Category: English

On the eve of our wedding, my fiancée’s childhood sweetheart—a mercenary who’d been off the grid for five years—was brought to her doorstep, clinging to life, the victim of a volatile bio-toxin administered during a mission. He was covered in blood, barely breathing. My fiancée, Seraphina, who was always the picture of calm composure, saw him and her eyes went red. Ignoring my protests, she locked herself in the bedroom with him. She was in there all night. And I stood outside that door all night, listening. The next morning, when I confronted her, my voice raw with a sleepless fury, she stood protectively in front of her mercenary. Her walls came down, and the defiance was ugly. “I wasn’t going to just watch Rhys die,” she spat. “So what if it was my first time? What’s the big deal about one wild night before the wedding?” In that single, chilling moment, every ounce of love I ever had for her vanished. 1 The sounds of their night-long entanglement finally faded. Seraphina emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in a tattered nightgown. Her legs trembled, forcing her to brace herself against the wall as she walked. The angry purple bruises blooming across her exposed skin were a brutal, glaring testament to what had happened. She walked straight past me, poured herself a glass of water at the dining table, and then spoke, her voice laced with irritation. “Brad, your little tantrum has gone on long enough. I’m exhausted, and I don’t have time to deal with your moods.” “It was just my virginity. It saved Rhys’s life, so at least it was good for something. Can you stop being so damn old-fashioned?” “Old-fashioned?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You were the one so enlightened, throwing yourself at him!” Sera slammed the glass down on the floor, shattering it. “Shut up!” she hissed. “Rhys isn’t stable. Don’t you dare say a word of this in front of him, or you can forget about this wedding!” As if on cue, a private medical team I had on standby entered the bedroom to begin emergency treatment. Sera rushed to their side, not even sparing me a glance. Rhys was lying on our marriage bed. He weakly grasped Sera’s hand. “Sera, I’m so sorry to be a burden… I just wanted to see you one last time before I died…” The air was thick with the cloying, musky scent of their night together. The overflowing trash can beside the bed told its own story. “To have you before I die… I can die happy,” he whispered dramatically. “At the wedding… can I be the one to give you away?” “Don’t be ridiculous!” Sera choked back a sob, clinging to his hand. She turned and screamed at the doctors. “Save him! Do something!” Then she looked back at Rhys, tears streaming down her face. “You’re going to be fine, Rhys. I’m still waiting for you to unbutton my wedding dress, remember?” They kissed, a desperate, feverish embrace, like two lovers in a disaster movie savoring their final moments. I watched this saccharine, melodramatic scene unfold in my own home and felt a wave of nausea roll through my stomach. Everyone knew Seraphina Ross was my one weakness. For her, I, Brad Rinker—a man who’d never had to lift a finger in his life—had clumsily learned to cook. I gave her everything she ever asked for. I had even knelt outside my family’s estate for three days and three nights, enduring a broken leg at my grandfather’s hand, just for the right to marry her. I had given her my entire heart. And this was my reward. “Brad, are you blind? Standing there like a statue.” Sera’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts. Her eyes were filled with impatience. “Get the Rinker family’s top medical unit over here now! Do you want his death on your conscience?” When I didn’t move, her face darkened. It was the first time I had ever defied her in front of others. “The wedding is tomorrow, Brad! Are you really going to start a fight with me now?” “You still remember you’re getting married tomorrow?” I sneered, my eyes fixed on her barely-there nightgown. “Funny, that must have slipped your mind while you were rolling around in our bed with Rhys.” “I was saving his life!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Right. Saving his life. You had the antidote, but you chose to offer yourself instead. How noble!” Her face paled, then flushed with anger. Before she could retort, the wedding planners and her bridesmaids bustled into the apartment. Her maid of honor, Maya, saw the scene and her brow furrowed. She quickly wrapped a robe around Sera, then shot me a disapproving look. “Brad, I know it’s the big day, but could you have toned it down a bit? She can’t be seen like this…” “This has nothing to do with him!” Sera snapped, pulling the robe tighter and glaring at me. “Rhys was poisoned last night. I was just helping him out, and a certain someone is being incredibly petty about it.” 2 The air in the room froze. Maya’s teasing smile stiffened on her face, but she tried to smooth things over. “Don’t joke like that! We’re all so happy for you two. Come on, let’s get you dressed.” “Who’s joking?” Sera’s voice rose, sharp and defiant. She walked to the bed, took Rhys’s hand, and announced proudly, “Rhys is right here. I saved him. Last night, we…” “Sera, stop!” Maya hissed, digging her nails into Sera’s arm. “I did nothing wrong! Maya, you know I’ve loved Rhys since we were kids! And saving a life is a good deed!” “Enough.” The fight drained out of me. I turned to leave, the exhaustion hitting me like a physical weight. “Brad, have you not caused enough trouble?” Sera blocked my path. “The bridesmaids are here! You can’t leave!” Her friends stood by the door, trying to reason with me. “Mr. Rinker, please, don’t do this. You’re about to get married! Five years together, that’s not easy to throw away.” “She did it to save someone, it’s not like she was just cheating for fun! You can’t hold it against her.” “Exactly! Rhys and Sera are childhood sweethearts, they’ll be like family. Be the bigger person, don’t let people look down on you.” I laughed coldly. “The only thing people will look down on is the man wearing horns this big.” Just as I was about to say more, Rhys’s condition suddenly worsened. The medical team rushed him out to the hospital. Sera’s eyes were glued to his retreating form, filled with a raw panic. Only when he was gone did she turn back to me, her voice a venomous snarl. “Are you happy now, Brad? All your accusations, and you’ve undone everything I did last night! If anything happens to Rhys, you’re a murderer!” She had the audacity to talk about her “efforts.” I looked at the hatred in her eyes, and a bitter ache settled in my chest. Five years of my unwavering devotion, erased by one appearance from him. Sera, not even bothering to put on shoes, started to run after the ambulance. “Postpone the wedding,” she threw over her shoulder. “Rhys can’t be left alone.” “What are you doing?” Her bridesmaids blocked her way. “Sera, you’re getting married! Don’t ruin everything over a moment of panic!” “They have nurses for that, Sera! You need to stay here and get ready!” She didn’t listen, struggling against them. I watched the pathetic drama unfold, my voice like ice when I spoke. “Let her go. The engagement is off.” Sera froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “Brad… are you threatening me?” Threatening her? No. I was just tired. Five years ago, Seraphina had claimed it was love at first sight, launching a relentless pursuit. For three months, I remained unmoved. Then, during a hurricane on a business trip, she drove through the storm, risking her own life, just to see for herself that I was safe. She had stood there, drenched and disheveled, but her eyes were shining. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she’d said with a radiant smile. In that moment, my heart had betrayed me, and I fell headfirst into love. After we got together, I leveraged my family’s connections to land her family a multi-billion dollar project. I funded their overseas expansion, clearing every obstacle in their path. In just a few years, the Ross family business went from a small, local company to an international brand, all thanks to the resources of the Rinker family. I gave her everything. Sometimes I felt it still wasn’t enough. And with one appearance, Rhys Morgan had made me the loser in a game I never even knew I was playing. “Fine! Call it off!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Rhys is back now anyway! I can finally have the happiness I deserve! You did this to yourself, Brad!” 3 The threat in her eyes was almost laughable. Did she really think, after all this, that I would still be her obedient lapdog? Just as she turned to leave, her phone rang. “Yes, this is his partner. What’s his condition?” Whatever the person on the other end said made the color drain from her face. She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth. “Treat him. Use the best medicine you have! I’ll authorize it!” After hanging up, she looked at me, a flicker of guilt in her eyes before it was replaced by determination. “Rhys’s condition is critical. He needs an immuno-activator serum. The one you’ve been waiting on just arrived. Give it to him.” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Does. He. Deserve it?” That serum was worth millions, a custom bio-engineered treatment that money alone couldn’t buy. I had commissioned it for my grandfather five years ago, calling in favors I could never repay. And she thought she could just demand it? The audacity was breathtaking. Sera’s face went white. Then a cold smile touched her lips. “Brad, all of this is just a game to force me to marry you, isn’t it?” “Fine. You win. I’ll marry you after Rhys recovers. Now give up the serum.” Her tone was impatient, as if she were granting me some great favor. When I didn’t respond, she added venomously, “Or you can stand at the altar alone tomorrow. When the bride is a no-show, the Rinker family will be a laughingstock!” The desperate madness in her eyes was pathetic. Make the Rinker family a laughingstock? She wasn’t nearly important enough for that. I turned to leave, but a text from my assistant stopped me. Seraphina Ross has requisitioned the serum for Rhys Morgan under your name. It’s in transit. Requires your final authorization signature. Sera rushed over, grabbing my arm. “Sign it, Brad! Rhys doesn’t have time! Please, I’m begging you!” Her voice dropped to a hateful whisper. “Besides, the serum is already on its way. Rhys will be grateful. Your grandfather is an old fossil anyway, he’s lived long enough. The serum would be wasted on him…” CRACK! The sound of my hand connecting with her cheek echoed in the room. She crumpled to the floor, staring up at me in stunned disbelief. “You hit me!” she shrieked. “BRAD!” I ignored her curses, got in my car, and sped toward the hospital. My phone was ringing off the hook. I was about to turn it off when a new call came in. A name I hadn’t expected. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be calm. Sloane Ricci’s amused voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Rinker. About this wedding tomorrow. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” I sighed. “I don’t make a habit of backing out of commitments of this magnitude.” “Really?” I could practically hear her smirk. “You’ve backed out of quite a few things for that woman over the years.” I pinched the bridge of my nose at a red light. “Never when it truly mattered. My family needs your family’s medical technology division, and Ricci Industries needs access to our markets. This alliance is mutually beneficial.” There was a pause. When she spoke again, her voice was serious. “I have no interest in being your wife. The moment that woman cries, you’ll go running back to her, and untangling our two corporations will be a nightmare.” I glanced at the GPS. Ten minutes to the hospital. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice cold and final. “As of this moment, I’m single.” “See you at the altar tomorrow.” I hung up, a sense of calm settling over me for the first time all day. As I made a turn, a familiar car slammed into me from behind. The impact was violent, sending my car flipping onto its side. A searing pain shot through my legs, and my vision swam with red. Through the shattered windshield, I saw Seraphina get out of her car. Her expression was pure poison. “You forced my hand, Brad,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “Rhys can’t die.” She ignored my broken, bleeding body and pulled my phone from the wreckage. I tried to move, to stop her, but I didn’t even have the strength to crawl out of the car. “Stop…” I croaked. “Stop?” She didn’t even look up from the screen. “I can’t believe you’d let him die. I’m doing you a favor, Brad. Helping you earn some good karma.” I glared at her, my teeth grinding. “That serum… was for my grandfather. He’s been waiting five years.” Sera rolled her eyes. “It’s just a stupid serum, you can order another one. Don’t be so stingy. Besides, your grandfather has lived long enough. He should be dead already! All that money you waste on him… you think it’s going to increase our inheritance?” I started to laugh, a broken, pained sound. My love, my grandfather’s life… none of it mattered more than Rhys Morgan. She had forgotten that the only reason she had any power at all was because of me. “‘Wedding to proceed as planned’?” She saw the message I’d sent my assistant and scoffed, tossing the phone onto my chest. “So you really do want to marry me. Fine. Now that I have the serum, I suppose marrying you isn’t the worst thing in the world.” Before I could speak, she started listing her terms. “First, when Rhys is discharged, he’s living with us. I need to be there to take care of him.” “Second, transfer all your personal assets to his name. He needs financial security. You can keep the company.” “Third, I’m having his child first, to carry on the Morgan name. Then we can talk about having one for you.” She looked at me, utterly confident, as if my agreement was a foregone conclusion. “They’re just small things, right? I can’t give Rhys marriage, so I have to compensate him in other ways.” She turned and ran toward the hospital, leaving me for dead. I struggled to call for help, my world going black as I heard the distant wail of sirens.

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“Maya, about that loan shark…” Jason began, his voice laced with a dark sort of humor. “I can’t make the payment. But I remember you have that pretty little insurance policy. Disability pays out, right?” I stared at him, a chill crawling up my spine. He took a drag from his cigarette, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Just kidding. Don’t take it so seriously.” But I knew. He wasn’t kidding at all. Jason was a scout for a human trafficking ring that operated out of a lawless border territory known as Blackwater. And for a long time now, his sights had been set on me. 1. “Be careful of your boyfriend. He’s dangerous.” When the anonymous call came, I brushed it off as a prank. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got spam protection,” I said, and hung up. The phone rang again immediately. I was about to let loose a string of curses, but I realized it wasn’t my phone. “Jason, your phone’s ringing!” I shouted toward the bathroom. The sound of the shower must have drowned me out. It rang again, persistent. Worried it might be an emergency, I answered it. A gruff voice on the other end didn’t even wait for a hello. “J, you got the girl locked down? Blackwater’s getting impatient. They need a heart and a set of corneas, like, yesterday.” A roar filled my ears, like a lightning strike inside my skull. Before I could even process the words, the phone was snatched from my hand. Jason stood there, a towel around his waist, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What the hell kind of joke is that?” he snapped into the phone. “You’ll scare Maya.” The voice on the other end immediately shifted, turning jovial. “Sorry, boss’s lady! Just messing around. For real though, I booked a table at The Viper’s Nest tonight. Figured you two might wanna come hang.” “We’re in,” Jason said and hung up. He turned to me, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You didn’t actually believe that crap, did you?” I felt a flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. I’d met Jason at a gallery opening, and after a whirlwind, intense courtship, we’d started dating. This side of him, this world, was completely new to me. 2. Later that night, we were at The Viper’s Nest, their usual spot. Jason led me by the hand up the sticky stairs to the private lounge. “Hey, Maya’s here!” a big guy—everyone called him Gus—greeted us, his arm draped around a new girl. He seemed to have a different one every week. I never understood how Jason, who was so polished and smooth, ended up with a crew of thugs like this. They oozed bad news. Jason lit a cigarette, the smoke coiling upwards, blurring the sharp lines of his profile. He never smoked in front of me, but with his “brothers,” he was a different person. A prickle of unease ran down my spine. I was missing something important. “I need some air,” I said. “Want me to come with you?” Jason asked. “No, I’m fine.” 3. Leaning against the railing of the rooftop terrace, I replayed the phone call in my mind. It churned in my stomach, a cold knot of dread. Why would Gus’s friend assume I’d be the one to answer the phone? What if Jason had picked up? “Hey… hey, miss.” A small voice pulled me from my thoughts. It was Gus’s new girlfriend. She glanced nervously over her shoulder before grabbing my wrist and pulling me into an empty VIP room. “What’s going on?” I asked, unnerved by her cloak-and-dagger act. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Listen to me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “These guys… they’re traffickers. They ship girls to Blackwater. We have to run. Now.” “How do you know that?” I asked, my own voice shaking. Before she could answer, a shadow fell across the frosted glass of the door. It was Jason. He stood there, his face a cold, emotionless mask. He crushed his cigarette under his shoe, opened the door, and pulled me out of the room without a word. A moment later, Gus lumbered into the room she was in. The club’s bass was a physical force, thumping through the walls. I couldn’t hear clearly, but through the chaos, I thought I heard the sickening thud of a fist, followed by a muffled cry. 4. Jason dragged me back to their booth. All eyes were on me. My hand closed around an empty beer bottle. With a surge of adrenaline, I smashed it against the edge of the table. The crash of shattering glass silenced the music for a beat. A jagged shard in my hand, I pointed it at Jason. “Who the hell are you?!” I demanded. For a second, he looked genuinely stunned. “Maya, what are you doing?” “I got a call from the police,” I bluffed, my voice ringing with more confidence than I felt. “And Gus’s girlfriend, she told me everything.” At my words, Jason’s expression relaxed. He actually chuckled, then gestured toward the lounge entrance. There was Gus, whispering and cooing with his girlfriend, Lily. She was clinging to his arm, looking up at him with adoring eyes, all traces of her earlier terror completely gone. Gus had the decency to look sheepish. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry about that, Maya. That anonymous call? That was Lily. We were playing Truth or Dare and the guys dared her to prank call you. We took it too far. Our bad.” The rest of Jason’s crew chimed in with their own half-assed apologies. I didn’t buy it for a second. I locked eyes with Lily. “Is that true?” She nodded, a faint blush on her cheeks as if she were embarrassed by the childish prank. “It is. I’m so sorry.” Slowly, I lowered the broken bottle. Something felt deeply wrong, a knot of ice in my stomach, but the pieces weren’t fitting together. Jason wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into his side. “You were scared, weren’t you?” I forced a brittle smile. “No more games like that. Promise me.” He immediately swore up and down that it would never happen again. As the party wound down, Jason drove me home. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “My mom wants to meet you. I booked us flights for tomorrow.” “Tomorrow? But I haven’t prepared anything.” He stopped at a red light and gently flicked my forehead. “Leave it to me.” “Okay,” I said, pulling out my phone. “I should at least tell my dad.” 5. I dialed my dad’s number. “Hey, honey, miss me already?” he answered, the clatter of poker chips loud in the background. “Dad, you’re gambling again? It’s late, you should be home.” “Alright, alright, you got me. Winding it down now,” he said. I heard him tell his buddies he was cashing out. “So, what’s up, kiddo? You don’t usually call this late.” “I’m going to Crestview tomorrow to meet Jason’s parents. Just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry.” “Crestview, huh?” my dad said cheerfully. “Where in Crestview do they live?” I leaned my head against the seat and turned to Jason. “Where do your parents live in Crestview?” He kept one hand on the wheel. “Havenwood County.” I froze. Havenwood County? That was where my mother had been kidnapped by traffickers years ago. Jason’s family was from there? My dad went silent on the other end of the line. I knew he was thinking about Mom. “Dad, I’m not going. I…” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he cut me off, his voice firm. “What happened back then was a tragic accident. You can’t avoid meeting his parents forever because of it.” He told me to be safe and hung up before I could argue. Jason glanced over, sensing the shift in my mood. “What’s wrong?” I just shook my head, unwilling to dredge up the past. 6. The next day, we were up early, arriving in Havenwood County by ten. “Mr. and Mrs. Adler, it’s so nice to meet you. These are for you,” I said, handing them a gift bag. “Thank you, dear,” his mother said with a tight smile. “Come in, come in,” his father added. Their politeness was a thin veneer, stretched tight over something cold and hollow. It didn’t feel like a family home. While they were in the kitchen, Jason wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. “I was mostly raised by my grandmother,” he murmured into my ear. “We’re not that close.” Oh. That explains it. I placed my hand over his. “You have me now.” Dinner was an unnervingly silent affair. After a few minutes of just the clinking of silverware, they seemed to realize how awkward it was. “So, Maya,” Mrs. Adler started. “What did you study in school?” “I majored in Chemistry, with a minor in Psychology,” I replied. “I’m a therapist now.” His parents exchanged a quick, unreadable glance. “Well, eat up,” his father said. “Okay.” Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. I slipped out of bed, planning to take a walk, but froze when I heard voices from the hallway. It was Jason and his “parents.” “What were you thinking, bringing her here?” the woman’s voice hissed. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually caught feelings for her.” I heard the flick of a lighter, then Jason’s voice, colder than I’d ever heard it. “That’s none of your business. Your job is to play the part. If you blow your cover and she finds out who you really are, I’ll put you in the ground myself.” CRACK. My hand brushed against a small potted plant on a stand, knocking it over. The hallway light snapped on, flooding the space with blinding white. Jason stood there, his brow furrowed. “Maya. You shouldn’t have come out.” The woman’s eyes widened in panic. “Jason, she knows! We should just…” He cut her off with a look, then let out a chilling, humorless laugh. “You really think you have what it takes to replace her?” He took my hand, his grip like steel, and led me back to the room. He threw open the window, and a gust of icy night air swept in, making me shiver. I found my voice first. “Jason. Your entire relationship with me… it was all a setup, wasn’t it?” The charming mask was gone. His face was a landscape of pure, cold calculation. He sneered. “You’re not as dumb as you look, Maya. You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” He gestured to the bed. “Get some rest.” Rest? In this house of lies, with this monster? It was impossible. And yet, a strange drowsiness began to wash over me, my limbs growing heavy. My last conscious thought, before the world went dark, was of the sweet, cloying scent of incense burning on the nightstand. 7. The road to Blackwater was a brutal, jarring ride. I woke to the sound of weeping in the suffocating darkness of a shipping container. “You’re awake.” It was Lily, Gus’s girlfriend. “Where are we?” I asked, though a sick certainty had already settled in my stomach. She gave a bitter, broken laugh. “On our way to Blackwater. I’m sorry, Maya. I lied to you. I couldn’t take Gus’s beatings anymore, so I helped them. I wasn’t the one who made that call.” Tears streamed down her face as she spoke, but I felt nothing for her. No sympathy. I peered through a crack in the container wall. After what felt like an eternity, the truck finally lurched to a halt. The doors were thrown open, blinding us with harsh sunlight. Two hulking men stood guard. “Get a move on! Out, now!” one of them barked. A few girls were too terrified to move. They were dragged out by their hair and thrown onto the dusty ground. “Get up!” The commotion drew Jason’s attention. He strolled over, exhaling a plume of smoke. “What’s the problem?” One of the guards grunted, gesturing at the sobbing girl on the ground. “She’s dragging her feet.” 8. Jason’s eyes found mine. He walked over, his expression unreadable. “Maya, if you cooperate, I won’t let anything happen to you.” I laughed, the sound sharp and ugly. “Cooperate how? By letting you cut out my heart? Or should I just sign the organ donor card now?” His face hardened. “The boss, Mr. Blackwood, is coming tonight. If you can catch his eye, you might just get to live.” I wanted to kill him. I always knew he was a scumbag, but this was a level of evil I couldn’t have imagined. “Oh, thank you so much for the opportunity,” I spat. “The first thing I’ll do when I’m his new favorite is have you killed.” “Maya!” he snarled, his eyes flashing with fury. “This isn’t the city. You want to die? Just say the word. I’ll be happy to arrange it.” SLAP. The force of my blow sent his head snapping to the side. My palm smarted, a dull throb that echoed the rage burning in my chest. “You lied to me, Jason. You used me, and you sold me. Mark my words. One of us is going to die here, and it won’t be me.” Gus wandered over, a smirk on his face. “Damn, J. Can’t even handle one little woman? That’s embarrassing.” “Get lost!” Jason roared. 9. We were all herded into a damp, dark basement. From the nervous whispers of our guards, I gathered that the arrival of this “Mr. Blackwood” was a very big deal. As a therapist, I’m trained to read people. The way they spoke of him wasn’t just respect; it was pure, undiluted fear. To survive, I knew I had to play the part. I made myself stand out, not through defiance, but through a chilling, calculated composure. It worked. I was the one chosen to “entertain” Mr. Blackwood. That night, lying in a luxurious bed in a silent, opulent room, I could hear my own heart hammering against my ribs. The door opened. A silhouette moved to the sofa across the room. I saw the brief orange flare of a lighter, then the glowing red ember of a cigarette in the dark. The air filled with the scent of expensive tobacco. I slipped out of bed. In the dim light, I couldn’t make out his face, but I could feel the sheer force of his presence. It was an aura of absolute power and danger that seemed to suck the very air from the room. I walked over and stood beside the sofa, my head bowed obediently. “Turn on the light.” His voice… it was deep, resonant, and disturbingly familiar. I scrambled to the switch by the door. Click. The room was flooded with light. I stared, my world tilting on its axis. “Uncle Damian??”

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Benjamin Cohen, the billionaire scion, posts a late-night pic from a private jet tarmac. Caption: [Operation Win-Her-Back is a go.] Half an hour later, the newly-crowned heiress, Melody Nolan, posts a pic of a matching rose and a massive diamond ring. Caption: [He found me!] The internet exploded. As fans went into a frenzy, Benjamin himself crashed a live stream and went on the attack: “Win who back? You? Are you allergic to shame or something?” “It’s bad enough I can’t get her back, but now you’re trying to ruin my reputation!” “Do you have any idea how important a man’s reputation is?!” He finished his rant, then whipped his head around, his voice dropping to a pathetic whimper as he looked at me. “Babe, you gotta say something!!!” 1 The day the real heiress returned was the day I was kicked out of the Nolan family home. While the entire internet was laughing at me, a reality TV show offered me a contract. They wanted me to be Melody’s on-air punching bag, her ‘control group.’ To utterly humiliate me, during the ‘borrow money’ challenge, Melody conspired with the producers. We were both forced to call the same person: the infamous Benjamin Cohen. “Let’s just see, sis,” Melody whispered to me, covering her mic when the cameras weren’t looking, her smile dripping with venom. “Will Mr. Cohen lend money to a disgraced fake like you, or to the real, beloved heiress?” “We’ll see,” I said, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure Benjamin would lend me the money, but I was damn sure he wouldn’t lend it to her. For dramatic effect, the host had me call first. As the phone rang, a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. What if he didn’t pick up? The last time we spoke, when we broke up, he swore that if he ever spoke to me again, he was a dog. Thirty seconds ticked by. Nothing. Melody could barely contain her smug grin, though she feigned concern. “Oh no, it looks like Mr. Cohen isn’t picking up for my sister…” Her comment sent the live chat into a frenzy of mockery. LMAO, who does this fake think she is, calling a Cohen for a million bucks?! She couldn’t even borrow a hundred! If she gets a single cent, I will eat my own shoe on a live stream! Careful what you wish for, buddy. You never know. ^^^ Is that a Thea fan? People actually stan the fake heiress? LOL. Yeah, I said what I said! The chat was a warzone, and the tension on set was thick enough to cut with a knife. Melody’s triumphant smile grew wider. Just as everyone expected the call to go to voicemail, it connected. Melody’s smile froze on her face. For a split second, she looked stunned, before schooling her features back into a mask of disdainful confidence. She was certain he wouldn’t lend me the money. The line was dead silent. Benjamin didn’t say a word. I had to be the one to speak first. “It’s me, Thea.” Still nothing. The silence stretched. “Look, um… can I borrow a million dollars?” I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. It was a sound of pure disbelief, quickly morphing into fury. “Thea,” Benjamin’s voice, usually a deep, magnetic rumble, was now tight with rage. “You call me for the first time in months just to ask for money?!” “Mhm,” I mumbled, steeling myself. “No money! But you can have me!” he snarled, and then—click. He hung up. He’d spat the words out with such fury that the last part was garbled. Everyone on set, including Melody, only heard one thing clearly: “No money!” “Oh, what a shame. It seems Mr. Cohen isn’t willing to help you out, sis,” Melody said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy while her eyes danced with glee. The moment she finished, Vivian, an influencer who’d been kissing Melody’s ass since the show began, rolled her eyes at me. “Some people need to learn their place. She’s lucky a man like Mr. Cohen even answered her call.” Then, her face morphed into a fawning smile as she turned to Melody. “Melody, you should call him! He wouldn’t just lend you a million, he’d give you fifty!” Melody preened under the praise, but then she noticed I was staring down at my phone, completely silent. She subtly motioned for a cameraman to zoom in on my screen. The live feed was suddenly filled with the contents of my phone: [NOTICE: A wire transfer of $50,000,000.00 from an account belonging to BENJAMIN COHEN has been initiated to your account ending in 0553 on 07-29-2025. Please verify…] “Fifty million?!” Vivian shrieked, sucking in a sharp breath. 2 Her scream snapped me out of my shock. Before I could even process it, a text from Benjamin came through. [Is that enough? If not I can send more… actually just give me your address, I’ll have a black card sent over. Don’t get the wrong idea, it’s just less hassle. You know how busy I am, I don’t have time to keep sending you transfers…] The text was broadcast live, and a fresh wave of gasps rippled through the studio. I stared at the message, clearly sent before he’d finished typing. I knew Benjamin. That dog was about to say something utterly filthy. Without a second thought, I blocked his number. I’d deal with returning the money after the show. After blocking him, I calmly slid my phone into my pocket and looked straight at the camera. “It’s a scam text. Phishing for my address.” But the live chat had already detonated. FIFTY MILLION?! I wouldn’t even burn that much fake money for my ancestors! Is this what life is like for the 1%? Just casually wiring fifty mil?! Hey, where’s that guy who promised to eat his shoe? Don’t be a coward! Who’s a coward? That text is obviously fake! I’ll double down. If Princess Melody gets a single dollar from him, you’re the one eating a shoe! Deal. And if your princess gets nothing, you eat two? …Fine! The entire internet is our witness! The back-to-back bombshells had wiped the smile off Melody’s face. Vivian, ever the loyal lackey, tried to salvage the situation. “Melody, it’s your turn! I bet that text was fake. After all, Mr. Cohen hung up on her.” She shot me a contemptuous look. “If I got rejected like that on national television, I’d quit showbiz forever. The humiliation!” Vivian’s words seemed to soothe Melody’s frayed nerves. She pasted on her signature sweet, innocent smile. “Okay, here I go!” She dialed Benjamin’s number with an air of absolute certainty. The call was immediately rejected. A look of disbelief and mortification flashed across Melody’s face. “He probably just got spammed and rejected the call without looking,” Vivian said quickly, shooting me a pointed glare. “Try again, Melody.” Melody’s expression softened. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and dialed again with a bright, sugary smile. Rejected again. Now she was starting to look desperate. The other guests were watching her with a new, speculative glint in their eyes. She ignored them and tried again. Rejected. She tried one more time, her thumb jabbing at the screen. This time, it connected. A visible wave of relief washed over Melody. She shot me a look of pure triumph. But before she could even say hello, Benjamin’s impatient voice barked through the speaker. [I told you, I’m not buying insurance! Stop calling me, are you crazy?] Click. He hung up. The entire studio fell silent. For a moment, even the live chat froze. All the color drained from Melody’s face. Her eyes were wide with shock as her trembling fingers dialed one last time. A cold, robotic voice answered: [The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…] 3 He’d blocked her. Somewhere in the studio, someone let out an audible snort of laughter. The chat was a waterfall of LMAO MELODY GOT REKT and Where’s shoe-eating guy? Show yourself! But a flood of PRINCESS MELODY IS THE PRETTIEST bots quickly washed them away. Melody’s face was thunderous. Vivian rushed to comfort her. “It’s okay, Mel! So he blocked you? You can just ask him to unblock you later! And you didn’t borrow any money, but neither did Thea, so…” The more Vivian talked, the more flustered she became, each word a clumsy step on a minefield of Melody’s insecurities. Melody’s face turned stony. She shot a dark look toward the production crew, and her manager, standing off-camera, gave a slight nod. Three seconds later, Melody’s body began to sway. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed. The set was thrown into chaos. Paramedics rushed in and, after a brief examination, announced that Melody had fainted from exhaustion due to her “frail constitution.” Predictably, the chat filled with a new narrative: Melody’s health was poor because she’d spent her childhood suffering in poverty. The live broadcast was abruptly cut short. It was rescheduled for ten o’clock the next morning. 4 Because it was an emergency, the production hadn’t arranged for our accommodations. I found a hotel nearby. After a quick shower, I collapsed into bed. I’d been up all night writing music, and my eyelids felt like they were lined with lead. I slept like the dead, completely oblivious to the drama that had unfolded online overnight. When I finally woke up and checked my phone, I saw that Benjamin and Melody were trending. [BREAKING] #BenjaminCohenAndMelodyNolanSpotted [VIRAL] #OperationWinHerBack MelodyNolan SaysYes [HOT] #CohenNolanMerger WeddingBells The trending page was a wall of their names. Just as I was about to click on a link, the topics vanished. Moments later, Cohen Industries’ official corporate account released a statement. It clarified that the rumors of a relationship between Benjamin Cohen and Melody Nolan were entirely false, and any talk of a merger or marriage was pure fabrication. The statement concluded with a promise to pursue legal action against anyone spreading misinformation. The gossip sites immediately fell in line, deleting their posts and issuing apologies. But Melody’s fans only got louder. They flooded the corporate account’s comments, insisting Benjamin was just playing hard to get and that this was no way to win a girl’s heart. They created a fan page for the “couple,” deepfaking Benjamin’s business interviews and Melody’s reality show clips into romantic montages. As the fans were shipping them to death, they got served. Cohen Industries sued them. Every single fan who had participated in spreading the rumor was named in the lawsuit. Unsurprisingly, this also went viral. The sheer scale of it—suing thousands of people at once—was a jaw-dropping display of wealth and power. The scandal was so huge that even when it was time for the show to resume, Melody was still sulking in her trailer, refusing to come out. The director was pacing frantically. I, on the other hand, was leisurely scrolling through my phone, enjoying the drama. I was watching one of the AI-generated videos of Benjamin and Melody, marveling at how insane fan edits could be, when the director announced we were live in fifteen minutes. I nodded and was about to put my phone away when I realized my thumb had slipped. I’d just liked the video. I LIKED THE VIDEO!!! I frantically unliked it, breathing a sigh of relief at my quick reflexes. But it was too late. A flood of DMs from a “special contact” poured in. Benjamin Cohen: [? You have time to watch garbage edits of me with someone else, but you don’t have time to answer my texts?!] [Thea, you have no heart! I hate you! You seductress who stole my body and my feelings, you evil woman…] [Damn it, why won’t these stupid videos delete?!] [Cry emoji…] [You’re filming a show? Fine. I’m coming to find you.] My eyes widened in horror at the last message. What the hell was that lunatic coming here for?! My fingers flew across the screen. [Respectfully declined.] [Don’t forget what you said when we broke up. If you ever spoke to me again, you were a dog!!] [You don’t want to be a dog, do you?] I hit send, shut down my phone, and prepared to go live. 5 Just then, Melody emerged from her trailer. Her manager must have said something to her, because she looked much calmer. When she saw me, a smug, triumphant look crossed her face. She mouthed two words at me: You’re finished. I just stared back, bewildered. What was her problem? The show resumed. The topic shifted to our love lives. This time, the host started with Melody. “So, Melody, are you seeing someone?” “Mhm!” She nodded shyly, casually tucking her hair behind her ear to flash the enormous diamond ring on her finger. Her cheeks were flushed. “We were, but we broke up. But… we got back together yesterday.” “Wow!” The host’s eyes widened, zeroing in on the ring. “Isn’t that the same ring Mr. Cohen posted on his socials late last night?! So the rumors were true! Are we going to be hearing wedding bells soon?” Melody didn’t answer directly, but she adopted the bashful, glowing expression of a woman deeply in love, which was an answer in itself. The other guests immediately started congratulating her. Vivian, in particular, shot me a look before gushing in an outrageously loud voice. “Oh my god, Mr. Cohen must be so in love with you! A ring that big must have cost hundreds of millions! It’s true what they say, diamonds and flowers for a true beauty!” She then looked at me, adding pointedly, “Unlike some people, who just make things up.” The live chat was now a stream of Congratulations Benjamin & Melody Being Together Forever! Melody basked in the flattery, her smugness growing by the second. She glanced at me and, as if to show off, waved her hand right in front of my face. I couldn’t help it. “You can stop waving it. The diamond is fake.” It was probably a lab-grown diamond. To the naked eye, it looked real enough, but under the studio lights, the fire was just… off. If you looked closely, you could tell. My words were a bomb. The live chat instantly exploded. FAKE?! How dare that bitch Thea slander our princess!! Sour grapes! Melody would never wear a fake! That was a gift from Benjamin Cohen! Exactly! As if a Cohen would give someone a fake ring! She’s just jealous and trashy! You Melody fans are still at it? Benjamin’s company literally issued a statement and is suing people for this. Wake up. Not a fan of either, but as a professional jeweler, I can tell you that ring is 100% fake. ^^^ You’re just a hater! Get lost! Talk trash again and I’ll dig up your ancestors’ graves, I swear! It wasn’t just the chat. The entire studio fell silent. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to Melody’s ring. She instinctively covered her hand, a flicker of panic in her eyes. But Vivian didn’t see it. She leaped to Melody’s defense. “Thea! What are you talking about?! Just because you don’t have one, you’re making up lies! Why would a gift from Mr. Cohen be fake?!” “And you’re so sure it was a gift from Benjamin Cohen?” I shot back. Vivian was momentarily stunned, then puffed up her chest. “Well, who else would it be from? You think Melody would buy a fake ring herself and pretend it was from him? How pathetic would that be!” At that, Melody’s face turned a sickly shade of green. Seeing her reaction, I figured I’d hit the nail on the head. I just shrugged and said nothing more. A strange, awkward silence descended on the set. The host, sensing disaster, quickly tried to change the subject. “So, Melody, can you tell us how Mr. Cohen pursued you?” Melody’s expression relaxed slightly. But just as she was about to speak, the screech of tires from a sports car pulling up outside cut her off. Everyone instinctively turned to look. Stepping out of the car was none other than Benjamin Cohen himself. The set buzzed with excitement. Everyone was thrilled, except for me and Melody. She looked terrified. I was completely dumbfounded. He actually came?! Benjamin strode towards us, his impossibly handsome face a thunderous mask of suppressed rage. Despite the unscheduled arrival, the host was a pro. He hurried forward to greet Benjamin with a warm, respectful welcome before turning the chaos into content. “Mr. Cohen, you really are so devoted to Melody! Following her all the way to the set! We were just asking her how you won her over, but now we can ask the man himself…” The live chat started shipping them again. But at the host’s words, Benjamin, who was usually the picture of cool composure, finally snapped. He whipped his head around to face the terrified Melody and let loose. “Are you insane? Who said I was chasing you? Do I even know you? Who the hell are you? Spreading lies about me all over the internet, is there something wrong with your brain?” “It’s bad enough I can’t win my wife back, but now you have to go and ruin my reputation!” “Do you have any idea how important a man’s reputation is?!” His words hung in the stunned silence. Everyone was now looking at Melody in a completely different light. After eviscerating Melody, Benjamin spun around, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. He looked at me, his expression crumpled and pathetic. “Babe, you gotta say something!!!” Me: ??? The entire on-set audience, mid-gossip: !!! The live chat: ?!?!?! “Mr… Mr. Cohen,” the host stammered. “When you said ‘Operation Win-Her-Back,’ you didn’t mean… you meant Thea?” “Who else?!” Benjamin snapped. He then pulled a small jewelry box from his pocket, opened it to reveal a dazzling diamond ring, and slid it onto my finger as I stood there, completely frozen. While he did it, he threw one last verbal jab at Melody. “Mine’s real, by the way, babe. Not like some people who wear fakes and go around looking for attention. Honestly, she might as well have worn a sugar cube. It would’ve saved her the money, and she could lick it when she gets hungry.” I’d always admired Benjamin’s vicious tongue. After that last comment, Melody let out a choked gasp, her eyes rolled back, and she fainted for real this time. The set descended into chaos, and for the second time, the live broadcast was cut short.

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Just before graduation, my boyfriend of four years, Scott, ended our relationship. As a parting gift, he gave me a villa, a Bentley, and eighteen million dollars — a token of gratitude, he said. Stunned, I demanded to know why. His voice turned cold: “For people like me, love and marriage are separate. I’m returning home for an arranged marriage.” He was engaged — to someone else. At the engagement party, I saw Scott, handsome in a bespoke suit. But opposite him stood his fiancée — short, severely overweight, with severe acne. Was this who he chose over me? My mind flashed to last night: he’d pinned me to the bed, whispering roughly, “Forget I’m human,” before devouring me. By morning, he was gone. His number disconnected, social media deleted. He vanished completely — until his lawyer arrived. He arrived at noon, explaining that Scott had given him specific instructions not to come any earlier, so as not to disturb my rest. He handed me a folder. I read the documents in a daze. It was a deed of gift. It stated that Scott was voluntarily transferring ownership of the villa, the Bentley, and eighteen million dollars to me, as a thank-you for our four years together. So that was it. He dumps me out of the blue and throws money at me like I was some prized canary he was setting free. The irony was, I didn’t need his money. I’d told him as much when we first got together. He’d just smiled with that infuriating confidence of his and said, “No matter how rich you are, you’ll never be as rich as me.” I never bothered to argue. I was in love with him, so what did it matter? But why break up now? Last night, the man who was usually so cool and composed had been so fierce, so desperate, whispering “I love you” over and over again like a prayer. How could it all be gone? I forced myself to be calm. Using my family’s resources, I found out where he was in less than an hour. And that’s how I ended up here, at his engagement party. I could see it in his eyes—Scott wasn’t happy. Was he being forced into this? “Kiss her! Kiss her!” someone in the crowd yelled. I watched as the woman reached for Scott’s hand. He flinched back, a purely instinctual retreat. Her face soured. Her thick lips twisted as she hissed, spittle flying, “Have you already forgotten what you promised me?” The color drained from Scott’s face. He took a hesitant step forward. He was being threatened. I was sure of it. I pushed my way through the crowd. “Scott!” I shouted, my voice ringing through the hall. “If you’re in trouble, just tell me! Don’t do this to yourself!” Every head in the room turned to stare at me. When Scott saw me, a flicker of joy ignited in his cold eyes, only to be instantly extinguished by a frost of panic. “Who is this bitch?” the woman on stage screeched, glaring at me. “Calling my fiancé by his first name. How very intimate.” Before I could declare who I was, Scott cut me off. He knitted his handsome brows, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’s just some pathetic groupie who won’t let go. Have security throw her out. Ignore her.” Groupie? I could feel the weight of their contemptuous stares. No one respects a desperate hanger-on. But that wasn’t me. We met at a university club event. I had just finished Muay Thai practice and was so hungry I could have eaten a horse. I ended up sneaking some of my roommate’s snacks. She teased me about it, jokingly demanding I call her “mommy” as punishment. We were always messing around like that, so I did it. Scott, ever the gentleman, stepped in to defend me. He told her she shouldn’t bully someone just because they were poor, then gently told me I shouldn’t steal. He was always like that—a man with a strong moral compass, always standing up for what was right. So I played the part. The poor, pitiful girl. I followed him around like a lost puppy until, before long, he was mine. The whole campus gossiped that he was my sugar daddy, that I was his gold-digging girlfriend. I was worried it would tarnish his reputation, so I told him the truth—that my family was ridiculously wealthy. He just shrugged it off, not seeming to care one way or the other. Our four years together were a sweet, steady love story. No dramatic highs or lows. We almost never fought. Which is why this sudden, brutal breakup felt like a betrayal I couldn’t comprehend. I had to know the real reason. I stared at the man on the stage and started walking toward him. Before I could reach him, the woman intercepted me. She was so short she had to crane her neck to look up at me, and I had to look down to meet her gaze. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming up here,” she snarled, and then she lunged, her hand swinging for my face. I stepped back easily, dodging the slap. I looked past her, my eyes fixed on Scott. “You broke up with me for this?” “What did you just say?” Scott strode forward, his hand raised. He slapped me. I could have dodged it. I dodged hers. But I didn’t dodge his. He’d been sick recently, and I was afraid a sudden movement might make him lose his balance. He was about to marry someone else, and here I was, still worrying about him. How pathetic could I be? I touched my stinging cheek, my heart shattering. “So you’re the college girlfriend,” the woman said, sauntering over with a sneer. “A cheap gold digger putting on airs. Do you have any idea who I am? I’m Veronica Thorne. The Thornes are the richest family in St. Claire.” I ignored her, my gaze locked on Scott. “You just left. No explanation. That wasn’t fair to me.” “Fair?” he shot back. “I gave you the villa, the car, the money. What more could you possibly want? Stop making a scene, Jane. We’re over.” His brow was furrowed in frustration. “You know how it is for families like mine. Love and marriage are separate. Thank you for the last four years, but my wife can only be Veronica. Understand?” “I just want to know one thing,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Do you love me?” I knew all about strategic marriages between powerful families. My own parents were a product of one, though they were lucky—childhood sweethearts whose union was a natural conclusion. As for me… I was supposed to have one too, but my family’s position in New York was so secure, it was no longer a necessity. “Love?” Scott let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Jane, I’ve known since I was a child that my marriage would be an alliance. I don’t believe in love. I was with you because you were beautiful, and frankly, you were poor enough to be easily managed.” He smirked. “There. You have your answer. Now go.” So that was it. What I thought was a deep, sweet love was just an illusion I’d created for myself. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a beautiful, obedient pet. A canary in a gilded cage. It was laughable. I nodded, a bitter taste in my mouth. If that’s how it was, then fine. My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest, but I knew how to let go. I came here to fight for him. But if the fight was already lost, I would walk away. “Alright,” I said, forcing a brittle smile. “I wish you happiness, Scott.” With that, I turned to leave the stage. I saw Scott clench his fists out of the corner of my eye, but he looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. But Veronica stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “You’re not going anywhere,” she sneered. “You came all this way. You’ll stay and watch. If you leave now, you’re disrespecting me, my family, and all of St. Claire.”

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My buddy asked me once, after you cheat, do you still have feelings for your wife? I had to really think about it. How do you explain it? It’s not like there’s nothing there. After all, for the longest time, we were family. But if you ask if I’m still deeply in love with her… then no, that’s gone. I thought I’d finally figured out the true nature of marriage. Until one day, on a crowded street, I saw her laughing with another man. 1 I was on the balcony, slowly letting a smoke ring dissolve into the cold air, just about to answer Cole’s question when my phone buzzed. It was my wife, Yara. “What’s up, honey?” I kept my voice warm and gentle. She giggled before she even spoke. “Haha, Sean, when are you coming home? Gizmo learned how to do a backflip! You have to see it!” I smiled back into the phone. “Alright, I’ll be home soon. You in the mood for some of those caramel-glazed chestnuts from downtown? I can swing by and grab some.” “Yes, please!” “So, what’s the vibe for tonight? Starfall Dynasty or Midnight Bloom?” We hung up in a fit of cheerful laughter. When I turned back, Cole was staring at me, a blank, dazed look on his face. I just smirked. I wasn’t surprised. He’d just clawed his way through a brutal divorce battle with his wife over his mistress. The whole ordeal had skinned him alive, and now they were mortal enemies. And then there was me and Yara. The picture of a perfect couple, sickeningly sweet. Four years of marriage hadn’t led to the usual boredom; if anything, we seemed stronger, more deeply connected than ever. The truth is, I’d always been good to her. But after I started cheating, I became even better. By anyone’s standards, she was an enviably happy woman, living a charmed life. Cole nudged me with his chin. “Hey, you still haven’t answered my question.” I shook my head with a sigh, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “Let me put it this way,” I said. “When you touch your own hand, do you feel anything?” “Feel what? It’s just my hand.” I took a long drag, my eyes narrowing at the snow-dusted skyline in the distance. “That’s how it is with Yara now,” I said slowly. “Touching her is like touching my own hand. But if that hand got hurt… I’d feel the pain just as sharply.” Cole blinked. “And that’s your excuse for being with Celeste?” I shot him a serious, warning look. “Celeste is a proud woman. Don’t you ever, ever say something like that in front of her.” 2 I don’t think of myself as some kind of monster. Even though I slept with Celeste while I was married. Some things in this world… they just don’t go the way you plan. A year ago, at our high school reunion, I ran into Celeste—the girl I’d secretly worshipped from afar all those years ago. The moment I saw her, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Celeste I remembered was radiant, untouchable. From a wealthy family, top of her class. For a guy like me, still wrestling with the awkward, insecure shadows of adolescence, she was a goddess, an impossible dream. But the woman I saw that day had been completely reshaped by life. She looked worn-down, gaunt, and haunted. The lines around her eyes and mouth were drawn tight, a permanent defense etched by years of hardship and struggle. An ache bloomed in my chest. It was like watching the moon you once prayed to fall from the heavens, crashing into the dirty, mundane world. Its light was gone, its surface covered in dust. As the reunion wound down, everyone was gathered around my new car. Celeste murmured, “That must’ve cost, what, sixty, seventy thousand?” Someone next to her scoffed. “Are you kidding? That’s a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car. Sean’s a regional director now, he’s made it. This isn’t high school anymore.” A flush crept up her neck, and she pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. “It’s not that much, don’t listen to them,” I said quickly. She glanced at me, her face a rigid mask, then turned and walked away without so much as a goodbye. As the crowd buzzed with chatter, I pieced together the story of her lost years. Her family’s business went bankrupt while she was in college, their fortune vanishing overnight. After graduation, she married the wrong man—a violent drunk. During one of their fights, he ended up dead. She sold everything she had to cover legal fees and restitution, but still ended up in prison. Now divorced, she was raising their four-year-old son, Leo, alone in a cramped rental, scraping by selling insurance policies. “She never used to come to these things,” someone commented. “Guess she was hoping to drum up some business. Nothing wrong with trying to make a living, but with that attitude, who’s going to bother?” Two weeks later, Celeste called me out of the blue, asking if I needed a commercial insurance plan. Yara, who works in the bancassurance division at her bank, had already set me up with full coverage years ago. I could hear the disappointment in Celeste’s voice, so I passed along a few of my friends’ numbers. To thank me, she invited me to dinner. I accepted. Not long after, her son came down with a high fever during a blizzard. She couldn’t get a cab and called me in a panic. Naturally, I dropped everything to help. After that, it became a casual thing. She’d cook something nice and have me over. Her son, Leo, started calling me “Uncle Sean,” clinging to my leg whenever I was about to leave. One night, a heavy snowstorm rolled in, and I was stuck at her place. We’d both had a couple of glasses of wine. After Leo was asleep, she got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later, she called my name. I walked in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a sheer, revealing nightgown, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked up at me. She bit her lip. “Sean,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t have any other way to thank you. If you don’t mind… this is all I have to offer.” I was so flustered I turned to leave, stammering, “Celeste, I… I never expected you to… repay me. We’re old friends. It’s what friends do.” A low, melancholic sigh came from behind me. “I remember in class,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow, “you used to pretend you were sleeping, but you were always watching me. I know. I know I’m not what I used to be.” “If you’re worried about anything,” she continued, her voice gaining a desperate edge, “don’t be. I’m never getting married again. I would never, ever destroy your family. I just want… this. Right now.” The snow swirled furiously outside the window, a world away from the charged silence of the room. Suddenly, I turned around and lunged for her. 3 I got home late that night. As I pulled up to our building, I saw a small, bundled-up figure standing in the snow, peering down the street. It was Yara. When she saw my car, she let out a visible sigh of relief and came jogging towards me, her steps clumsy in the deep snow, a huge grin on her face. “Sean! Any later and you would’ve come home to a wife-sicle!” I had a lot of work events, so she never questioned where I’d been. She just unwound her own scarf, wrapped it snugly around my neck, and beamed. “Considering you made it home in one piece through this blizzard, I, your magnanimous ruler, will forgive you for not answering your phone.” That night, the bitter cold masked the stiffness of my body and the frozen expression on my face. … I adapted quickly to this new rhythm in my life. Celeste had a flexible schedule, and I often spent my afternoons visiting our various branch locations, so my absence from the office wasn’t unusual. We had plenty of time and places to meet. Even with her changed circumstances, Celeste carried herself with an air of pride, at least around me. Or maybe she just knew that was the version of her I was obsessed with. It reminded me of how she used to be. Cole, my best friend and old classmate, didn’t get it. “Look, Celeste was a knockout back in the day, I get it,” he’d said. “But now? She can’t hold a candle to Yara.” He didn’t understand. They say you spend your whole life chasing the one thing you couldn’t have as a kid. Celeste was that impossible thing. And now, she was beneath me. The thought filled me with an intoxicating, almost primal satisfaction every time we were together. She refused to take my money, saying it made her feel cheap. So, I found other ways to help. I referred friends and colleagues who needed insurance. I used her phone number to prepay for services at various stores. I’d pass on expensive gifts I received from clients. No matter how you looked at it, Celeste’s presence in my life felt like the ultimate testament to my success. I was a man who had it all. I never considered divorce. Yara and I were a perfect match. Our home was my sanctuary—a happy, stable life that I cherished. Being with her was easy; she was cheerful and easily contented. Around her, I felt relaxed, confident, alive. Besides, I’d made a promise at her mother’s deathbed. I swore I would always love her, always be good to her. And for years, I had been. As for the pain my affair could cause her? I’d thought it all through. She would only suffer if she knew. If she never found out, then there was no actual harm done, was there? If anything, life would be better for her. I was already providing for her every material and emotional need. Now, weighed down by a sliver of guilt, I was doubling my efforts, treating her better than ever before. And it was working. Our relationship was stronger now than it had ever been. 4 Every year on my birthday, Yara took the day off. She’d start her preparations in the morning, driving ten miles to the city’s best seafood market for the freshest ingredients. She’d spend the entire day washing, chopping, simmering, and frying, all in anticipation of the lavish feast that would be waiting for me when I got home from work. And I’d do my part, clearing my schedule to get home early. We’d finish the last bits of cooking together, laughing and talking before settling in for our celebratory dinner. But this year, Celeste called. “Can I be the one to celebrate your birthday with you?” she asked. I hesitated for two seconds, then said yes. For the past six months, Celeste had been true to her word. She hadn’t made a single unreasonable demand. In fact, after each of our trysts, she would meticulously check my clothes, my skin, making sure there were no stray hairs, no lingering scent of her perfume. I figured she must be feeling sidelined. It was understandable. Yara and I had every day together. A lifetime of days. We could celebrate countless birthdays. Missing one wouldn’t matter. I called Yara, telling her I had a last-minute dinner with some city officials and would be home late. Over the sound of sizzling oil, she asked, “Okay, what time do you think you’ll be back?” I thought for a moment. “Around seven.” “Got it!” Seven seemed reasonable. But that day, the moment I stepped into Celeste’s apartment, she was on me, kissing me with a fierce, desperate hunger. She’d sent Leo to a friend’s house and was wearing a provocative, see-through dress. She was bolder, wilder than I’d ever seen her. In bed, it was like she was trying to devour me whole. She used every trick she knew, pushing us both to the limit, again and again. When I finally drifted back to consciousness from a heavy, sated sleep, I glanced at my phone. It was already 11 PM. A jolt of panic shot through me, and I scrambled to get dressed. Celeste suddenly wrapped herself around me from behind, nipping my shoulder gently. Her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you this long today.” Her vulnerability made me feel guilty all over again. I finished dressing and soothed her. “In a little while, I’ll take you away for a few days. Just us. We’ll be like a real husband and wife. You can call me your husband, and I’ll do anything you want.” She laughed through her tears. “You and your silver tongue.” On the drive home, I assumed Yara would already be in bed. She was a creature of habit: asleep by eleven, up by seven, every single day. But when I walked in, I found her slumped over the dining table, fast asleep. The table was a feast, covered with elaborate dishes, fresh flowers, and a birthday cake. I checked my reflection in the entryway mirror to make sure there were no tell-tale signs, then walked over and gently shook her awake. Yara looked up at me, her eyes bleary with sleep. It took her a second to register who I was, and then her face split into a wide grin. “Honey, happy birthday!” My lips thinned. “Why were you sleeping out here?” She yawned. “Well, you said you’d be home at seven, and it’s your birthday, so of course I was going to wait for you. But I didn’t want to bother you while you were with city officials… I guess I just dozed off.” “You haven’t eaten?” The question came out sharper than I intended. “I tasted so much while I was cooking, I’m not even hungry,” she said with a cheerful wave of her hand. Looking at her, a strange, baseless anger surged inside me. “Are you crazy?” I snapped. “If I’m not home by this time, it obviously means I’ve already eaten out! Why wouldn’t you just eat by yourself?” Yara froze, her smile faltering. After a few seconds, she asked quietly, “What’s wrong?” I instantly realized how I sounded. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m just… tired today. I’m going to bed.” I fled to the bedroom like a coward. As I lay in bed, trying to make sense of my own bizarre emotions, I heard a rustle behind me. A warm body pressed against my back. “Honey, I’m sorry,” Yara whispered. “I know you were just worried about me going hungry. I promise next time, I’ll eat when I’m supposed to. Did something bad happen at your dinner tonight? Do you want to do something… fun… to take your mind off it?” This was our little ritual. If one of us was down, stressed out from work, or just in a bad mood, the other would initiate. It was a small, tender comfort we offered each other. I knew my anger was completely out of line, and her gentle gesture was the olive branch I needed. I started to turn towards her. But maybe it was exhaustion from my time with Celeste, or maybe it was something else entirely. I just… couldn’t perform. Nothing was happening. The more I tried, the more anxious I got, and the worse it became. “Let’s just sleep,” I muttered, my voice tight with frustration. Yara, thinking I was still sulking, started playfully tickling me. Something in me snapped. I let out a low growl. “Stop it! For God’s sake, have some dignity!” Yara’s hand froze mid-air. In the dim light of the bedroom, her eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me. 5 Yara was angry. The next morning, she left for work without a word. In all the years I’d known her, I could barely remember a time she’d been truly angry. We met six years ago at a charity event. I was captivated by the easy grace and confidence she projected while speaking on stage. I pursued her relentlessly. The more I got to know her, the more I discovered. She and her mother had faced incredible hardship, but Yara had cultivated a spirit of pure sunshine. Optimistic, generous, forgiving, and content with the simple things. She was almost always happy. To her, life’s obstacles were just “mini-bosses you have to beat before you can level up.” Sprained her ankle? “Guess the universe is telling me to take a break. Better listen!” Purse got stolen? “Awesome! Now I have an excuse to buy a new one!” I grew up in a tense, stifling household. Even after achieving some professional success, I was wound tight, always on edge. Being with her taught me how to finally unwind. How to appreciate a flower, how to watch the clouds drift by. How to accept myself. I bought a massive bouquet and went to pick her up from the bank, much to the amusement of her colleagues. When she saw me, she walked over, her lips pressed together, saying nothing. I theatrically slapped my own face. “It’s this stupid mouth’s fault! It deserves a beating! Honey, you want to take a swing?” She didn’t move. I made a grand gesture of getting down on one knee, which finally made her rush forward to stop me. A snort of laughter escaped her. “Fine. I’ll add it to your tab.” “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me!” I grinned. She was quiet for a second, then looked at me, her expression serious. “Sean. This is a one-time thing. Don’t let it happen again.” I nodded like a bobblehead, and finally, her smile returned. The incident was quickly forgotten. Life went back to normal. A few days later, a massive blizzard hit the city, and the temperature plummeted. My chronic pharyngitis flared up. Yara announced she’d managed to get an appointment with a renowned traditional medicine specialist, famous for treating persistent throat issues. She was going to pick up my prescription the next day. The clinic was far, she said, and asked if I could drive her. I hesitated. Celeste’s son, Leo, had slipped on the ice and twisted his ankle. With the snow making travel impossible, I’d been driving them to and from his school and appointments. “If you’re busy, it’s fine. I can just get a cab,” Yara said breezily. I seized the opening. “That’s probably for the best. I have an important meeting tomorrow that’s going to take up the whole day.” The next day, I picked up Celeste and Leo. She mentioned he had a physical therapy session at a specialist’s clinic. The snow had started falling again, thick and heavy. When I pulled up to the clinic, a small, unassuming building, I was surprised to see a long line of people snaking out the door. I parked the car and was about to get out when I saw her. Near the back of the line stood Yara. She was bundled up in her thickest coat, her neck buried in her scarf, blowing on her hands to keep them warm. A fine layer of snow dusted her hair and shoulders. She’d clearly been standing out there for a long time. Celeste froze. “What is she doing here?” she whispered. My brow furrowed. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The alley was too narrow to turn around easily. “Don’t get out yet,” I said, thinking fast. “The sound of the door will make her look over, and she might recognize the car. Let’s wait until she’s inside.” Celeste bit her lip, silent. After a moment, she murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, “I’m just taking my son to the doctor. Why do I feel like I’m sneaking around?” I didn’t answer. I just sat there in the heated car, watching Yara shiver in the biting wind. She always hated the cold. At this rate, it would be another forty minutes before she got inside. Half an hour later, Celeste’s patience wore out. “If we wait any longer, we’re going to miss his appointment.” And then, she opened the car door and got out, holding Leo. Thump. The sound of the door closing echoed in the quiet alley. Instinctively, Yara turned her head, her gaze sweeping towards the sound. Her eyes landed first on Celeste, then slowly drifted to the car. A flicker of confusion crossed her face, which was red with cold. The next second, our eyes met. Hers and mine. A silent, staring match through the windshield of my car. And in that frozen moment, everything shattered.

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The night before my engagement party, my stepsister’s reckless driving left me broken. Joey Sterling, my once-gentle fiancé, lost his mind. He locked Ailsa away, pulling every string to make her pay for what she’d done. He burned through his fortune and called in every favor to keep me alive, but it was no use. I slipped into a vegetative state. In the last moment of consciousness, I saw Joey kneeling by my hospital bed, his face a mask of tears. “Elara,” he choked out, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait for you.” Three years later, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was Ailsa, her hand resting on a swollen belly as she flaunted a diamond ring on her finger. “Joey and I are getting married soon,” she purred. “So be a good girl, stay quiet, and get the hell out of our lives.” She flicked a wad of cash at my face, the bills scattering across my lap. I picked them up, one by one. Then, under Ailsa’s disbelieving stare, I shoved them into her mouth. As Joey rushed to her side, pulling her protectively into his arms, I swallowed the coppery taste of blood in my throat and slapped him across the face. “You’re disgusting, Joey.” 1 The force of the slap snapped Joey’s head to the side, a raw, red mark blooming on his cheek. His eyes were a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He reached for me, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before falling uselessly to his side. After a long, heavy silence, all he could manage was a hollow, “I’m sorry.” I wanted to scream at them to get out, but the words wouldn’t form. My breath came in ragged gasps. Panic flared in Joey’s eyes. He shot up, calling for a doctor. The physician who arrived assumed Joey was my next of kin and began to speak, but Ailsa suddenly clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. In an instant, Joey abandoned the doctor’s report. He swept Ailsa into his arms, barking orders and summoning half the medical staff to her side. “Elara, just wait for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, leaving me in the sterile silence of the room. A dark drop landed on the pristine white sheet. It wasn’t a tear. It was a grim reminder of my borrowed time. The doctor had barely finished explaining my prognosis when my father, Arthur Gabriel, walked in carrying a bouquet. Trailing behind him was Ailsa’s mother, Miranda. After a few empty pleasantries, Miranda slid a stack of photos onto my bedside table, her smile saccharine sweet. “These are some of the most eligible young men in the city, Elara. See anyone you like?” I kept my eyes down, refusing to acknowledge her. She shot a wounded look at my father. He took his cue, his voice stern. “Your sister is getting married. It’s time for you to stop dwelling on the past and find someone to settle down with.” A flicker of triumph lit Miranda’s eyes. “Love doesn’t wait, dear,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s a shame you and Joey didn’t work out, but you can’t interfere with their happiness now.” That was it. I snatched the photos and threw them in her face. “My mother is dead,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Played the homewrecker for so long you’ve started to believe you’re the lady of the house?” For a moment, even Miranda’s practiced mask slipped, a flash of pure hatred in her eyes before she dissolved into crocodile tears. “Elara!” my father roared, his hand raised to strike me. For the first time in my life, I fought back. I grabbed his wrist, my grip surprisingly strong. My voice was ice. “A story about you cheating on my dying mother, or one about you striking your sick daughter… which do you think the tabloids would prefer, Dad?” We were locked in a standoff. Finally, he backed down, his face turning a shade of purple as he stormed out, dragging Miranda with him. “I can’t believe three years in a coma turned you into this monster!” he spat as he left. Only when they were gone did I allow myself to collapse. A violent cough wracked my body, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. My eyes landed on the bouquet they’d left behind—a cluster of yellow roses, now trampled on the ground. With my mother gone, no one remembered my allergy. Leaving the hospital, the doctor’s words echoed in my head. I was diagnosed with stomach cancer right before the wedding, three years ago. They said I wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. I’d been on my way to tell Joey, to call everything off, when Ailsa’s car slammed into me. I had missed the window for effective treatment. Now, the clock was ticking. I had two weeks left. 2 A heavy rain began to fall as I arrived at the house my mother had left me. It was supposed to be my wedding gift, the home where Joey and I would start our lives. Only the two of us knew the passcode. I stood in the downpour, trying every combination I could think of, my fingers numb and clumsy. Finally, on a whim, I typed in Ailsa’s birthday. The door clicked open. The entryway was cluttered with Ailsa’s designer shoes. On the main wall, a large wedding portrait of her and Joey had replaced the landscape painting that used to hang there. My mother’s photograph was tucked away in a dusty corner, forgotten. Ailsa was lounging on the sofa, a smug look on her face, while Joey knelt before her, gently massaging her feet. The sight of me turned them to stone. Joey froze, his expression a mixture of shock and guilt. I didn’t even look at him. My voice was a shard of glass. “Get out.” Ailsa’s disbelief quickly curdled into a malicious grin. “This is my house now. You’re the one who needs to get lost. Guards! Drag her out of here!” As two burly men moved toward me, Joey shot to his feet. He kicked them both to the ground, his face dark with fury. “Don’t you dare touch her!” His gaze softened as he turned back to me, and he reached out to cup my face. I flinched away as if his touch were acid. “I said, get out,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Don’t you understand English?” A shadow passed over his features. “Ailsa loves this house, Elara,” he said, his tone pleading. “I have other properties. You can have any of them. Just… let her have this one, please?” My stare was glacial. “Hit-and-run. Unlawful occupation of private property. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you both thrown in jail.” Ailsa laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t you know that Joey already—” “—Take Miss Gabriel back to the main estate,” Joey cut her off, his voice sharp. Ailsa’s face fell. As she was escorted out, she deliberately knocked over my mother’s portrait, the frame shattering on the floor. “Oops,” she said with a vicious smile. “Slippery hands.” The glass splintered, and a gust of wind from the open door caught the photograph, sending it tumbling into a pile of trash by the curb. Joey sighed, a familiar weariness in his voice. He didn’t even notice the note of indulgence as he made excuses for her. “She’s young, she’s used to getting her way. Don’t mind her.” I ignored him, bolting out the door and into the rain. I fell to my knees beside the garbage heap, desperately clawing through the filth, all dignity forgotten. Joey saw me, my hands covered in grime, clutching the torn, wet pieces of the photograph like they were priceless treasures. A strange ache bloomed in his chest. He pulled me up from the mud, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re Elara Gabriel. What do you think you look like right now?” I slapped him again. “You have no right to tell me what to do, Joey,” I sneered. The look in my eyes seemed to shatter him. “Elara, I can explain everything,” he pleaded. “I’m not going to marry her.” But his words were cut short by one of his men running up to him, breathless. “Sir, it’s Miss Ailsa! She’s street racing again. We couldn’t stop her!” Joey’s mouth snapped shut. He looked at me, his face a canvas of regret, and uttered a single phrase: “Wait for me.” Then he turned and ran, leaving me standing alone in the storm. The old Joey would have run to me, no matter what. The new Joey only ever showed me his back. A bitter smile twisted my lips as the rain washed over my face, mingling with tears I couldn’t stop. Joey, I’m done waiting for you. 3 News of my miraculous recovery slowly trickled through our social circle, but the lack of an official announcement fueled rampant speculation. Unable to stand the gossip, my father insisted on throwing a party to celebrate my return. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve my belongings from the family home, so I agreed. At the party, Ailsa was the center of attention, preening in a designer gown as sycophants flocked around her. She caught my eye from across the room and raised her glass in a mocking toast. “You’re so pathetic, Elara,” she whispered as I passed by, her voice laced with venom. “Did you really think this party was for you? It’s my engagement party with Joey.” I clutched the documents in my bag, ignoring her. Her perfect face twisted in a snarl. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path and tilting her neck to reveal a series of fresh, angry-looking bruises. “Don’t run off just yet. I wanted to thank you. Joey was so angry last night… he didn’t stop until dawn.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “I bet you didn’t know this, but during the first week you were in that coma, Joey and I tried out every inch of your wedding bed. Have you ever seen him when he’s rough, when he just takes what he wants?” Her eyes were filled with contempt. “You’re just as useless as your mother. I hit you with my car three years ago, and no one lifted a finger to help you. I could still crush you today without a second thought.” “So tell me,” she purred, a strange smile playing on her lips, “who do you think he really cares about? You, or me?” With that, she stumbled backward and collapsed onto the floor. “Elara, I already apologized! Why would you push me?” she shrieked, her eyes filling with tears as she stared up at me with a look of pure betrayal. A crowd gathered instantly, their whispers and pointed fingers a fresh wave of assault. Joey pushed through them, his face a mask of concern as he rushed to Ailsa’s side and helped her up. The movement jostled me, and I stumbled back, the sharp corner of a marble pillar digging into my spine. The pain was blinding. I didn’t say a word. In front of everyone, I walked over to Ailsa and slapped her, hard. “How old are you?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “Is this pathetic little act the best you can do?” “Elara!” Joey’s shocked voice and Ailsa’s shriek of outrage echoed through the room. “The security cameras are right there,” I said, my gaze locked on Ailsa. “I dare you to let them play the footage. Do you?” I turned back to her. “You deserved that slap for your filthy mouth. We can settle all our scores, old and new. Why don’t you repeat those threats you just made to the police?” I pulled out my phone to dial 911. Joey knocked it from my hand. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking. “That’s enough! Calm down,” he commanded. He stood there in silence for a moment before scooping Ailsa into his arms and carrying her away. The room erupted. Voices, sharp and pitying, sliced through the air. “Even if Ailsa’s a terrible actress and rotten to the core, she has him wrapped around her finger.” “Didn’t you hear? Mr. Sterling personally erased the records of the accident three years ago. No one even dares to mention it.” “It’s all part of their twisted game. The imprisonment, the drama… it’s just their version of foreplay. The great Elara Gabriel is nothing but a pawn.” My cold stare swept across the crowd, and they fell silent. A hot surge rose in my throat, and my hands began to tremble uncontrollably. I stumbled away from the scene, my legs barely holding me. Once I was out of sight, the strength I’d been faking deserted me. My whole body seized with pain, a fire tearing through my organs. I could barely stand. In a daze, I wiped away the blood streaming from my nose and mouth, but it just kept coming, a relentless tide telling me my life was about to end, right here, right now. I dug my nails into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me enough to pull out my phone again. My voice was steady. “Yes,” I said to the person on the other end. “I have the evidence.”

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In my wildest years, I was reckless and wild. I made the mistake of sleeping with mob boss Rocco Kane—never expecting his obsession would grow so dark. When I became pregnant, he locked me away. I overheard him say: “Once the baby is born, she’s useless. With an heir, we can take the Ashworth empire.” Fury consumed me. That night, I stabbed him in the eye. Enraged, he broke my legs repeatedly to prevent my escape, yet kept doctors close to protect the baby. So I cut open my own pregnant belly. “You’re asking to die,” he snarled, carrying me out. I smiled, twisting the knife toward his other eye. “No. We die together.” Rocco wrenched my arm with brutal force. The knife missed his eye, plunging deep into his left shoulder instead. Blood bloomed across his crisp white shirt, spilling onto the floor in a growing crimson pool. “Nora, are you fucking insane?” he roared, his free hand clamping around my throat like a vice. The ruined socket of his blinded eye was a terrifying void. I stared back at him, gasping for air, but a cold smile touched my lips. “I’ve always been a psycho. Is this the first you’re hearing of it?” Panic for the baby must have finally broken through his rage, because he let go. He threw me to the floor. My legs, already broken and reset so many times, were useless. I struggled to push myself up, a pathetic, futile gesture. Still, I wasn’t afraid to spit venom. “Rocco, I will never, ever give birth to this child.” “Get her!” Rocco cursed, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he barked orders at his bodyguards. “The baby in her belly cannot be harmed. If anything happens to it, you’ll all be eating lead!” As his men dragged me away, Rocco shot me a chilling smile. “Nora,” he purred, his hand, impossibly gentle, caressing my face. “Remember this. As long as I’m here, you won’t die. And there is only one future for that baby in your womb—” He leaned in closer. “It will be born.” I was thrown back into my gilded cage. The sprawling villa was decorated like a princess’s fairytale, all pinks and golds. A cruel joke, considering I was a prisoner who couldn’t even move. Several private doctors tended to the gash on my stomach, bandaging it with practiced efficiency. “Mr. Kane,” the butler’s voice drifted in from outside my window. “Miss Ashworth’s baby is fine. Just a little shaken, but there are no serious issues.” I could almost feel Rocco’s relief. He doubled my guard, posting ten more men around the villa. Every day, he had the finest food and drink sent to my room. Every sharp object was confiscated; not even a butter knife remained. “Miss Ashworth, the Master has already promised to marry you,” the butler said one day, sighing with a look of genuine confusion. “You only need to deliver the child safely, and you can live a life of luxury. Why are you so determined to throw it all away?” I didn’t answer. I just laughed, a cold, empty sound. “That sham of a wedding? He’s not marrying me. He’s just putting on a show.” The butler tried to reason with me again, but I silenced him with a single glare. Everyone in Rocco’s mansion thought I was a lunatic. They learned to keep their distance, afraid my madness was contagious. After a week confined to my bed, I noticed a new, curious face peeking in through my window. A young girl in a frilly princess dress. “So you’re Nora Ashworth?” she asked, her nose wrinkled in a sneer. “You’re not even that pretty. Do you really think my brother Rocco would look at you if it weren’t for your Ashworth blood?” She tossed her hair back. “And that wedding? Don’t even dream about it. To my brother, you’re nothing but a cheap incubator.” My eyes locked onto her. She was so clean, so delicate. So fragile. My interest was piqued. I’d heard the rumors—that Rocco kept a sweet, innocent young thing hidden away like a treasure. A girl named Clara, his adopted sister. And, more importantly, the one who had saved his life six years ago. A wicked idea began to form. Rocco had destroyed me. What kind of look would cross his face if I killed his precious little Clara? A cruel smile spread across my face. It seemed a new prey had just walked into my trap. I beckoned to her with a single finger. “Come here. I have something for you.” That evening, after having his shoulder patched up, Rocco finally graced me with his presence. “Nora, since you’ve heard the truth, I won’t hide it anymore,” he said, his voice flat. “Be a good girl, have this baby, and I’ll have your legs properly set. I’ll even let you go.” He sneered, tossing a check onto the bed. It was for fifty million dollars. “Consider it payment for your services.” His gaze raked over me, cold and devoid of any emotion. “For a slut like you, that’s enough to keep you in boy toys for a lifetime.” I laughed from my wheelchair. “And if I say no? Rocco, why should I accept your terms? Don’t forget, I’m the one carrying what you want. You should be begging me.” My voice hardened. “I’ll be the one making the demands. You’ll be the one deciding whether to accept.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, turning to leave. But then, I smiled softly. “Rocco, you call yourself a mob boss? You’ve already lost one eye. How can you still be so naive?” He froze, turning back to me with a flicker of confusion. “What do you mean?” I clapped my hands lightly and pointed toward a massive construction crane in the distance. “You hid that little girl so well, didn’t you? Terrified one of your enemies would find her.” My smile turned sharp as a razor’s edge. “Rocco, now it’s my turn to offer you a deal.” I held up two fingers. “You have a choice. The baby in my womb…” My gaze flickered toward the crane. “…or your precious little sister.” The color drained from Rocco’s face. He whipped his head around, his eyes following my gesture. Suspended high in the air, dangling from the crane’s hook, was a small figure in a white dress. Her hands and feet were bound, and muffled sobs echoed from the gag in her mouth. “Rocco, help me!” Clara’s terrified cry was faint but clear. “She’s a monster!” A thick vein pulsed on Rocco’s forehead. His eyes, burning with a murderous fury, locked onto mine. “Let her go.” “And if I don’t?” I shot back, a crazed light dancing in my eyes. “Rocco, don’t make me repeat myself. Her, or the baby. Choose.” He just stared at me, his face a mask of conflict. I knew what he was weighing. The child, his heir, the key to the Ashworth empire… against the girl he’d sworn to protect. I knew six months ago that a mob boss’s bed wasn’t an easy place to climb out of. The night I got drunk and tore off his clothes, he was so receptive because he’d already done his homework on me. He wanted the Ashworth fortune, and he wanted an heir to secure it. He laid the trap, and I walked right in. But there was one thing he never knew. I would have a child with any man in the world, but not him. Never him. “Have you made up your mind?” I asked, my voice dripping with impatience. He gritted his teeth, his voice a raw, broken whisper. “Nora… do you really want to get rid of my child that badly?” “I do,” I replied, my eyes lazily lifting to meet his. “You have fifteen seconds to decide. Save Clara, or let me walk away from this.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you hesitate… that rope on the crane is going to be cut…” I made a sharp, downward motion with my hand, my smile widening into a cruel grin. “And then… splat.” “You’ll be scraping your little sister off the pavement.” “I choose… Clara!” Rocco’s eyes squeezed shut in despair as he finally made his choice. A satisfied smile spread across my face. “I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “It’s been eighteen seconds.” “What are you doing?!” His eye flew open, widening in horror just as a sickening snap echoed from the direction of the crane. Clara’s scream tore through the air, cut short by a heavy thud. “What a shame. You were just a second too slow,” I murmured, admiring my fingernails as if nothing had happened. Rocco stumbled, his body swaying. When he finally regained his senses, he sprinted toward the crumpled figure on the ground. Clara lay in a heap, her head bleeding profusely, the pristine white of her dress stained a brilliant, horrifying red. “Doctor! Get the private doctor, now!” Rocco roared, gathering her limp body into his arms with a desperate tenderness. “NORA!” He spun to face me, his gaze pure, undiluted hatred. “You bitch! I made my choice! Why did you still have to hurt her?!” He held Clara tighter. “You leave family out of this! If you hate me, come after me!” Seeing the raw anguish in his eye, the utter devastation, brought a savage pleasure to my heart. “Oh?” I said softly. “Is that what you were thinking three years ago… when you murdered Leo Kane?” The words hung in the air. The blood drained from Rocco’s face, leaving it a waxy, pale canvas. “How… how do you know that name? What are you to my brother?” “If you hadn’t killed him,” I said, my voice cold as the grave, “I’d be your sister-in-law by now.” I lifted my gaze, meeting his shattered one. “Rocco. He died the night before he was going to propose to me.” I’d known for a long time. Rocco had murdered his own twin brother. Leo was supposed to join my family, to leave the criminal world behind. I was so close to wearing his ring. But Rocco took him from me, leaving a void that could never be filled. So I crafted a new persona for myself—the reckless, wild party girl—all to get close to the man who killed my love. Rocco’s eye was bloodshot, his arms still cradling the unconscious Clara. He let out a harsh, grating laugh. “So that’s what it was. I always thought the timing of you falling into my bed was suspicious. This was all for revenge?” He sneered. “Nora, you’re so naive. A failure like Leo could never have run the Kane family. He was weak.” He took a step closer, a twisted smile on his lips. “Besides, we have the same face. And now you’re carrying my child. Why not just marry me? It’s perfect, isn’t it?” The sharp crack of my hand across his face echoed in the silence. He turned his head slowly, a bloody hand coming up to touch his cheek. “No woman has ever hit me before,” he said, his voice like shattering ice. “You’re the first.” He looked up, his good eye burning with cold fire. “Since your hands can’t behave… I’ll have them broken.” He stood, holding Clara, and started to walk away. He paused by the bodyguards who had betrayed him. “These traitors… break them, too.” But the bodyguards didn’t move an inch. They stood like statues, their eyes fixed on me, waiting for my command. Rocco was careless. So utterly arrogant. He assumed these men were his. He assumed this whole world was his to command. “Miss Sinclair,” a man I knew as Mr. Sterling said, stepping forward respectfully. “That boy has caused you enough trouble. Shall we show him a fraction of our power, so he understands his place?” I was calmly trimming a bonsai tree. “Not yet.” I smiled to myself. “Rocco… the show is just getting started.” Everything he took from Leo three years ago… I would make him give it all back, piece by painful piece. “The child,” I said, my voice flat. “Get rid of it.” Just before they wheeled me into the operating room, Mr. Sterling hesitated. “Miss Sinclair, are you certain? If he finds out the child is gone, he might do something… drastic.” My smile deepened. “Are you afraid of him?” I looked at him, my voice steady. “Mr. Sterling, with the power of the Sinclair family, ten men like Rocco Kane would be nothing.” My gaze drifted to a photograph of Leo on the nightstand. “If he didn’t have Leo’s face,” I whispered, “he wouldn’t still be breathing.” “Yes, miss.” Mr. Sterling said no more and signaled for the surgery to begin. When I opened my eyes again, a heart-wrenching roar echoed from outside my room. “Nora! How could you?” “Without my permission, how dare you get rid of my child?!” Rocco’s screams were a grating annoyance. The procedure had left me feeling lighter, my face pale and drawn, but I still managed a weak smile for him. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you supposed to be at your precious Clara’s bedside?” I taunted. “I guess her injuries weren’t that serious if you still have time to stand here and shriek at me.” Rocco looked like he was about to explode. He had believed I was helpless here, a lamb for the slaughter. “Nora, why are these men listening to you?” he demanded, his eyes darting between me and the guards. “Who the hell are you?” I idly twisted the simple band on my ring finger. “You’ll find out soon enough.” His gaze fell to the ring, and he stiffened. “Is that… the ring Leo was going to give you?” “No. And yes.” Leo had died before he could place the real ring on my finger. So I had an exact replica made. A symbol of a promise I had accepted in my heart. “What do you have against Clara?” he pressed, his voice strained. “Even if you hate me, you should have come after me. She’s just my sister! It wouldn’t have stopped me from marrying you!” He took a shaky breath. “And… you agreed to marry me, didn’t you? I have the same face as Leo. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?” I reached out, my fingers tracing the lines of his face, a face I had once loved more than life itself. “Yes,” I whispered. “It’s identical.” My voice was soft, almost longing. “If it weren’t for your harsh voice, I could almost believe you were him.” But I knew. My Leo would never have treated me this way. He was pure, he would never have become a monster. He would never have kept a fragile white flower like Clara locked away. And he would never have left my bed in the middle of the night, only to sneak into Clara’s room, his breath catching as he watched her sleep, his desire a palpable thing in the dark. He would never have a cold, dead void where one of his eyes should be.

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The richest man in the country wanted me. Not for himself, but for his son. He wanted me to be his wife. My job? To whip his spoiled, playboy, trust-fund-baby of a son into shape. He asked if I was up to the challenge. Are you kidding me? From this day forward, if that brat so much as looks at another girl, I’m breaking his legs. 1 I was at a dive bar with my best friend, demolishing a plate of BBQ wings. She was scrolling through her phone, making little “tsk-tsk” sounds. “Look at this,” she said, shoving the screen in my face. “The nation’s golden boy has a new girlfriend. Again.” I glanced at the screen. It was an article about David Brown, son of the wealthiest man in the country. The accompanying photo showed a guy more handsome than any movie star, with an air of effortless privilege that screamed “old money.” Too bad the guy was a complete train wreck. He went through a dozen girlfriends a month. With his looks and money, women lined up. He never said no, and when he inevitably broke up with them, he’d pay them off with a hefty “severance package.” “So what?” I said, downing another beer. The room was starting to spin. My friend nudged me, raising an eyebrow. “What would you do if he were your husband?” “What would I do?” That question sobered me up real quick. “If I were married to that moron?” I slammed my glass on the table. “If he even thought about another woman, I’d break both his legs!” “And don’t get me started on his ‘investments’!” I continued, getting louder. “He buys a stock, it tanks. He touches a company, it goes bankrupt. If he were my husband, I’d lock him in a closet. He wants to go out and burn through my money? I’d kill him!” “And look at those dark circles under his eyes! How many kidneys does he think he has to burn through at this rate?” Halfway through my rant, my friend’s eyes went wide with terror. She stared at something behind me, blinking frantically. I let out a boozy burp. “You got a twitch?” “And his dad! His dad’s an idiot too! He’s got one son, and he’s letting him run wild like this? What a mess!” “If I were his mom, I’d give him a good smack upside the head, then hurry up and have another kid. Start over with a new character!” I was getting worked up, losing control of my volume. Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder. “I think you have some excellent points,” a calm voice said. “Would you be willing to manage him for me?” Who? I squinted and turned around. Crash. The beer bottle slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Standing behind me was a middle-aged man in a crisp white shirt. His gaze was sharp, his posture impeccable, and he looked incredibly familiar. Harrison… Harrison Brown? The richest man in the country? Can someone please tell me why the richest man in the country is eating at a dive bar on a Tuesday night? My friend covered her face and made a swift exit. “Don’t be alarmed,” Harrison Brown said, his expression serious. “I meant what I said. I think you’re right. Would you be willing to be his…” My eyes lit up. “His mom?” Harrison’s face darkened. “His wife.” 2 Harrison Brown brought me to the legendary Crestwood estate. I’d never seen a mansion this big in my life. The marble floors probably cost more per square foot than my entire apartment. I sat on a plush sofa while Harrison sat across from me. A few minutes later, the front door opened. A man in a black Gucci t-shirt walked in, holding a leash. David Brown. Harrison’s son. He froze when he saw us. “Dad? What are you doing here?” “What is this?” Harrison asked, his face grim as he pointed at the leash. “It’s my dog. You’ve seen him before… wait, holy crap, where’s my dog?” David panicked, yanking on the empty leash and looking around wildly. I just stared. A moment later, a husky trotted in nonchalantly. David dropped the leash and pointed a shaky finger at me, his face turning sour. “Are you really bringing your new girlfriend here? In front of me?” Harrison’s expression grew even darker. “My wife is still very much alive.” “Ahem.” I cleared my throat, feeling like I should probably say something. I chose my words carefully. “David, is it? Come here, kneel down. Mom has something to tell you.” David’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What is the meaning of this?!” he snarled, turning to his father. Harrison was unfazed. “Get acquainted. This is the wife I’ve found for you. From now on, you will listen to her.” David was speechless. “Her?!” He looked me up and down with disgust. “She looks like she crawled out of a sewer. And you want me to listen to her? You must be dreaming.” Harrison ignored him and handed me a bank card. “This is for you. From now on, all of his allowances will be deposited into this account.” “What do you mean?” David sputtered. Harrison narrowed his eyes at his son. “From now on, all of your money is in your wife’s hands. That includes your cars and properties. They’ve already been transferred to her name. Understood?” “On what grounds?!” David roared. “Even my money is managed by your mother. You think you get a choice?” Harrison’s voice was like ice. “Now, shut up before I decide to slap some sense into you.” I held the heavy, black card in my hands, a giddy smile on my face. So this is what wealth feels like. “From now on, this waste of space is your responsibility,” Harrison said to me. “Keep him in line. The money is yours to spend as you see fit.” With that, he turned and left, ignoring David’s furious protests. Just before the door closed, he gave me a final nod. “Don’t hold back. Hit him if you need to. You were right.” “If you accidentally kill him, I’ll just start over with a new one. I’ve still got time.” Slam! The door shut. Me: … David: … There’s some fatherly love here, but not much. 3 What does it feel like to become a millionaire overnight? I was clutching the black card, too excited to sleep, so I texted my best friend. Me: I’m rich. Her reply was instantaneous. BFF: Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped. Me: … Even if I had been kidnapped, you wouldn’t be able to see me blink. After I explained the whole story, she sent back a single number: 6. BFF: I almost feel sorry for David Brown. You, in charge of him? Tsk tsk. He’s about to experience all the childhood discipline he ever missed. I scoffed. I can be gentle. “Hey, you!” An annoyed voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned around. Whoa. David stood there, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his eight-pack abs glistening. He offered a sly smile. “Well, what do you think, gorgeous?” “Nice,” I said honestly, then added, “My name is Hannah.” He really was ridiculously handsome. “Hannah…” David moved closer, the scent of citrusy body wash filling the air. He leaned in, his face just inches from mine. Oh no. I think I’m about to get a nosebleed. “So… can I have my money back?” His words were a splash of ice water. I hugged the card to my chest and spat out a single word. “No.” He was handsome, sure. But he wasn’t “a limitless black card” handsome. Trying to seduce me? He picked the wrong woman. I’ve spent ten years gutting fish at the city market. My heart is colder than a walk-in freezer. Unless you’re offering cash. David’s face instantly darkened. “Don’t push your luck. That’s my money!” “No.” Still the same word. “Fuck!” he cursed, his face flushing with anger. “If you were a man, I’d punch you!” I tilted my chin up proudly. “If I were a man, I couldn’t be your wife, could I?” “Get out.” Now it was his turn to say it. 4 The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes. I’d been too excited to sleep. There was a knock on the door. I yawned and opened it to find a man in a black suit. “Ms. Reed? I am Mr. Brown’s assistant, Mr. Davies.” “These are Master David’s car and house keys. Mr. Brown asked me to deliver them to you.” Before I could process what was happening, Mr. Davies handed me a heavy, custom-made tote bag from a private bank. It was filled to the brim with keys of every shape and size. I nearly dropped it. His task completed, Mr. Davies gave a curt nod and left. Carrying the heavy bag, I took the elevator down to the underground garage. I hit the light switch by the door. One by one, rows of lights flickered on, illuminating the space. The bag of keys slipped from my fingers and hit the concrete with a loud jangle. Before me was a garage the size of an amusement park, filled with an endless sea of luxury cars. There were no Mercedes or BMWs here. The lowest tier was a Porsche 911. Further in, I saw Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, McLarens, Maseratis… you name it, he had it. I fell to my knees. So this was the fortune of a billionaire’s son. My apologies for my earlier disrespect, Master David. … After hauling the keys upstairs and locking them securely in my room, I made myself some breakfast. A little while later, David stumbled down, rubbing his eyes. The moment he saw me, his face soured. “Why the hell are you still here?” I just smiled and dangled the key to the Crestwood estate. “Sorry, this is my house now.” “Fuck!” He cursed, grabbing his jacket from the sofa. “Fine! You stay here, I’m leaving!” “Where are you going?” I stepped in front of him. “I’m your wife, remember? You have to tell me where you’re going.” “I’m going to the Dynasty Club, and you’re not following me!” he snapped, pushing past me. He stormed out the door, then stopped, patting his pockets. An enraged roar echoed back into the house. “Where the FUCK are my keys?!” Right here with me. I chuckled. David shot me a look that could kill before stomping off. I went back to my room, grabbed a random key, and headed down to the garage. I picked a sleek McLaren and sped off towards the Dynasty Club. Alright, pretty boy. Let’s see if I can’t knock you back into line today. 5 Before heading to the club, I made a detour to the city’s most exclusive shopping district. I bought myself a new outfit from head to toe. Looking in the mirror, I had to admit, I cleaned up pretty well. Dressed like this, I could almost pass for the heiress of some great fortune. Hey, all of David’s assets were mine to command now, right? By the time I arrived at the Dynasty Club, over an hour had passed. I figured David was probably well into his party by now. Time for my grand entrance. “Good evening, miss. Who are you here to see?” a hostess asked, rushing to greet me. I gave her a warm smile. “I’m looking for David Brown. Could you take me to him?” “Of course. Right this way.” She led me to the top floor, to a private suite at the end of the hall: 1603. As I approached the door, I could already hear David’s voice. “I swear, my dad has lost his mind. He found some trashy hick off the street and wants me to marry her. It’s driving me crazy.” “And he gave her all my money! All of it! Is he senile? He’s barely even met her!” So much filial piety. Another voice, a woman’s, cooed, “Oh, David, don’t be angry.” “Your father was probably just tricked by that woman. Don’t worry, we’re all on your side.” David sighed. “You’re the only one who understands me, Tiffany.” Understand this. I’d had enough. I kicked the door open and stormed in. The chatter in the room died instantly. David was sitting on the sofa directly across from the door, a delicate-looking girl practically draped over him. Four or five of his cronies were scattered around the room. “What are you doing here?” David asked, a flicker of shock in his eyes before it was replaced with his usual disdain. “David, who is this?” the girl, Tiffany, asked, tightening her grip on his arm. “She looks so… aggressive.” I smiled. What a perfectly brewed pot of green tea. “I’m his mother,” I said. And before anyone could react, I walked over, grabbed the fruit platter from the table, and slammed it upside down on David’s head. He was stunned, staring at me with a mixture of fruit salad and fury. “What the hell—” He didn’t get to finish. I stepped onto the coffee table, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the sofa. Then, I executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw. THUD! David hit the floor, hard. I started training in taekwondo, kickboxing, and Muay Thai when I was ten. I was the national champion for fourteen years straight. Taking down a pampered pretty boy who spent his days chasing skirts? Child’s play. Everyone in the room was frozen in shock. 6 The little green tea, Tiffany, was especially terrified. She swallowed hard, trembling. “Ah… fuck!” David groaned, trying to push himself up. I promptly sat down on his back, pinning him to the floor. He was stuck, propped up on his elbows, unable to move. I calmly lit a cigarette and smiled sweetly at the room. “Hello, everyone. I’m David’s wife, Hannah.” “My apologies for the poor upbringing. Please forgive the embarrassing display.” His friends stammered, exchanging nervous glances, their earlier bravado completely gone. “Uh… Mrs. Brown… you’re… quite something.” “Yeah, definitely…” I nodded, taking a drag from my cigarette, and turned my gaze to the trembling Tiffany. She flinched under my stare. “Sweetheart,” I began, my voice dangerously soft. “I’m his wife. I assume you know that?” “I… I know…” she squeaked, shrinking back. “You know, and you’re still draped all over him like a cheap scarf?! Do you think I’m a vegetarian?!” My sudden roar made her burst into tears. I shook my head. Tsk. This generation of home-wreckers is so fragile. “I’ll let it slide this time,” I said, stubbing out my cigarette. I stood up, and David collapsed face-first onto the carpet. “But if I ever see you near him again, I’ll break your legs.” Tiffany nodded frantically, sobbing. “Get up. We’re leaving.” I hauled David to his feet and offered a final, apologetic smile to his friends. “Sorry to cut the night short. We’ll have to do this again sometime.” David croaked, “Help me!” His friends all stood ramrod straight, their faces grim. “Goodbye, Mrs. Brown!” “Come back anytime, Mrs. Brown!” No one paid any attention to David’s plea for help. Who would dare? I’d take them all on. “You’re all useless!” David roared in frustration. I backhanded him across the face. “Shut up.” 7 I drove David straight back to the mansion. In the living room, I leaned back on the sofa. David was squatting in the corner. “Did you have fun today?” I asked with a smile. “No… no, not at all!” David grimaced. I sighed and patted his shoulder. He flinched. “Look, David, we’re technically a married couple now… or at least in a relationship, right?” “There are some things I’d really rather not get physical about.” “You can probably tell that I’m a very gentle person. It takes a lot to make me angry enough to hit someone, don’t you agree?” David looked at me with a pained, conflicted expression and nodded. I smiled, satisfied. “See? You have me now, but you still went out looking for other girls. Don’t you think you deserved that?” Even though our relationship was a transaction, I still had a job to do. And I don’t tolerate cheating. As long as we were together, if he dared to look at another woman, I’d break his legs. It was the only way men like him learned. David opened his mouth to protest, but I narrowed my eyes, and he immediately started nodding vigorously. “Good. So you agree you deserved it. What happens next time, if you go looking for other girls again?” I was getting into his head. David looked confused for a moment. “…You’ll hit me again?” “Exactly.” I patted his head consolingly. Hey, his hair was surprisingly soft, like petting a dog. “So learn your lesson, okay? Don’t do it again.” “Any time you’re with another girl, it’s going to hurt my feelings, understand?” David nodded. I grinned. This brat. Not only was he physically weak, but his brain wasn’t much better. No wonder he lost money on every business venture. “Excellent. Now, sign this.” I pulled a document out of my purse and handed it to him. He stared at it, bewildered. “What’s this?” “The rules of engagement.” I crossed my legs. “From now on, if you break a single rule on this list, you lose all your allowance for the month, plus you get a beating.” David shot to his feet, his earlier submissiveness gone. He glared at me. “Hannah! This is exploitation! Are you some kind of slave driver?!” “I swear, today I’m breaking my rule about not hitting women! I’ll show you what a real fight looks like!” “Heh.” I scoffed. “You and what army, pretty boy?” “Fuck!” David’s face turned red. He rolled up his sleeves and lunged at me. 8 I sent him flying with a single kick. He landed several feet away. “Fuck!” David clutched his stomach, sprawled on the floor. “You… you really hit me?!” “What did you expect?” I retorted. “You were coming right at me. I’m a delicate flower, you know. I get scared easily.” “You call that delicate?!” David scrambled up and lifted his shirt. A nasty purple bruise was already forming on his perfect abs. Oops. That was from my foot. Well, it was self-defense. “Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “It’s not my fault you wanted to start something.” David gritted his teeth. “Can I ask what you do for a living?!” “Isn’t it obvious? I’m your wife. I’ll probably be a housewife after we’re married,” I said innocently. He just kept glaring, so I waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. I’m a martial arts coach. For the national team.” “Right.” David just stared at me, his expression a mixture of awe and horror. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “My dad is a goddamn genius for finding you to manage me.” I tried to be modest. “I do my best.” … Later that night, David was lying on his bed after a shower, waiting for me to put some ointment on his bruise. Every time I rubbed it in, he yelped. “Can you please shut up?” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been beaten up twice by you today! I think I’m allowed to make some noise!” he whined. Fine, fine. I glanced at him. He really did have a great body. Great face, too. Body, check. Looks, check. Brains… well, he had great looks. Aside from being a bit of an idiot, he was basically perfect. “A girl like you will never get married,” he grumbled after I finished. “You’re a monster. A she-devil.” “Don’t worry,” I said soothingly. “I’ll do my best to marry you.” “Get out!” he yelped, horrified.

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My husband Mark and I have a blended family with my daughter Lily and his daughter Daisy. Just before school began, my stepdaughter’s interview “The Pain of a Broken Home” went viral. When Daisy moved in, I tried to make her feel welcome—moving Lily’s desk to the living room so Daisy could use the larger one in the spare room, buying her two sets of school supplies in her favorite colors like Lily’s, and ignoring my daughter’s complaints. A week before school, a news crew filmed a “Youth Development” piece. Daisy eagerly joined. On camera, she said tearfully, “I have to study in the spare room because my stepmom says the living room is for my sister. She gets new supplies—I’m told mine are fine.” When it aired, #EvilStepmother exploded. We were doxxed; strangers gathered outside shouting insults. Lily was bullied at school. Once, while picking up Daisy, a crowd shoved me down the stairs. Hurt, I heard Daisy whisper, “Sorry, Sophie… they were defending me.” I opened my eyes and was back to when Mark dropped Daisy’s suitcase in the entryway. He was usually meticulous, but neglectful with his own daughter. As Daisy bent to change shoes, I saw the calculating look in her eyes and smiled slowly. So this was the “pain of a broken home” you meant? Fine. This time, I’ll let you learn what it truly feels like to suffocate. 1 In the entryway, my husband Mark tossed Daisy’s suitcase on the floor and turned to me with a warm smile. “I passed by the market and picked up some grapes, your favorite. Where’s Lily? Tell her to come have some.” Daisy stood frozen by the door, clutching the hem of her shirt, her small frame curled in on itself. In my last life, that pitiful act was all it took to fool me. She was just a child, I’d thought. Her parents’ divorce was hard enough; she shouldn’t have to bear the weight of adult resentments. So I had rushed over, setting her suitcase upright and carrying it inside for her. Worried she’d feel uncomfortable being around us all the time, I moved Lily’s desk out of the spare room and into the living room, giving Daisy the bigger, better space. Even when Lily pouted that I was playing favorites, I had just smiled and soothed her, “Her sister just got here, sweetie. We have to take good care of her.” I bought two sets of stationery in Daisy’s favorite lavender. I gave her Lily’s nightlight. I woke up early to make her a special lunch for school. Mark had even teased me, “You care more about Daisy than you do your own daughter.” And what did I get for it? In that interview, she’d looked into the camera with red-rimmed eyes and lied. “Every day after school, I have to hide in a tiny corner of the spare room to do my homework. My stepmom always says the living room is my sister’s special place, and that I’d be rude to go in there.” “And the school supplies… she tells me to make do with my old things, but my sister gets to go to school with brand new stuff. And then she accuses me of being jealous and trying to compete with her.” “All I want is a few new pens and a decent place to study. Is that really too much to ask? I just don’t understand why she treats me so differently.” The trending hashtag, #ThePainOfABrokenHome, had crushed me. Strangers at my door, my daughter ostracized at school. I was pushed down a flight of stairs and left to die, and Daisy never showed a shred of remorse. A chill ran down my spine. I looked at Daisy now, but the familiar pang of pity in my heart was gone. Mark brought out the grapes and called for the girls. Lily came bouncing out and asked, “Isn’t my sister having any?” Daisy looked up at me, her eyes pleading, expecting me to pull her over like I always did. I didn’t move. Mark peeled a grape and fed it to me. Lily pointed at the fallen suitcase. “Daddy, Daisy’s suitcase fell over.” “She can pick it up herself. She’s old enough to handle something that simple, isn’t she?” Mark went back to peeling grapes for me, completely ignoring Daisy’s humiliation. In my past life, I always tried to make up for Mark’s coldness toward her, thinking of us as a team. In the end, I, the one with no blood ties to her, became the one who owed her everything. Daisy’s shoulders slumped, her eyes turning red. I finally spoke, my voice flat. “Listen to your father. He’s just trying to teach you to be responsible.” Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Mark paused, then chuckled and ruffled my hair. “See? You get me. She needs to learn to do things for herself.” I watched Daisy struggle to right the heavy suitcase, her knuckles white. This time, I wouldn’t pay for her sob story. My only job was to protect myself and Lily. “Daddy, more grapes, please,” Lily chirped, pulling me back to the present. I took a grape from Mark and gave it to her, the warmth returning to my eyes. 2 Daisy finally got the suitcase up, her fingers leaving red marks on the handle. She probably never expected me, the always-smiling stepmom, to watch her struggle, and she certainly never expected her own father to tell her to do it herself. I ignored her, leading Lily into the living room and deliberately raising my voice. “Lily, we’re going shopping for school supplies tomorrow. What color do you want? Pink or blue? Mommy will get you the newest imported binders.” Lily’s eyes lit up. “Pink! And I want the highlighters with the little strawberries on them!” “You got it,” I said, smiling as I stroked her hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daisy’s shoulders slump even further. She was still frozen in the entryway. Last time, I had specifically asked for her favorite color and bought two lavender sets of everything, right down to the matching pencil cases. And in return, she told her friends, “My stepmom only buys the good stuff for her real daughter. I just get the leftovers.” This time, I wasn’t going to waste my energy on such a thankless task. If she wanted something, I wasn’t the person she should be asking. Mark finished his grapes and wiped his hands, finally remembering his daughter. “Daisy, your room is the guest room. Go get yourself unpacked. Oh, and about your school supplies—have your mother get them for you. I’ve been so busy lately, I forgot to ask her about it.” The words were like a needle, and Daisy’s head shot up. Her mother had moved out of state after the divorce and hadn’t called once, let alone sent money for child support. Mark knew this perfectly well, but he deliberately pushed the responsibility onto her. I pretended not to notice her discomfort and added, “That’s right. Your mother dotes on you. I’m sure she’ll get you the very best.” Daisy’s lips parted as if to say something, but she swallowed the words. She gripped the handle of her suitcase and slowly trudged to the guest room, closing the door so softly it was almost silent. But I heard it. It wasn’t the sound of sorrow. It was the sound of simmering resentment. The next afternoon, Lily and I returned from the stationery store. As we walked in, we saw Daisy sitting on the sofa, clutching a worn-out pencil case, her eyes red and puffy. Mark sat beside her, looking annoyed. “What’s wrong?” I asked, placing Lily’s new pencil case on the coffee table. The pink strawberry pattern was bright and cheerful. Mark didn’t answer, but Daisy spoke up, her voice thick with tears. “Sophie… my mom said… she said she doesn’t have any money right now and told me to just use my old supplies from last year. But they’re almost all used up, and I need to take notes for my classes…” She looked at me as she spoke, that familiar, pleading look in her eyes. This time, I said nothing. Mark cut her off with a frown. “What’s wrong with old supplies? When I was in school, I wrote on the back of the page when the front was full. When a pen ran out of ink, I just replaced the cartridge. It didn’t stop me from getting into college.” Daisy stared at him, stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected her own father to say something like that. Her mouth opened, tears trembling on her lashes. “But Dad… the teachers specifically said we need new notebooks for the new semester…” “The teachers can say whatever they want. You know our financial situation, don’t you?” Mark’s tone grew colder. “If your mother says she doesn’t have the money, then you’ll have to make do. She’s already skipping out on child support; the least she can do is buy you some damn school supplies.” At his words, the color drained from Daisy’s face. Her mother didn’t want anything to do with her anymore; of course she wouldn’t send money for notebooks. But Daisy couldn’t say that out loud. Admitting it would be admitting she’d been abandoned. She gripped the old pencil case tighter, tears shimmering in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Lily looked from Daisy to me and whispered, “Mommy, I have two highlighters. Should I give one to my sister?” I squeezed Lily’s cheek and shook my head with a smile. “Mommy bought your school supplies with her own money, not from the family savings. If your sister wants new things, she can either ask your dad to buy them, or she can ask her mom for the money.” Daisy shot up from the sofa, grabbed her old pencil case, and stormed into the guest room, slamming the door behind her. I stared at the closed door, my expression calm. She always talked about the pain of a broken home, but I was never the source of that pain. It was her mother who abandoned her and her father who pretended not to notice. Why should I rush in to take the blame, only to be branded an evil stepmother without so much as a thank you? 3 Three days before the start of school, there was a parent-teacher conference. Mark claimed he had a work emergency and asked me to go. I agreed, but not before calling the teacher and explaining that Mark was primarily responsible for Daisy’s education, and that he should be the first point of contact for any issues. When I arrived at the classroom and sat in Lily’s seat, I overheard two parents whispering nearby. “See her? That’s Daisy’s stepmom. I heard her parents are divorced and she lives with her dad now.” “Yeah, I saw her dad bring her shopping the other day. I’ve never seen her mom around.” I said nothing. I knew the truth. No matter how much good I did, in their eyes, I would always be the villain. And her actual parents, the ones who neglected her, could hide in the shadows, completely blameless. Halfway through the meeting, the teacher made an announcement. “After the semester begins, the school is organizing a trip to visit some elite universities on the East Coast. The students will get to tour the campuses and attend lectures by top professors. It’s an incredible opportunity for their academic growth. The fee is five thousand dollars per student, and we need confirmation and payment today. Spots are limited, so please decide quickly.” After the conference, I was walking out of the classroom when Daisy ran up and blocked my path. “Sophie,” she began, her head bowed. “The fee for the trip… My mom said she doesn’t have the money and told me to ask you…” Her voice was small, but it held a hint of certainty. She was sure I’d give in. I didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I pulled out my phone, dialed Mark, and put him on speaker. “Honey, the teacher just announced a university tour that costs five thousand dollars per person. Daisy says her mom won’t pay. What should we do?” There was a pause on the other end, and then Mark’s voice turned cold. “Tell her to talk to her mother herself! She’s not paying child support, and now she can’t even cough up the money for a school trip?” His voice grew louder. “Either her mom transfers the money today, or she doesn’t go. I’m not going to foot the bill for everything and do her mother’s job for her.” As his voice echoed from the phone, the color drained from Daisy’s face. She clutched the hem of her shirt, and a tear finally rolled down her cheek. “Dad… Mom really doesn’t have the money… and the teacher said it’s due today…” “Then she needs to figure it out!” Mark snapped. “If you can’t even handle something like this, how are you going to get through college? Solve your own problems, Daisy. Stop expecting other people to do it for you!” With that, Mark hung up. Daisy stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. I put my phone away, my voice neutral. “You heard your father. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but things are really tight for us right now. Between tuition for both of you and the mortgage last month, there’s not much left. I honestly don’t have five thousand dollars for this trip. You should really try calling your mom again, or maybe talk to your dad when he’s in a better mood.” Her head shot up, her eyes filled with shock and betrayal. “Sophie, can’t you just help me this one time? Just once…” “Help you?” I looked at her, my gaze steady. In my last life, I helped her with everything. I moved her desk, bought her supplies, paid her fees. I made sure she had everything Lily had, and more. I worried about her teenage pride, coddled her, tiptoed around her feelings so she would never feel left out. And what was my reward? She called me a monster on television. Strangers screamed at me in the street. My daughter lost her mother. “Daisy, don’t look at me like that. There is truly nothing I can do. You need to talk to your parents. Don’t stand here bothering me. I have my own daughter to raise.” Daisy froze, and her tears abruptly stopped. 4 It was probably the first time anyone had ever laid her parents’ indifference out so plainly before her. I didn’t look at her again. I turned and walked toward the school gate. Behind me, Daisy remained rooted to the spot, clutching her empty, worn-out pencil case like an abandoned child. I knew this was only the beginning. In this life, I would make her see with her own two eyes who was truly responsible for the pain of her broken home. Who was it that made her beg for a new pen or a clean notebook? It wasn’t me, her evil stepmother. It was her own parents, the ones who did nothing but shift the blame. She had hated the wrong person. And she had taken her revenge on the wrong person. When I got home, Lily was at the living room desk, happily unpacking her new stationery. The pink and white binder was open, and she had used a strawberry-scented highlighter to draw a wobbly smiley face on a piece of paper. Seeing me, she held up the pen. “Mommy, this pen writes in a sweet color!” I walked over and stroked her hair. I noticed the guest room door was slightly ajar, but there was no sound from within. Daisy was probably still stewing over the trip fee. Or perhaps she was staring at her old pencil case, plotting her next sob story. That evening, Mark came home on time for once, bringing a new toy car for Lily. Daisy sat across the dinner table, pushing rice around her bowl, her eyes darting toward the toy every few seconds. Last time, seeing that look, I would have made Lily share. This time, I didn’t say a word. Mark acted as if he didn’t even see his own daughter’s disappointment. He was too busy putting food on Lily’s plate. “It’s the weekend tomorrow. How about Daddy takes you to the amusement park?” Lily cheered. Daisy suddenly put down her chopsticks, her voice laced with a carefully concealed bitterness. “Dad, school starts the day after tomorrow, and the strap on my backpack is broken. Can you…” Before she could finish, Mark frowned. “If it’s broken, sew it yourself. The backpack I used in school lasted three years. I patched it up five times and it worked just fine. If you really don’t want to use it, ask your mom for a new one. Surely she can afford to buy you a backpack?” There it was again. That same refrain. Daisy’s face flushed a deep red, her knuckles white as she gripped her chopsticks. She couldn’t understand why her father, who had always been at least civil to her, had suddenly changed, deflecting every request back to the mother who had long since vanished from her life. I kept my head down, sipping my soup, pretending not to see the hatred brewing in her eyes. She was pitiable, yes. But my daughter deserved to have her mother. I would not sacrifice Lily’s well-being for Daisy’s sake ever again. Her pain was for the people who caused it to bear. But Daisy clearly didn’t see it that way. She suddenly slammed her chopsticks on the table, her eyes burning with pure hatred as she stared at me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re the one who turned my dad against me, who told him not to pay for my trip! I’m going to the media! I’ll expose you for child abuse and see how you can show your face in public then!”

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A month after the divorce, I posted a picture to my Instagram: a stunning diamond ring nestled between two fresh marriage certificates. The caption was simple: It’s official. Two minutes later, my ex-husband’s call came through. “Tiffany, take down that post. Now.” “I know you’re just trying to make me jealous with fake marriage certificates, but what will people think if they see it?” “We’ll go remarry tomorrow. I’ve already calmed Anna down; she’s forgiven you.” I was about to tell him the certificates were very much real when a deep, masculine voice drifted from the bathroom. “Tiffany, I forgot a towel.” On the other end of the line, I could hear the distinct sound of teeth grinding. My ex-husband’s lazy tone sharpened into a blade. “Who is that? Who’s in the room with you, Tiffany?” 1 I hung up and got a towel for Jim. After he was dressed, he gave me a warm hug before heading out for a work emergency. Half an hour later, the front door was kicked open. Miles rushed in, his eyes wild. He grabbed my hands, spinning me around to check for injuries. Seeing I was unharmed, he let out a shuddering breath and pulled me into a crushing embrace. “Tiffany, baby, are you mad at me? I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. Please, don’t use some other guy to make me jealous.” His eyes were red-rimmed, and he nuzzled his chin against my shoulder. “Baby, you know I love you more than anything. Even if it’s a joke, it drives me crazy.” “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He claimed he loved me most, but the moment his assistant, Anna, threw a tantrum, he’d filed for a “temporary” divorce without a second thought and jetted off to take wedding photos with her. He missed me so much that he took Anna to see orcas in New Zealand, then immediately flew her to Norway for the Northern Lights. Her Instagram had been a non-stop highlight reel of their romantic getaway for the past month. Hearing his heartfelt speech now, I let out a short, bitter laugh. “It wasn’t a joke.” His smile froze. My own expression was serene. “We’re divorced, Miles. I have no reason to make you jealous.” He forced a laugh, his posture relaxing instantly. “Still holding a grudge, huh? C’mon, baby, don’t be like that. She’s just my colleague. It’s not like I did anything to betray you.” “Look, to make it up to you for the whole divorce thing, I’ll propose to you all over again. We’ll be fine. Forgive me, just one more time.” He pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket. “It’s a custom-designed necklace. I had it made for you on my last business trip.” My gaze fell to his left hand. On his ring finger was the faint, pale band of skin left by a wedding ring. When we got married, he’d refused to wear a ring, claiming it was unprofessional. That tan line, combined with this sudden, extravagant gift, told me everything I needed to know about who he’d been wearing a ring for. Just then, our daughter burst through the door and threw her arms around me. She opened her small hand to reveal a delicate, lifelike butterfly hairpin. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? The little butterfly is saying sorry.” I took the pin and clipped it into my hair. The cold refusal on my lips died away. You can’t stay angry at your own child. BOOM! The sound of fireworks crackled outside. Miles took my hand and led me to the doorway. A heart formed by 999 drones was drifting slowly through the night sky. As it reached our house, the drones shifted, spelling out my name. TIFFANY, HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY. My daughter looked up at me with hopeful eyes. Miles’s smile was as warm and tender as the day he’d first confessed his love to me, surrounded by 999 candles. Passersby stopped, oohing and aahing, some even applauding. “Wow, that’s so romantic!” “Kiss her! Kiss her!” they chanted. I met Miles’s eyes, saying nothing. He bit his lower lip and leaned in, about to kiss my cheek. At that exact moment, a pair of bright headlights washed over my face, followed by Anna’s broken sobs. 2 Anna teetered towards us on impossibly high heels, her eyes swimming with tears as she stared at Miles. “We just had our wedding photos taken, and you’re already cheating on me? Miles, you told me you’d only love me for the rest of your life! You’re a liar! I’m just going to go kill myself then!” She made a dramatic run for a nearby tree, only to collide with Miles’s chest instead. She pounded his chest with her small fists. “You’re a monster, Miles! If you’re going to break my heart, you might as well just let me die.” Our daughter, Lily, ran to her side, gently wiping away her tears. “Mommy, don’t cry. Daddy and I love you the most.” Instantly, the curious gazes of the onlookers turned sharp, pointing at me. “So, she’s the other woman?” “Obviously. They have a child together. I can’t believe she has the nerve to seduce a married man.” I opened my mouth to explain, but Miles cut me off with a frown. “You should go, Tiffany. I can’t do this to Anna.” Lily reached up and yanked the hairpin from my head, taking a clump of my hair with it. She snatched the necklace box from my hand. “Did you really think this was for you? It was a gift from Daddy and me to Mommy.” In just one month, my daughter had started calling Anna “Mommy.” A smirk played on Miles’s lips. He dropped to one knee before Anna. “I kept feeling like I still owed you something. I think… this was it.” Lily clipped the butterfly pin into Anna’s hair. “Mommy loves butterflies. I picked this out just for you.” On a bystander’s livestream, the hashtag #RealLove was trending. Her husband and child adore her! She’s the real winner here! Oh my god, is that a two-carat diamond? It looks like the ‘Heart of the Ocean’ masterpiece that took three years to design. It’s worth over a hundred million, the only one in the world! Amid the chorus of praise, Anna shot me a look of pure contempt before melting into Miles’s arms. He held her with one arm and took Lily’s hand with the other, turning their backs on me. I simply pulled out my phone, screenshotted every single one of Anna’s gloating posts, and then blocked and deleted them both. I had no time for this pathetic homewrecker soap opera. 3 A little while later, a video call from Jim came through. “Tiffany, I’ve handled things at the office and I’m on my way back. Want me to pick up a late-night snack?” I thought for a moment. “No, thanks. I don’t really have an appetite.” Jim’s expression immediately grew tense. “What’s wrong? Did that guy from this afternoon bother you? He… he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” He tried to look casual, turning his head to the side, but the way he bit his lip betrayed his concern. I shook my head, a small smile touching my lips. “What are you thinking? It’s just the heat.” When Jim got home, he saw the empty living room and rushed into the bedroom, only relaxing when he saw me packing a suitcase. “I thought you weren’t leaving for another month. Why are you packing now?” I smiled and gave him a hug. “I changed the flight to three days from now. If we leave early, we can do some sightseeing.” I had agonized over buying that ticket for weeks, but the decision to finally leave took only a second. I had always stayed for Lily’s sake. Now, I realized there was nothing left here for me to hold onto. But before I left, there was one last important thing to do. The next morning, I arrived at the auction house. My parents had gone missing during a round-the-world trip years ago. An island up for bid today held the only clue I’d found to their whereabouts. I hadn’t even reached my seat when a stiletto heel shot out, tripping me. I stumbled and fell. Anna laughed. “Oh, Tiffany, I know your daughter calls me ‘Mommy’ now, but you don’t have to bow to me.” “You’re so much older than me. I’d hate for you to shorten my lifespan with such respect.” She didn’t move, however, instead motioning for her friends to help me up. “You’re so good at playing the victim. If I were a man, I’d probably fall for it too. Too bad for you, Miles is completely devoted to me.” I slapped their hands away. “You seem to be enjoying the role of the other woman. Is that why you’re so happy?” Her smile vanished. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes.” I assumed she was talking about Miles and brushed it off. I couldn’t care less about a man who had already cheated. But to my horror, when the bidding for the island began, one of Miles’s employees walked to the podium and began presenting my proposal. They had stolen my work. I stared at Miles in disbelief. He couldn’t meet my eyes. I had poured my heart and soul into that proposal, working sleepless nights for a month, all for the chance to get access to that island and investigate my parents’ last known location. I never thought he would do this to me, all for Anna. Anna tilted her head, pointing to the presentation on the screen. “Isn’t it a great pitch, Tiffany? That island is mine.” To find the truth, I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and called my assistant. “Add ten percent to the budget. I don’t care what it takes. Get me that island.” Miles opened his mouth as if to explain, but Anna tugged on his arm. “Miles, you promised you’d give me this island. You can’t let Tiffany use your money to steal it from me.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. So, after all the years we’d spent building our company from nothing, in everyone’s eyes, I was just a gold digger living off his wealth. I was about to tell him I would fight him for it when he suddenly stopped Anna. “Why fight over a deserted island? I have a much better gift for you, Anna.”

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