But she wasn’t greeted by the smell of dinner or the sound of the TV. The flat was dead silent. A cold knot of dread tightened in her chest.

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My coworkers always told me I had the perfect girlfriend. No matter the weather, rain or shine, Lauren would call me without fail, offering sweet, gentle reminders to stay dry and keep warm. But my best friend, Wyatt, didn’t buy the act. “If you both work in the exact same building, why doesn’t she just walk out with you and ride home together?” he asked one afternoon, his voice laced with casual skepticism. I smiled, shaking my head, and offered the same excuse I always did: her department got off ten minutes earlier than mine. But in truth, every time I walked into the subway station, collapsing my wet umbrella while cold rain dripped down the back of my neck, a heavy, quiet ache would settle in my chest. That was until a coworker of mine ended up transferring to the firm where Wyatt worked. He was the one who sent me the photo. It was taken right outside their office building. The image was clear: Wyatt was holding a large umbrella, tilting it carefully over Lauren, shielding her body with his own as he guided her toward the passenger side of her car. Lauren hadn’t caught a single drop of rain. A follow-up text from my coworker popped up: “This has been going on for a month. I’ve been debating whether or not I should tell you.” I stared at the screen for a very long time, my mind completely blank, until a single tear slipped down my cheek and smeared the glass. She didn’t want to wait ten minutes for me. Because she was driving all the way across town, taking the long route, just to pick him up and drive home together. The car she was driving was one I had bought for her. I looked up at the window. Outside, the sky was black, releasing a furious, unforgiving downpour. 1 Right on cue, Lauren’s daily text message lit up my phone. It was the same predictable routine. “It’s pouring out. How are you getting home?” “Make sure you stay safe.” I stared at her words, but all I could see was the tilted angle of the umbrella in that photo. After a long pause, I typed out a brief reply. “I’m not coming home tonight.” I stayed at my desk until nine o’clock. Lauren sent message after message, but I didn’t reply to a single one. I simply didn’t know how to look her in the eye. At ten, she showed up at the office lobby. The moment she spotted me sitting alone in the dim reception area, she rushed over, shaking out a dry coat she carried on her arm and draping it over my shoulders. “Why haven’t you come home?” Before I could answer, she took my wrist and pulled me toward the exit, her voice a soft, scolding murmur. “Silly. You’re a grown man, Jesse. You’d think you’d know enough to go home when it’s raining.” Outside, the storm had quieted into a steady drizzle. She opened her umbrella and held it over us, but as we walked, she subtly tilted the canopy toward her own shoulder. The cold mist drifted onto my bare neck. That familiar, suffocating wave of helplessness washed over me again. As soon as we got into the car, I unlocked my phone and held the photo directly in front of her face. “Can you explain this?” Lauren froze. A flicker of sheer panic crossed her eyes before she quickly masked it. “We… we just happened to be heading the same way. Where did you even get this picture, Jesse?” I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re the one who needs to explain.” Lauren let out a dry, dismissive cough. “Wyatt is your best friend. He only looks out for me because of you. It’s just a favor.” I didn’t argue. I just kept my eyes locked on hers, searching for any trace of the woman I thought I knew. The silence inside the car became heavy and suffocating. Finally, Lauren let out a long, weary sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It’s absolutely nothing, Jesse. We’ve been together for eight years. Do you seriously trust some random gossip over me? You’re just overthinking things.” At that exact second, her phone began to ring. I glanced at the illuminated dashboard screen. The caller ID was a single red heart emoji. She answered, and Wyatt’s voice filled the quiet car. “Hey, the rain is brutal today. You’re definitely going to catch a cold when you get home. Make sure you brew some hot tea, okay?” He paused, then continued in a casual, familiar tone. “Oh, by the way, those bagels you bought for Jesse last month were amazing. Bring me some when you pick me up tomorrow morning, will you?” “Hello? Lauren? Can you hear me?” When had their conversations started sounding so comfortable? So much like an old married couple? For a terrifying second, I felt like a stranger intruding on someone else’s life. The car was dead silent. Lauren finally spoke, her voice tight. “Jesse knows.” Wyatt hung up almost instantly. A moment later, my own phone began to buzz with calls and a barrage of texts. All of them from Wyatt. “Jesse, buddy, you know how you get. Lauren and I are completely platonic, swear. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” Was I really just overthinking? I clicked the power button, turning my screen dark. My head was spinning, my vision blurring behind a hot screen of tears. “When did it start?” “Jesse, please don’t—” “I asked you when it started!” I pushed her hand away, lunging forward to grab the dashcam’s memory card reader. Lauren immediately tried to block me, scrambling to grab my wrists. But she was too late. I pulled up the footage on my phone. Today. Yesterday. The day before that. Every single day. The moment she clocked out, she drove straight to Wyatt’s office to pick him up. Every single day, rain or shine. And all the while, she had kept me at arm’s length with lies about mismatched schedules while I trudged through the rain to catch the subway. The loop only stored three months of data. By the time I finished scrolling through the dates, I was weeping openly, my chest heaving. “Why?” I sobbed, the sound raw and ugly. “Why would you do this to me? Why the two of you? Why?” Outside, a sudden crack of thunder shook the sky, a perfect, mocking soundtrack to my unraveling. Lauren reached out and tried to pull me into her arms. “Jesse, stop, please. It breaks my heart to see you like this…” I wrenched myself out of her embrace. I blinked away the burning tears, my throat raw. “We’re done,” I said. “It’s over.” The moment we got back to the apartment, I began packing my things. I remembered a joke I had made to Wyatt years ago when we first moved in. “I shouldn’t buy too much stuff,” I’d laughed. “If Lauren and I ever break up, packing will be humiliating.” How cruel, to have predicted my own ruin. It didn’t take long. Eight years of my life fit neatly into just two suitcases. Lauren sat on the edge of the sofa, watching me in icy silence. She didn’t offer a single word until I rolled my suitcases toward the front door. “I’m giving you one chance to regret this,” she said quietly. “We’re supposed to get married soon, Jesse. This little tantrum is getting ridiculous.” I responded by shutting the door behind me. Walking down the dark, wet street with my suitcases dragging behind me, my mind slipped back to our college graduation. “Lauren, I promise you, I will never let you suffer like this. We will always have a roof over our heads.” When we first arrived in New York City, we were young, broke, and squeezed into a miserable little apartment. One night, our landlord abruptly kicked us out at midnight because someone else offered double the rent. Our meager belongings had been thrown out into the hallway, our cheap suitcases tumbling down the stairs. I had picked up those broken bags, looked into her tear-streaked face, and made that promise. I had smiled then, full of foolish, naive hope. But I wasn’t smiling now. Now, I was the one walking the streets alone in the dark. Lauren, you absolute liar. Rainwater and sweat mixed on my face. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Wyatt’s name on the screen. “Jesse, stop being dramatic,” Wyatt said the moment I answered. “Go back home. Don’t make Lauren worry about you.” Worry about me. What a joke. Three years ago, Lauren had been overwhelmed by the pressure of working in New York and wanted to relocate to Charleston. I didn’t hesitate; I quit my promising management track job and followed her south. But Charleston’s job market wasn’t kind to me. The sudden stress, combined with a severe stomach ulcer, landed me in a hospital bed. Wyatt had flown down the moment he heard. I remembered him standing by my hospital bed, his eyes red with tears. He and Lauren took turns caring for me for two straight months until I recovered and finally landed a local desk job. I had felt so incredibly loved back then. But now, a sickening thought crept in. “When did they really start getting close? Was it during those long hours by my sickbed?” The more I thought, the more I loathed my own stupidity. The rain kept falling, and the thunder made me shiver to my bones. “Don’t worry about it,” I told Wyatt, my voice shaking. “I’m never going back. I hope I never see either of you again for the rest of my life. I can’t wish you well. Goodbye.” I hung up, dragged my bags into a nearby budget hotel, and checked in. Staring up at the sterile ceiling of my room, my mind replayed every detail of the evening. Sleep was impossible. I was used to Lauren’s weight beside me, her voice soothing me to sleep. I would never have that again. Tears slipped silently down into my hair, but I didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away. Suddenly, I thought I heard Lauren and Wyatt’s voices in the hallway. I must be losing my mind, I thought. But when I opened the door, they were actually standing there. When I demanded to know how they had found me, they both stumbled over their words, but the pieces fell into place quickly enough. To keep their little secret safe from me, Lauren had secretly installed a tracking app on my phone. No wonder she always knew where I was. Lauren tried to grab my hand. “Jesse, don’t look at me like that. It was only for your safety.” Wyatt wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “See? He’s perfectly fine. You worried over nothing.” He looked at me, his lip curling in disgust. “I honestly thought you’d gone off to get a room with some random girl. If Lauren hadn’t been hysterical, I wouldn’t have wasted my night coming here.” Lauren nudged him, frowning. “Wyatt, shut up.” But Wyatt kept going. “You and Lauren are getting married. Stop acting like a child. I can explain the rides. Lauren is delicate. She can’t walk in the rain—it triggers her migraines.” The excuse sounded horribly familiar. Three years ago, Lauren had suddenly insisted on buying a car. I had been thrilled, thinking she was finally planning for our future. I paid for the vehicle in full, in cash, and registered it under her name as a gesture of my devotion. But once the keys were in her hand, she never brought up marriage again. Instead, she claimed Wyatt needed to borrow it for his commute. That “temporary” loan had lasted three whole years. Now, the memory of the night before we bought that car flashed in my mind. Wyatt had caught a fever after getting drenched in a storm. Lauren and I had gone to his apartment to bring him medicine. I remembered him sighing on his couch. “I wish I never had to walk in the rain again.” “How long?” I asked, my voice flat. “How long has it been?” Wyatt answered without a shred of hesitation. “Three years.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Three years. The car had been bought for him from the very beginning. I had been nothing but a bank account and a fool. “Get out,” I said, slamming the door in their faces. I called the front desk and had security escort them out of the building. I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, I bought a new phone, threw my old one in a trash can, and walked into my office to hand in my resignation. During our three years in Charleston, Lauren had used her family connections to climb into a comfortable management role. Meanwhile, despite my degree from a top-tier university, I had settled for a low-level administrative clerk job just to keep her happy. My work was so simple that it didn’t even require a transition period. No one tried to convince me to stay. As I walked out of the HR department, I ran right into Lauren. She blocked my path, her eyes darting between me and the director’s office. “Are you going to complain to management?” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Are you trying to tell them I’m immoral? You’ve really grown a spine, haven’t you, Jesse?” “I didn’t—” “Let me tell you something,” she interrupted, stepping closer. “My word carries a lot more weight in this company than yours ever will.” I remembered our life in New York. I had earned five times her salary back then. She used to knock politely before entering my office. But in Charleston, the power dynamic had completely shifted. She reached back, curling her arm through Wyatt’s as he stepped up behind her. “If I hear a single whisper of you trying to ruin Wyatt’s reputation here, Jesse, I will make your life a living hell.” I had no energy left to explain myself. I brushed past her outstretched arm. “I just resigned,” I said quietly. “Let me through.” Lauren froze, then lunged forward to grab my sleeve. “What do you mean, you resigned? Explain yourself!” I tried to pull away from her grip. In the clumsy scuffle, she let out a sharp gasp, clutching her abdomen as she fell to her knees on the polished floor. I instinctively reached down to help her up. Before I could touch her, a shadow crossed my face. “Smack.” A stinging slap landed squarely across my cheek, sending a dull ring through my ears. Wyatt’s eyes were practically burning with rage as he scooped Lauren into his arms. “She’s two months pregnant!” he roared. “How dare you lay a hand on her!” Two months? My mind spun. Two months ago was exactly when we were supposed to get married. But she had suddenly called off the entire ceremony, canceling the venue and the dress at a massive financial loss. She had claimed the date was “unlucky.” Now I understood. She just couldn’t bear the thought of Wyatt’s child being born a bastard. My head throbbed, the world tilting on its axis. Wyatt sneered, his voice a cruel whisper. “Want to know when it happened? If you’d watched that dashcam footage for just one more second, you would have seen us doing it in the parking lot of your apartment building. Every single day, right before she went upstairs to you.” “Don’t blame us, Jesse. Lauren was bored of you years ago.” He smirked. “What’s with the blank stare? Want me to copy the files for you? You can listen to it on repeat.”

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I stayed by Carter’s side during his hardest five years, only to finally get his proposal. The night before our engagement party, I made him a plate of handmade spaghetti. It was his birthday. I took half a day off work, simmered the sauce for four hours, and hand-wrote every single wedding invitation. But when he came home, there was a woman in a white dress standing behind him. It was Seraphina, the first love he had pined over for years. Sera saw the food on the table and smiled softly. “Carter has a very sensitive stomach now, Chloe. He probably isn’t used to this kind of home-cooked stuff anymore, right?” Carter took off his coat and draped it naturally over her shoulders. “She spent a long time making it. Just have a few bites.” It sounded like a favor. Like charity. Sera sat in my usual seat and twirled a single strand of pasta. “It’s a bit salty.” Carter looked at me. “Put less salt next time.” I quietly said okay. But the next second, he slid a black card in front of me. “Sera just returned to the country and has nowhere to stay. She’ll be staying in our new house for now.” “You should go stay at Helen’s place for a while. There’s plenty of cash on the card. Don’t make things hard for yourself.” I looked at the spaghetti clumping together, then at the invitations with our names on them. The handwriting was so neat, yet so ridiculous.

When Carter slid the card in front of me, Sera was still sitting in my seat, slowly playing with the cold pasta. The spaghetti was completely soggy. Yet she acted like she didn’t notice, looking up with a sweet smile. “Chloe, please don’t misunderstand. I’m really just staying here for a few days.” Carter draped his coat over the chair, his voice flat. “Chloe, go stay with Helen for now. I’ll have someone pick you up before the wedding.” I stared at him. “That is our house.” “The deed is under my name.” He paused, as if realizing he sounded too harsh, and softened his tone. “Don’t throw a tantrum. Sera just got back. She doesn’t know her way around, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving her in a hotel.” Sera lowered her head. “Carter, maybe I should just leave. Chloe seems to really mind.” Carter frowned. “No need.” Suddenly, my throat felt incredibly tight. We chose that house together. I remembered telling him how the south-facing balcony would be perfect for growing mint and jasmine. He had replied that the kitchen needed to be huge so I would have plenty of room to cook. I believed him. So on the day we got the keys, I stood in the kitchen holding our new plates, feeling happy for hours. It turned out that all that excitement was mine alone. I picked up the invitations from the table. “What about the wedding?” Carter looked at me. “It goes on as planned.” “Where does my mom sit?” He looked like he had just remembered my mother existed. “Sera’s health isn’t good, so she needs to be at the VIP table where I can look after her. Helen can sit at the second table. It’s the same thing.” I let out a dry laugh. “My mom has bad legs.” “I’ll have the staff arrange a wheelchair.” He thought of everything. Sera put her fork down and sighed softly. “Chloe, Carter is already being so good to you. The wedding, the house, the ring—he hasn’t skimped on anything.” “You shouldn’t be too greedy.” I looked at Carter. He didn’t contradict her. The tiny spark of hope left in my heart was completely snuffed out by his silence. I put the invitations back on the table. “I’m not leaving tonight.” Carter’s brows furrowed. “Chloe, don’t make this difficult for me.” “I won’t.” I took the plate of spaghetti, walked into the kitchen, and dumped it into the trash can. Carter followed me inside, grabbing my wrist. “It’s just a plate of pasta. Is this really necessary?” “You’re right.” I looked down at the empty plate. “It’s just a plate of pasta.” He was quiet for a moment, then reached for the plate. “I’ll have the housekeeper make you something else.” I stepped back, avoiding his touch. Sera stood at the kitchen doorway, her voice sounding as soft as cotton. “Carter, let it go. I don’t think Chloe wants to see me right now.” Carter let go of my wrist and turned to her. “Go get some rest first.” Standing in the kitchen, I watched him open the door to the master bedroom for her. In that room, I chose the bedsheets. I installed the bedside lamp. Even the closet still held the silk pajamas I had bought for our wedding night. Before Sera stepped inside, she glanced back at me. She smiled. The door clicked shut. And in my hand, a hairline crack suddenly split across the empty ceramic plate.

The next morning, I woke up on the couch. I was covered with Carter’s suit jacket. I stared at it for a few seconds. Just as I was about to sit up, I heard Sera’s voice coming from the kitchen. “Carter, does Chloe hate me? She slept on the couch last night. Was she trying to make me feel guilty?” Carter’s voice was low. “She’s just stubborn. She’ll get over it in a couple of days.” “Are you going to blame me?” “No.” “But you used to say you didn’t want a noisy home after marriage.” Carter paused. “Chloe is very sensible.” I pulled the jacket off, folded it neatly, and placed it on the armrest. Sensible. Always “sensible.” I walked into the kitchen. Sera was holding a cup of warm milk, wearing my pajamas. She gasped when she saw me, looking startled. “Chloe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t bring any clothes last night, and Carter said I could wear yours.” Carter looked at me. “It’s just a set of pajamas.” I looked back at him. “Do you know that my mom bought those for me?” He froze. My mom didn’t know how to shop online. She spent hours in a department store picking those out, saying a girl should wear something comfortable and beautiful after getting married. I had been saving them. Sera bit her lip. “Should I take them off and give them back to you now?” Carter frowned. “Sera.” Then he turned to me. “Chloe, don’t be so petty.” I nodded. “Right. I’m the petty one.” Carter clearly didn’t like my tone. He reached out to pull my arm. “Go wash up. We’re going to try on wedding dresses today.” Sera’s eyes lit up, but she quickly looked down. “A wedding dress… that sounds wonderful.” Carter noticed. He always noticed Sera’s emotions instantly. Half an hour later at the bridal boutique, the stylist rolled out the wedding dress I had custom-ordered. Before I could even touch it, Sera whispered, “It’s so beautiful.” Carter looked at her. “Want to try it on?” My fingers went stiff. Sera waved her hands quickly. “That’s not right. It’s Chloe’s.” But Carter was already speaking to the stylist. “Bring another one in a size S.” I looked at him. “Carter.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sera just wants to see how it looks. Don’t overthink everything.” Sera went into the fitting room. When she came out, even the boutique staff gasped. She was very thin. Wearing my dress, the waistline hung loose. Carter stood in front of her, gently adjusting her veil. His movements were so natural, as if he had done it a thousand times. The stylist smiled. “Mr. and Mrs. Carter look so perfect together.” The air went dead silent. Carter didn’t correct her. Sera blushed. “Don’t say that. The real bride is over there.” Everyone turned to look at me. I was sitting in the corner, still clutching the fitting receipt with my name on it. Carter finally looked back. “Chloe, go ahead and try yours.” I stood up. But before I could walk over, Sera suddenly tripped on the long train of the dress and fell forward. Carter caught her instantly, his voice tightening. “Are you hurt?” Sera leaned into his chest. “I think I sprained my ankle.” He picked her up in his arms immediately, turning to me. “Try it on yourself. Send me the pictures.” I watched them walk out. The stylist asked in a low, awkward voice, “Miss Helen… do you still want to try it on?” I looked down at the dress another woman had just worn. Suddenly, I felt completely drained. My phone buzzed. It was a message from my mom. *“Chloe, does the dress look beautiful? Mom is waiting for pictures.”* I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I turned it off.

Carter didn’t return until evening. He walked in holding a box of cake. “I bought this for you. Don’t be mad anymore.” I looked at the logo on the box. It was from Sera’s favorite bakery. He had waited in line with me there once. I found it too sweet and didn’t finish it. Back then, he said he would remember that. It turned out he didn’t remember my taste. He remembered hers. I asked, “How is Sera’s ankle?” “She’s fine. The doctor said she just needs to rest for a few days.” “What about the wedding dress?” Carter set the cake down. “We’ll order a new one.” “Is there enough time?” “We’ll just pay extra for rush delivery.” He was always like this. As if money could erase any insult. I took out my phone. “My mom wants to see the wedding photos.” Carter hesitated. “Don’t send them to her yet.” “Why?” “The boutique staff posted a video of Sera in the dress on TikTok. People in our circle saw it. I don’t want Helen to misunderstand.” I smiled. “Misunderstand what?” He looked at me, annoyed. “Chloe, do you have to talk like that?” Sera came out of the master bedroom, her ankle wrapped in a bandage, leaning against the doorframe. “Carter, don’t blame Chloe. It’s my fault.” I ignored her and looked straight at Carter. “Make her move out.” Carter’s expression darkened. “She can’t even walk right now.” “She can stay at a hotel with a nurse.” “She isn’t comfortable with strangers.” “And I’m not comfortable with another woman living in my future home.” He fell silent. Sera’s tears began to fall. “Chloe, if you really can’t stand me, I’ll leave right now.” She started hobbling toward the door. Carter immediately caught her, his tone dropping. “Stop nonsense.” Then, he turned to me. “Chloe, apologize.” I thought I heard him wrong. “What did you say?” “Sera didn’t mean any harm. Your words hurt her.” I clenched my fists. “And what about me?” Carter frowned. “You are my fiancée. You shouldn’t be so petty with her.” Fiancée. The word sounded so cheap coming from his mouth. I remembered the year his stomach ulcers got so bad that he called me at three in the morning. I rushed across the city to make him soup and stayed by his hospital bed all night. He had leaned back and told me, *“Chloe, I promise our home will always have a light left on for you.”* The light was still on. But it was shining on someone else. I didn’t apologize. Carter didn’t force me either. He just pulled out his iPad. “I had the digital invitations updated.” My chest tightened. “Updated to what?” “Sera is going to attend as a guest of honor. We added her name to the bridal party speeches.” I took the iPad and saw the digital invitation. Sera’s name was prominently displayed in the family speech section. My mother’s name had been pushed to the very bottom. I pointed at the screen. “Put my mom’s name back where it was.” Carter said, “The schedule is set. Don’t make a scene.” Sera whispered, “Chloe, I’m sure Helen doesn’t care about these minor details, right?” I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw the iPad onto the couch. Carter’s face went completely cold. “Chloe, you’re becoming unrecognizable lately.” I asked, “Then what should I be like?” He stared at me, speaking very slowly. “At least, you shouldn’t make me feel so exhausted.” Something blocked my throat. Sera spoke up at the perfect moment. “Carter, let’s drop it. Don’t we have to meet your mother tomorrow to sign the prenup? Don’t let me ruin your important day.” The prenup. I looked at Carter. He avoided my gaze. “It’s just a formality.” But at that moment, a horrible feeling washed over me.

When the prenuptial agreement was placed in front of my mom, her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Carter sat across from her, his voice smooth and polite. “Helen, this is just to protect both sides. Chloe won’t be treated unfairly after we marry.” My mom didn’t understand legal jargon, but she understood one specific clause. *If the marriage is called off due to the bride’s actions, the bride must return the engagement ring and reimburse all wedding expenses.* She asked carefully, “What counts as ‘the bride’s actions’?” Sera, sitting beside Carter, explained gently, “For example, if Chloe’s emotional instability damages the family reputation.” My mom’s face went completely pale. I slammed the agreement shut. “We’re not signing this.” Carter looked at me. “Don’t be reckless.” “I said, I’m not signing it.” His voice remained calm. “Chloe, the invitations are already out. If you make a scene now, what will the relatives think of Helen?” That single sentence hit my weakest spot. My mom had been excited about this wedding for months. Whenever the neighbors asked, she would proudly tell them that Carter was a good man and that I was lucky. I couldn’t bear to imagine her face if she found out the truth. Sera slid the pen toward me. “Chloe, just sign it. Carter would never hurt you.” I stared at the pen. There was a scratch on the cap. It was a graduation gift I bought for Carter years ago. He had told me he used that exact pen to sign his first big business contract. Now, it was being used to force me into a corner. Suddenly, my mom clutched her chest, gasping for air. I jumped up in terror. “Mom!” Carter stood up too. “Get her to the hospital.” On the way, Carter drove incredibly fast. For a second, I thought he actually cared. Until Sera’s call came through the car speakers. Her voice was panicked. “Carter, my ankle hurts so bad. I’m all alone at home.” Carter gripped the steering wheel, silent for two seconds. I stared at him. “My mom is in the back seat.” “I know,” he said. But the car still pulled over at the next intersection. He called his assistant and told him to meet us, then turned to me. “He’ll go with you to the hospital. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Carter!” He didn’t look at me. “Sera is terrified of pain.” My mom leaned against me, weakly patting my hand. “Chloe, it’s fine. Let him go.” Even now, she was trying to save face for him. I suddenly realized how pathetic my persistence had been. At the hospital, the doctor said my mom had suffered an acute panic attack and needed to be admitted for observation. When I went to pay, my card was declined. The receptionist said, “This card has been frozen.” It was the secondary card Carter had given me for wedding emergencies. I called him. When it picked up, Sera’s voice came through. “Chloe, Carter is wrapping my ankle. He’s busy right now.” I said, “Put him on.” Carter took the phone. “What’s wrong?” “The card is frozen.” “I had my accountant freeze it.” His voice was cold. “You’re too emotional today. Take some time to calm down. My assistant will handle the hospital bills.” I gripped the phone tight. “My mom is waiting to be admitted!” There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Then I heard Sera whisper in the background, “Carter, is Chloe still blaming me?” Carter sighed. “Chloe, stop using Helen to guilt-trip me.” I couldn’t say a single word. My mother lying in a hospital bed had become nothing but a bargaining chip to him. I had to text every contact in my phone to borrow enough money for the deposit. At 2:00 AM, I went back to the house to pack some clothes for my mom. The master bedroom door was ajar. Carter was standing by the bed, tucking Sera in. Sera asked, “What if Chloe refuses to sign the prenup tomorrow?” Carter replied, “She will.” “Are you that sure?” “She can’t live without me.” Standing outside the door, my fingers went completely numb. Sera asked again, “Do you love her?” Carter was silent for a very long time. So long that I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then I heard him say, “She’s suitable for marriage.”

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The sensation of falling into a bottomless abyss suddenly stopped. I opened my eyes, gasping for air. In my arms was a warm, fluffy ball of fur. Nugget, my Golden Retriever, was shivering, burying his wet nose into my palm. I was alive. I really came back. The bone-shattering pain of being pushed off the rooftop in my past life still felt incredibly real. “Chloe Miller! Are you deaf?!” My roommate, Ashley Vance, pinched her nose, taking a dramatic step back. Her perfectly manicured red nails pointed at Nugget as she stomped her feet in sheer disgust. “That smelly mutt is shedding everywhere! It’s literally ruining my Clean Girl Aesthetic!” “Throw him out right now! Don’t you dare contaminate my luxury minimalist space!” She screamed about high-end luxury and minimalism, yet the “designer” slippers on her feet were already peeling at the edges. In my past life, to keep the peace, I cried and sent Nugget to the countryside that very night. Nugget ended up eating poisoned rat bait and died a painful death. And my compliance only made her abuse worse. In the end, just to monopolize the cheap rental lease of this downtown apartment, she pushed me off the rooftop. New hatred and old grudges clashed in my chest, and my anger exploded. Minimalist? Dust-free? Afraid of dirt, huh? I held Nugget on my lap and pinched a large handful of loose golden fur from his back. Ashley froze, not realizing what I was doing. In one swift motion, I lunged forward and stuffed the massive clump of dog hair right onto her perfectly made-up face. “Ahhhh!” Ashley’s makeup was instantly ruined by the wet dog hair. She doubled over, gagging on the spot. “Chloe, are you insane?! How dare you throw that toxic trash at me!” She grabbed a bottle of expensive, imported disinfectant spray. Instead of backing down, I grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard. Ashley cried out in pain and dropped the bottle. It landed right in my hand. I held down the nozzle and sprayed it directly into her face and mouth. “You spend every weekend drinking cheap booze with random guys at clubs. Your mouth is crawling with bacteria.” “Every time you open it, you contaminate my air!” “Today, I’m giving you a deep disinfection!” Ashley covered her face, screaming, “You bitch! Tomorrow I’m throwing all your shit onto the curb!” Throw my things out? I sneered. I turned around and kicked open her bedroom door—the one she never allowed anyone to enter. Inside, the floor was littered with dirty underwear. The trash can was overflowing with moldy takeout boxes. *This* was the “minimalist luxury oasis” she bragged about on Snapchat? I didn’t waste any words. I walked straight to her bed. I grabbed her silk duvet—the one she took photos of every day to flex on Instagram—and yanked it off. “My duvet! Don’t touch my custom silk!” Ashley crawled in, trying to stop me. I dragged the duvet into the bathroom and stuffed it into the washing machine. Then, I opened the cabinet and grabbed a full, undiluted bottle of Clorox bleach. Right in front of her, I unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle onto her precious silk duvet. I slammed the lid and started the heavy-duty spin cycle. “No! My silk duvet is ruined!” I didn’t stop. “Don’t you love deep disinfection? Pure bleach is the best way to kill bacteria.” She collapsed onto the floor, crying her eyes out. I walked over, grabbed her by the collar of her silk pajamas, and hauled her up. I stared into her eyes, speaking slowly and clearly. “Try me again, and I’ll treat you like toxic waste and throw you in the dumpster. Got it?” Ashley looked into my eyes, shivered in pure terror, and nodded frantically.

The next day, my company had a massive project launch, and I had to work late into the night. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, I knew something was wrong. There was a brand-new digital keypad lock installed on the bathroom door. Taped to the door was a giant piece of paper with bold letters: 【CHLOE’S EXCLUSION BAN】 【Chloe is strictly banned from showering after 10 PM!】 【Your low-class, working-class odor will contaminate my high-end skincare products.】 【Violators will be fined $500!】 Looking at the sign, I laughed out of pure anger. It was exactly like my past life. Ashley always found new ways to torture me. Back then, I swallowed my pride, too afraid to fight back. I had to use a bucket to fetch cold water from the kitchen sink to wash myself in the dead of winter. I caught a fever of 104 degrees the next day. Yet, she complained that my coughing ruined her beauty sleep and forced me to sleep in my car. This life, I wouldn’t let her walk over me for even a second. She’s a double-standard clean freak? Fine. I’ll beat her at her own game. I opened Amazon for same-day delivery. I spent a fortune ordering a giant jug of industrial-strength Clorox bleach. I also bought a high-pressure power washer, a professional respirator, and an industrial UV sanitizing light. Once the orders were placed, I sat on the couch and waited. At 3 AM, the delivery driver dropped the packages at my door. I hooked the power washer hose to the kitchen sink. I poured the bleach straight into the soap tank. Everything was ready. At 7 AM the next morning, the sound of slippers echoed from Ashley’s room. Every day at this time, she would spend two hours in the bathroom for her so-called “it-girl morning routine.” The doorknob turned. Ashley walked out, yawning, wearing the silk pajamas that I had bleached to a faded grey. The second she took a step out of her room, I pulled the trigger on the power washer. The high-pressure blast of bleached water slammed directly into her chest. Before she could even react, the force knocked her flat on her back. “Ah! What the hell are you doing?!” Through my respirator, my voice sounded cold and robotic. “Your body is crawling with toxic parasites.” “If you want to step into my living room, you must go through a full-body de-contamination blast first.” Ashley shook with rage. “You psychopath! I’m calling the police!” Without lowering the power washer, I reached into a bag next to me and grabbed a handful of dirty, used wet wipes. I scattered them across the floor like confetti, completely blocking her path to the bathroom. Ashley tried to step forward, but shrank back when she saw the oily, dirty wipes. “Ew! Get them away! Get this trash away from me!” She was used to using moral high grounds and her fake rich persona to bully me. Faced with my absolute madness, she was completely lost. “If you don’t want to step on this trash, then cooperate,” I said, aiming the nozzle at her face. “What’s the bathroom passcode?” Ashley cowered, gritting her teeth to hold out. “I’m not telling you! You’re not ruining my bathroom!” I didn’t waste another second and pulled the trigger again. The high-pressure stream shot straight into her mouth. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! It’s 0721!” she choked and coughed, finally screaming the code in humiliation. I turned off the power washer and took off my mask. Holding Nugget’s leash, I strolled past her. “If you change the code, I’ll flood your room with the power washer.” Right in front of her, I punched in the code and walked into the bathroom.

On Sunday morning, a loud burst of laughter came from the living room. Ashley had brought over her rich boyfriend, Tyler Reynolds. Tyler was wearing hyped streetwear, but his sneakers were covered in thick, black mud. He walked right in, leaving muddy footprints all over Ashley’s prized white wool rug. Ashley, who usually demanded I disinfect the toilet three times after using it, acted like a spineless puppy. She completely ignored the mud. Instead, she giggled, poured him drinks, and practically glued herself to his side. “Babe, you have to help me. My psycho roommate is bullying me every single day.” Tyler blew a puff of vape smoke, looking contemptuously at my closed bedroom door. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.” Half an hour later, the landlord banged on my door, furious. Tyler immediately whipped out a thick stack of cash, throwing down double the security deposit to buy off the greedy landlord. The landlord’s face changed instantly. He told me I had three days to pack my bags and get out. But they weren’t done. On Monday morning, the moment I arrived at the office, my manager called me into his office and screamed at me. He claimed my performance was terrible and that clients were complaining. Then, he stripped me of the core project I had been working on for six months and handed it to someone else. Specifically, to the new hire who had just been fast-tracked into the company today—Ashley Vance. Ashley, dressed in a designer pantsuit and high heels, strutted out. She was already trying to establish her “minimalist, clean-girl influencer” persona in the office. On her first day, she demanded that everyone keep a three-foot distance from her. During lunch, she walked over to my desk. She pinched her nose, using a folder to fan the air away from me. “Chloe, your low-class germs are literally drifting onto my custom blazer.” She picked up my stainless-steel mug with two fingers, looking disgusted. “Your mug is contaminating my files. I’ll buy you a new one out of my own pocket, okay?” The entire office fell silent. Everyone looked at me with pity. I stood up calmly. I opened my drawer and pulled out a portable digital microscope. I walked right up to her and pressed the lens against her precious custom blazer. The microscope was connected to my phone screen. I turned the brightness to the maximum. “Oh my god!” I suddenly gasped, raising my voice so the entire office could hear. “Ashley, why is your blazer covered in dead skin cells and… pubic lice?!” The entire office gasped. Ashley’s face drained of color. “What lies! This was just dry-cleaned!” I put on a pair of medical rubber gloves. Taking a pair of tweezers, I reached into her lapel with precision. I pulled out a coarse, curly, yellowish hair that definitely wasn’t hers. I held the hair high for everyone to see. “Clean girl? Dry-cleaned custom blazer?” “Which guy’s hair is this? You didn’t even shake it off before wearing it to work?” Before she could speak, I pulled a giant bottle of disinfectant spray from my bag. “Everyone back up! She’s a walking biohazard!” My coworkers scrambled away from her like she had the plague. When I got home after work, it was pouring rain. The moment I got to the building, I saw all my bags thrown into the muddy driveway. The landlord had already changed the locks. And my golden retriever, Nugget, was chained to a wet bush by the security guard, shivering and whimpering in the freezing rain. Job stolen, apartment gone, dog abused. A triple threat of misery slammed down on me. Tyler stood under the awning, his arm around Ashley’s waist, looking down at me in the rain. “Keep fighting us, loser. You’re just a broke bitch at the end of the day.” I didn’t say a word. I picked up Nugget and took him straight to the best 24-hour pet hospital to board him. Then, dragging my soaked luggage, I checked into a cheap motel. In Tyler and Ashley’s eyes, I had completely lost. But this was just a strategic retreat. The trap was set.

On Friday night, the company held its grand annual gala at a five-star hotel. Since the company was in the middle of a major IPO audit, everyone was there, along with several high-profile venture capitalists. Ashley wore a plunging designer gown, arm-in-arm with Tyler as they made their grand entrance. “The air here is so stuffy. It’s nothing like the crisp air in the Swiss Alps,” she complained loudly. Tyler sat at the VIP table, laughing and drinking with the CEO. Halfway through the night, Tyler put down his glass. He announced loudly that he would invest $5 million into the company on one condition: The CEO had to fire a “unprofessional, toxic” employee immediately—me. To secure the investment, the CEO immediately called security to throw me out. “Chloe Miller, pack your things and get out! Our company doesn’t need people like you!” Ashley sat next to Tyler, smiling victoriously. Just as the security guards stepped up to grab me, I kicked over the massive champagne tower next to me. At the same time, I plugged an encrypted USB drive into the control room computer. With one click, the massive high-definition LED screen in the ballroom lit up. The first gift was for Tyler. The screen displayed clear bank statements and contract screenshots. It showed the rental agreement for the luxury car Tyler drove tonight. It showed his forged asset documents used to get high-interest loans from loan sharks. It even showed text messages of him hiring actors to play his wealthy parents. The crowd gasped. The CEO’s smile froze. “Turn it off! Turn it off now! This is fake!” Tyler screamed. I ignored him and opened the second file—a special gift for Ashley. It was a compilation video of Ashley’s “clean, minimalist” life, filmed by a private investigator. The background was a disgusting, cheap room in a rundown trailer park. In the video, the glamorous Ashley was squatting on the floor. She was using a dirty plastic bucket—the same one she used to wash her underwear—to cook cheap instant ramen. Then, the scene cut to her walking down the street. She reached into a public trash can, pulled out a discarded, broken lipstick, wiped it with a tissue, and applied it to her lips. This video was the result of a month-long surveillance I paid for. Looking at the filthy reality on the screen, and then thinking of her usual “clean freak” behavior, the executives and coworkers were horrified. Several female coworkers actually gagged and ran to the bathroom. I picked up the microphone, my voice echoing through the speakers. “Your entire ‘minimalist luxury’ lifestyle comes from trash cans.” “You are a walking petri dish of bacteria.” Ashley covered her head, screaming as she tried to smash the screen. “It’s fake! All of it! Chloe is just jealous of me!” The CEO was furious. The $5 million investment was a scam, and now his company’s reputation was ruined. He slammed the table. “Security! Call the police! Investigate these two frauds!” Tyler and Ashley were pinned to the red carpet by security guards like wet dogs. I watched them struggle, thinking my revenge was complete. I turned to leave. But suddenly, Ashley broke free from a guard. She pulled out a document stamped with a official hospital seal, waving it in the air. “Officer! Help!” she shrieked at the arriving police. “This is her psychiatric evaluation! She is a diagnosed psychopath!” “She has homicidal delusions! She poisoned the drinks tonight to kill us all!”

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Ethan was always sharp-tongued. From the very first day he moved into my house, he never spared me. He complained that I dispensed herbs too slowly, and mocked me for being too stupid to identify species. He scoffed at how I, a single girl, spent my days chatting and laughing with the patients who came to our family clinic, calling it utterly improper. He even said my amateur medical skills were going to end up killing someone. I never really cared about his harsh words. Every time he mocked me, I just laughed it off. But as the neighbors heard it more and more, they began to shake their heads. “The Jiang family raised their daughter to be a useless free-rider. How is she ever going to get married?” I heard all those whispers, but I didn’t care. Because Ethan had promised me that once he matched into the residency program at the city’s top medical center and became a licensed attending physician, he would come back to marry me. He had promised me himself. On the day my father was on his deathbed, he gripped Ethan’s hand tightly and said, “Ethan, I’m leaving Ivy to you.” With bloodshot eyes, Ethan nodded heavily. I was crying so hard I could barely stand, on the verge of fainting. He stood behind me for a very long time before speaking in that stiff, awkward tone of his. “Don’t be afraid.” Just those four words. I held onto them for five years. His parents had passed away early in a car crash. My father took pity on him, and seeing his natural talent for medicine, knew he was a rare gem. So my father brought him into our home, paid for his food, housing, and tuition, and even showed him the Jiang family’s private medical logs—secrets we never shared with outsiders. Some people said my father was a fool, raising an outsider who might just turn out to be an ungrateful wolf. But my dad wouldn’t listen. He only said a healer must have a benevolent heart, and a good talent shouldn’t be wasted. Later, my father passed away too. He left Jiang’s Apothecary to me, and he left Ethan to me. The day Ethan went to the city to report for his residency, I took a faded, yellowed notebook from my purse and stuffed it into his hands. It was the Jiang family’s ancestral medical log, containing exclusive treatments for dozens of rare and complex illnesses. “Take it,” I said. “The city’s major hospitals are full of hidden talents. This notebook will help you secure your footing.” Ethan frowned, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes—partly disdain, partly greed. “This is too valuable. I won’t let you down. I’ll bring it back when I come to marry you.” After saying that, he opened the car door and drove off without looking back. That night, I thoroughly washed the small clay pot I used to brew his daily herbal teas and put it away in the cabinet. Life went on. I waited for his messages, but I didn’t receive a single one. Until one day, Mrs. Gable, a neighbor, came to the apothecary to pick up her prescription. While waiting, she chatted with me. “Ivy, that Dr. Vance of yours is really making us proud. My son came back from the city and said everyone in the healthcare system is talking about him. The youngest attending physician appointed at the City Central Hospital this year is from our town. I knew it had to be your Ethan!” The scale in my hand paused. My heart pounded furiously, like a drum. He was coming back. But a few days later, Mrs. Gable returned, this time with an awkward look on her face. “Ivy… my son brought back some other news. Your Dr. Vance is married. He married Chloe Hearst, the daughter of the chairman of the Hearst Group in the city.” The wrapping paper in my hand slipped, and the dried herbs scattered all over the floor. A bitter scent filled the air. “Who did you hear that from?” “It’s all over the city. They say Miss Hearst had a bizarre illness that the top hospitals couldn’t cure. Dr. Vance cured her with a single custom formula. Chairman Hearst was so thrilled that he gave his daughter’s hand in marriage to him.” I didn’t believe it. I sent him a text message with just one line: “Ethan, is the news about the Hearst family true?” No reply. I waited for a month, checking my phone every single day. A month later, I finally got an answer. It wasn’t a text. It was him, in the flesh.

When Ethan stepped through the doors of Jiang’s Apothecary, I was behind the counter checking the books. He wore a custom-tailored dark grey suit and a luxury Swiss watch on his wrist that I couldn’t even name. He was no longer the intern who wore a dusty lab coat and smelled of herbal smoke. Beside him stood a slender woman wearing designer sunglasses. She drifted in with the faint, expensive scent of Chanel No. 5, which clashed horribly with the bitter smell of herbs in the shop. “Ethan…” I stood up, my voice trembling slightly. He didn’t look at me. His cold gaze swept across the apothecary where he had lived for ten years. As if he were looking at a dusty old warehouse that had nothing to do with him. “Miss Jiang,” he spoke, his tone as distant as if he were addressing a stranger. Miss Jiang. Not Ivy. My chest tightened, as if pierced by an invisible needle. “Bring out the centuries-old wild ginseng of the Jiang family,” he said in a stiff, commanding tone. “Chloe’s body is weak. She needs it to restore her vitality.” I froze. That centuries-old wild ginseng was the treasure of the Jiang family. More importantly, it was what my father had desperately commanded me to keep to save Ethan’s life. Ethan was born prematurely, carrying a congenital weakness in his system. Every time the seasons changed, his joints would ache terribly. My father said that by the time Ethan turned twenty-five, the illness would attack his heart and lungs. Only this specific ginseng, combined with our family’s unique acupuncture technique, could root it out. I had guarded this ginseng as if I were guarding his life. “Do you know who this ginseng was kept for?” I stared into his eyes, trying to find a trace of the past. Ethan let out a cold laugh, pulled a sleek black card from his wallet, and slammed it onto the counter. “Besides Chloe, who else deserves such a rare treasure? Ivy, I know you’re greedy. The money on this card is enough to buy ten of your little apothecaries. Don’t be ungrateful.” The black credit card gleamed sharply in the dim light of the shop. The woman behind the sunglasses coughed twice, her voice delicate and soft. “Ethan, if Miss Jiang is unwilling to part with it, then forget it. My health doesn’t matter.” “Chloe, don’t worry about it. There is no medicine in this world that I, Ethan Vance, cannot get.” When he turned to look at Chloe, his tone was so gentle it could melt. That kind of gentleness was something he had never given to me. For ten years, all he gave me was sarcasm and impatience. Looking at him, I suddenly found it incredibly hilarious. I burst out laughing, laughing so hard that tears almost came to my eyes. “Fine. I’ll sell it.” I turned around, went into the back room, and retrieved the redwood box containing the ginseng from the safe. The box was carved with intricate patterns. I had wiped it clean every day to keep it shining. I walked back out, pushed the box in front of him, and then slid his black card back. “Dr. Vance, I only take cash or wire transfer. Once the payment clears, we are done. From now on, the Jiang family has nothing to do with you.” Ethan’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. He opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something, but in the end, he just let out a cold snort, picked up the box, and supported Chloe as they turned to leave. As he reached the door, he stopped. Without turning around, he said, “Ivy, you’re still as gold-digging as ever. You only care about money.” I watched their figures disappear at the end of the street. Ten years. He ate my family’s food, used my family’s money, and learned my family’s medicine. My father supported him to help him succeed, and I waited for him to come back and marry me. And before leaving, all he had for me was the word “gold-digger.” That night, I set up a fire pit in the backyard and threw the half-made wedding dress I had been sewing into the flames. The fire flared up high. The white silk curled, turned black, and dissolved into ashes. Leo, the young apprentice, peeked from the doorway and whispered, “Ivy, what are you…” “I don’t need it anymore.” The words squeezed out of my throat, dry and hollow, like I had swallowed a handful of sand. I didn’t cry. Not a single tear fell. But my throat felt like it was being squeezed tightly, making it hard to breathe. I stood up, my legs a bit weak. I held onto the edge of the table for a moment, then walked behind the counter and started tapping on the iPad register. *Tap, tap, tap.* As the numbers flashed, my hands stopped shaking. That was the method my dad taught me. He said when your mind is messy, just do the math. Once the numbers are clear, your mind will be at peace. I calculated the apothecary’s accounts from beginning to end. Once wasn’t enough, so I did it again. By the third time, my fingers stopped cooperating. I pressed the wrong button, then another. I stopped and pushed the iPad aside. I went back to my room, lay down, and reached under my pillow out of habit. It was empty. The medical log notebook had already been taken by him. I had been reaching for it for over six months, and every time I found nothing, my heart felt a little emptier. I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head. Forget it. The man was gone, the book was gone, and the ginseng was sold. What was the point of thinking about it? He didn’t even care about his own life anymore, so why should I worry for him?

After Ethan left, business at Jiang’s Apothecary got worse by the day. Rumors spread that “the Jiang girl failed to cling to the genius doctor and was dumped.” Our old clients all drifted to the chain pharmacy down the street. Chloe’s personal assistant came by once. Dressed in a sharp business suit, she walked into the apothecary, covering her nose with a silk handkerchief in disgust as she circled the counter. “Oh, so this is the famous Jiang clinic? Smells like mold.” She let out a cold laugh. “Miss Jiang, our Dr. Vance is a merciful man. Out of pity for your family taking him in back then, he sent me to offer you a way out. You can’t keep this place running on your own anyway. Why not sell it to the Hearst Group’s health management branch? Dr. Vance can even arrange a receptionist job for you here. You still need to eat, right?” I looked up at her, my hands never stopping as I crushed herbs with the copper pestle. “Are you here to buy medicine, ma’am? If not, please leave. Jiang’s Apothecary is not for sale.” Her face twisted, and she spat, “Ungrateful brat! Dr. Vance said it himself—a placebo healer like you who can’t even tell herbs apart will kill someone sooner or later! Just you wait!” She clacked away in her high heels. I didn’t have time to deal with her. The counter was piled with last month’s bills and several herbs that desperately needed processing. That afternoon, a light drizzle started to fall outside. A man wearing a dark blue trench coat walked into the shop. “Excuse me, can you treat patients here?” I looked up and saw a face as warm and smooth as jade. His eyes were beautiful, like a clear lake in autumn. They carried a reassuring calm. In his arms, he held a young man whose face was turning purple, his breathing extremely weak. “Lay him flat, loosen his collar.” I quickly set down my work, walked over, and checked his carotid artery. His pulse was thin and weak, barely there. “Your friend is lucky he ran into me.” I turned to the cabinets, swiftly grabbing herbs, mixing them, preparing an injection, and applying acupuncture. Forty minutes later, the young man let out a long breath. His color slowly returned to a normal pale state, and his breathing stabilized. The man in the trench coat let out a sigh of relief and pulled out his phone to pay. “I’ll transfer you ten thousand.” “Ten thousand?” I was stunned. “The cost of the medicine is less than fifty. With the treatment fee, just give me fifty dollars.” He lowered his phone and smiled. His smile was like a warm spring breeze. “You have incredible skills, Dr. Jiang. I asked three major hospitals in the city about this toxin, and they all said it was untreatable. You cured it in under an hour.” I blinked, counting his change. “Do you know me? Are you from the city?” “Julian Cole, from Cole Pharmaceuticals.” He bowed slightly, pulling a card from his cardholder and handing it to me. “My father was an old friend of your father’s. I came here when I was a kid.” He looked at me, his gaze gentle, without a hint of arrogance. “Back then, you were sitting behind the counter cutting licorice root. You cut your finger and cried so hard, your eyes getting all red like a startled rabbit.” My face flushed instantly. “Mr. Cole, the fee is fifty. Here is your change.” I pushed the cash forward. “Keep it.” “We are strangers. I can’t take extra money from you.” He paused, then accepted the change. “Then I won’t overpay,” he said. “But can I come by and sit here sometimes?” “Sit in an apothecary?” “Yes. Have some tea, chat. And maybe learn a thing or two about natural medicine.” I looked at him, unsure of what he was planning. But his eyes were clean. There was no scrutiny like Ethan’s, nor any mockery like that assistant’s. He just stood there quietly, waiting for my answer. “Suit yourself. Just don’t disrupt my business.” He smiled. Not a polite, formal smile, but a genuinely happy one. His eyes curved, and the calm lake in his gaze rippled with warmth. “See you tomorrow then.” He turned and walked out. His dark blue figure stepped into the rainy alley, opening a long-handled black umbrella before disappearing. I lowered my head and continued crushing the herbs. *Thud, thud, thud.* As the pestle struck the mortar, my heart rate finally began to slow down.

Julian began to visit Jiang’s Apothecary regularly. Not for treatment, just to hang out. He brought premium green tea, sweet pastries from the city’s best bakery, and interesting news from the outside world. He sat in his corner, and I worked in mine. We each minded our own business, occasionally exchanging a word or two. Once, he picked up a prescription sheet I had written and flipped through it. “Your handwriting has gotten really beautiful, and this herbal formula is incredibly elegant.” “Practice makes perfect. I used to be told my work was absolute garbage,” I said flatly. “You’ve always been amazing.” He looked at me, his tone earnest. “Your father told my father years ago that his daughter’s talent for identifying medicine was a once-in-a-century gift. He said you were a natural-born healer.” My eyes stung, turning red. This was the first time anyone had told me that my father had praised me. Under Ethan’s long shadow, I had always believed I was just a useless fool. “The day I came here with my father when we were kids, he pointed at you while you were drying herbs in the yard. He said, ‘That little girl’s medical skills will definitely surpass yours in the future.’” I lowered my head, pounding the herbs in my mortar with extra force. The loud noise masked the tears that were about to fall. Julian didn’t say anything, quietly sipping his tea. After a few sips, he suddenly asked, “Do you still receive a rare herb every autumn?” My hands stopped. “How do you know about that?” “One year, I passed by your clinic and saw a package at the door containing a rare snow lotus. You were crouching there, opening it and looking around in confusion.” “That did happen. It’s been going on for years. Every year is different—sometimes wild ginseng, sometimes rare mushrooms. I never figured out who sent them.” “You never checked the tracking number?” “I did. The sender was always anonymous.” “Did they keep coming?” “Yes, every year.” “Who do you think it is?” I shook my head. He was asking too many detailed questions. A thought suddenly crossed my mind. I looked up at him. He still looked perfectly calm, head lowered as he drank his tea, his long eyelashes casting shadows that hid his expression. Could it be him? But as soon as the thought appeared, I crushed it. No way. How old was he back then? Besides, as the heir to a massive pharmaceutical empire, why would he send such expensive herbs to me year after year for no reason? I was overthinking. “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “Probably some patient my father saved in the past.” Julian didn’t push further. He set his teacup down and looked out at the drizzling rain. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” he said. “Just wondering.” He stood up and walked to the door. “See you tomorrow.” The door clicked shut, and he was gone. I sat behind the counter, holding the pestle, feeling as though a feather had gently brushed against my heart. But it was just a fleeting sensation. Who knew. I lowered my head and got back to work.

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Three years of being Chloe Sinclair’s ghostwriter and secret boyfriend. Three years, only to watch her hand my three-month labor of love to her newly returned Ivy League ex, Julian Thorne. I stood in the hallway, watching through the crack of the door. Chloe was leaning against the wall, laughing with her secretary. “Ethan is just a tool I pay to get things done,” she said, her voice dripping with casual dismissal. “Once Julian gets the hang of the business, I’ll fire him. He’s an eyesore anyway.” She probably thought I’d crawl back to her, wagging my tail like a loyal dog, begging her to let me stay. Hilarious. I never became her secret lover because I cared about her fake affection. I did it for the industry-leading resources she controlled—the kind of elite, high-profile projects a regular guy like me could never touch otherwise. Now, my portfolio is so stacked that any top-tier agency in the city would tear each other apart to hire me. Chloe, you useless stepping stone. I’m officially done using you.

“Ms. Sinclair, this Starfire campaign is an absolute masterpiece!” “Especially the reverse-marketing strategy at its core. Incredible!” “Which creative genius in your agency came up with this?” Inside the sleek, glass-walled boardroom of our penthouse office, our biggest client, Mr. Davis, was practically vibrating with excitement. He slammed his hand on the mahogany table in pure admiration. I stood in the dimmest corner of the room, my fingers gripping the presentation clicker so hard my knuckles turned white. My palms were slick with cold sweat. But I kept my face blank. My eyes instinctively drifted to the woman sitting at the head of the table—Chloe Sinclair. She was my boss, and for the last three years, my secret girlfriend. That 120-page pitch deck was the result of seven straight all-nighters. I had analyzed thousands of competitor strategies and drank energy drinks until my stomach literally bled just to perfect it. Every word, every graph, was bought with my blood and sweat. I had foolishly believed that this time, Chloe would keep her promise. That she would finally let me put my name on the deck and introduce me to the client. Instead, Chloe just smiled. A look of smug triumph washed over her gorgeous, cold face. With a casual wave of her manicured hand, she pointed to the man sitting right next to her. A man wearing a custom-tailored designer suit, sporting a perfectly styled, handsome face—Julian Thorne. “You have a great eye, Mr. Davis,” Chloe purred. “This is our newly appointed Creative Director, Julian Thorne.” “He’s an Ivy League graduate. This entire campaign was his brainchild.” *Boom.* My brain went completely numb. A sharp ringing in my ears drowned out the murmurs of the room. Julian? He had joined the company less than three days ago! He didn’t even understand our basic business model yet. Aside from sipping espresso and flipping through magazines in his office, the guy didn’t even know how to format a PowerPoint slide! How dare he steal my life’s work? I stared at Chloe, waiting for a flicker of guilt, a fleeting glance of apology, or even a subtle signal. Nothing. She didn’t even spare me a passing glance. Julian gave a modest, polished nod, adjusting his expensive cufflinks with practiced grace. His voice was smooth and deep. “You flatter me, Mr. Davis. It was just a sudden spark of inspiration. Honestly, it’s all thanks to Chloe’s brilliant leadership.” “Haha! A match made in heaven! Powerhouse duo!” Mr. Davis laughed, before shifting the topic. “But Julian, I do have a quick question about the execution phase. How exactly did you calculate the conversion rate model for the emotional resonance phase?” The boardroom suddenly fell dead silent. The slick smile on Julian’s face froze. He turned to Chloe, his eyes wide with a look of pure, unadulterated panic. How could he possibly explain the model? He didn’t even know what the words meant! Chloe’s brow furrowed slightly. Under the table, her high heel sharply kicked my shoe. She turned her head slightly, shooting me a furious, impatient glare. “Ethan,” she hissed under her breath, her voice barely a whisper meant only for Julian and me. “What are you standing there for? Feed him the explanation, now!” At that exact moment, my heart went completely cold. Three years. I had lived like a ghost in her shadow, writing every single viral campaign that built her career. I helped her climb from a low-level manager all the way to Vice President of this branch. She used to hold me in bed late at night, tracing my brow with her fingers. *“Ethan, your mind is a work of art,”* she would whisper. *“Everyone else only sees my spotlight, but I know you are my soul. Once my position is secure, I’ll bring you out of the shadows. We’ll stand together.”* And I had believed her. Like an idiot, I endured the mockery of our coworkers, content to play the role of her low-paid, coffee-running “assistant” just for that empty promise. But now that her golden boy ex was back, I didn’t even deserve to be a shadow anymore. I was just a human teleprompter to be used and discarded. I took a deep breath, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. I stepped up behind Julian, leaned down slightly, and spoke in a clear, professional tone. I recited the complex mathematical model word for word. Julian parroted my words like a well-trained monkey, stumbling slightly but getting the message across. Mr. Davis looked a bit puzzled by the awkward delivery, but he ultimately nodded in satisfaction. He signed the ten-million-dollar contract right then and there. Once the meeting wrapped up and the room cleared out, Chloe leaned back in her leather chair. She tossed a thin white envelope at my feet. “Good job today. You didn’t screw up. Here’s your bonus.” I looked down at the envelope. There was maybe five hundred dollars in there. Meanwhile, the commission on this ten-million-dollar deal was easily worth fifty grand. I bent down, picked up the envelope, and let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Thank you, Ms. Sinclair.” Chloe stood up, looking down her nose at me with patronizing pity. “Ethan, I know you feel cheated.” “But Julian just returned to the country. He needs a big win to establish himself here.” “Besides, you only have an associate degree from a community college. Even if we put your name on the pitch, the clients wouldn’t respect it.” “Be smart about this. Play your cards right, and I’ll take care of you later.” “I understand,” I replied, my voice so calm it surprised even me. “Good.” Chloe tapped my cheek affectionately. “Now go book a Michelin-star restaurant. I’m taking Julian out to celebrate tonight.” I turned and walked out of the boardroom. The second the heavy doors clicked shut behind me, I pulled out my phone and opened my bank app. Looking at the newly updated balance, my lips curled into a smile. That was the last of the money I had saved over the years from freelancing and stock trading. With this extra five hundred dollars, I finally had enough to pay off my younger brother’s final surgery bill and fully clear my family’s old debts. The chains that had bound me for three years finally shattered into dust. Chloe, did you really think I loved you enough to destroy myself for you? You thought wrong. I only put up with your toxic garbage because of your elite connections—the high-profile portfolio builders that allowed me to fast-track my career. Now, my personal portfolio is strong enough to open doors at any global agency in the world. I don’t owe you a single thing anymore. Just wait and see.

The next morning, I walked into Chloe’s office carrying her usual hot black coffee. She was leaning back in her chair, laughing with Julian. The moment Julian saw me, his smile vanished, replaced by the arrogant sneer of a high-and-mighty director. “Just put the coffee down, Ethan,” Julian said, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, by the way, I heard you have a personal master folder on your computer? The one with all your old ideas and unused creative drafts?” “Copy it onto a flash drive and bring it to my desk. I’m looking for some inspiration.” I felt a cold laugh rising in my chest. That master folder held three years of my blood, sweat, and tears. It was my core competitive edge. And he thought he could just take it with a snap of his fingers? “Mr. Thorne, those are just rough, useless scraps. I wouldn’t want to waste your time with such garbage,” I said smoothly, keeping my eyes lowered. “Stop making excuses,” Chloe interrupted, tapping her fingers impatiently on her desk. “If Julian wants the drive, you give him the drive.” “Those unpolished drafts of yours are useless anyway. If they can give Julian a spark of inspiration, you should be honored.” “Go do it. Now.” “Understood, Ms. Sinclair.” I turned and walked back to my desk. I opened the folder titled “Master Brainstorm.” I selected every single valuable, high-impact strategy, and moved them over to my encrypted personal cloud storage. Then, I went online, downloaded about three hundred generic, outdated, free templates and buzzword-heavy copy, threw them into a folder, named it “Core Creative Assets,” and sent it over to Julian. You want to plagiarize me? Good luck with that trash. That afternoon, while making a run to the breakroom, I called a premier executive recruiter. “Hey, Marcus. It’s Ethan Vance.” “Yeah. Did you get a chance to look over my portfolio?” “…Awesome. Apex Media? Perfect. I can do an interview whenever they’re ready.” Apex Media. The undisputed giant of the advertising world. And Chloe’s biggest, most ruthless competitor. Hanging up the phone, I felt like I could finally breathe again. That night was the company’s celebration gala. The VIP lounge was filled with flashing lights, clinking champagne glasses, and loud laughter. Chloe led Julian around the room, introducing him to major investors and clients, positioning him as the next big thing. Meanwhile, as the “executive assistant,” I was relegated to the furthest table in the corner, squeezed in with the fresh interns. “Look at Ethan. What a loser.” “He followed Chloe around for three years and couldn’t even get a real promotion. Now that her actual boyfriend is back, he’s totally discarded.” “What did he expect? He’s just a community college kid. Did he really think he could climb into high society?” “Honestly, he’s just eye candy. A pretty boy toy Chloe kept around.” My coworkers’ whispers cut through the air, but I just kept eating my steak, my face completely expressionless. Their petty insults meant nothing to me. Compared to what I was about to do, this was just a light appetizer. A few drinks later, a heavily jeweled, tipsy woman staggered over to our table. It was Victoria Gable, a major distribution partner notorious for harassing young male employees. “Well, well, if it isn’t little Ethan,” Victoria slurred, sliding into the seat next to me. She slid her hand onto my forearm, her fingers tracing slow, suggestive circles. “Why are you sitting all alone in the corner? Come drink with me.” My body went completely rigid. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I stood up abruptly, stepping back to create distance, and said coldly, “Ms. Gable, you’ve had too much to drink. Please respect my boundaries.” “Oh, please! Stop acting so innocent!” Embarrassed in front of the interns, Victoria’s face twisted in anger. “Everyone knows you’re Chloe Sinclair’s little pet.” “If Chloe can play with you, why can’t I? Spend the night with me, and I’ll guarantee your team a massive contract next quarter.” The commotion caught the attention of the entire room. The music seemed to quiet down as everyone turned to watch the drama unfold. I looked over at Chloe. She was standing not far away, holding a champagne flute, watching me with absolute indifference—like I was a complete stranger. Not only did she make no move to help me, but a mocking smirk also played on her lips. In that single second, the last trace of respect I had for her evaporated. This was the woman I had protected for three years. To her, I was just a piece of meat to be traded away to please a client. Just then, Julian strolled over, drink in hand. He stepped smoothly between Victoria and me, flashing a charming smile. “Now, now, Ms. Gable. Why waste your energy on a useless little assistant?” “Let me buy you a drink instead. Consider it an apology on his behalf.” Victoria’s attention immediately shifted to Julian, her eyes scanning him up and down. “Now that’s what I call professional. Fine, I’ll let it slide for Chloe’s sake.” Julian turned back to me, wearing the smug grin of a victor. “Ethan, aren’t you going to thank Ms. Gable for being so generous?” He condescended. “In this industry, you need to keep your eyes open. Don’t go around causing trouble.” I looked at the two of them. It was almost comical. Without saying a word, I reached down, grabbed a glass of rich red wine from the table, and—before anyone could react—slammed the liquid right into Victoria Gable’s heavily made-up face. “Ah! You absolute bastard!” Victoria shrieked, clutching her eyes. The entire venue fell dead silent. Chloe’s face turned white with rage as she stormed over, raising her hand to slap me. “Ethan! Have you lost your mind?!” I caught her wrist mid-air, meeting her furious gaze with a cold, piercing stare. “I don’t like dirty things,” I whispered. I let go of her wrist and walked out of the venue without looking back, leaving their prestigious gala in absolute ruins.

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