Category: English

Just before bed, a sponsored post popped up on my feed. The algorithm had flagged it as something my husband had “liked.” The title read: A Love That Marriage Cannot Contain: My Knight Will Always Ride for Me. The article was a travel blog, chronicling the author’s trip through the Sahara with her boyfriend. The blogger called herself “Wildcat.” But not a single photo in the post showed her boyfriend’s face. My husband, Caden, is a cop. He doesn’t read this kind of sentimental drivel. And a week ago, he missed the birth of our child because he was away on a “training exercise.” The location? Africa. A coincidence? To be sure, I called him. “Where are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. His tone was clipped, impatient. “Still in the Sahara for drills. Can you stop being so paranoid? I’m hanging up.” I froze. Just before the line went dead, I heard it—a soft, distinctly female giggle in the background. … I forwarded Wildcat’s blog to my grandfather’s personal assistant and then dove into her archives, reading every post she’d ever written. There weren’t many, but they all chronicled her adventures with her boyfriend. And in every single one, his face was conspicuously absent. The titles were strange, too. They had nothing to do with travel. A Love That Marriage Cannot Contain. Only the Unloved Choose Marriage. What Drab Housewife Can Compete with a Wildcat in the Sun? My Knight Doesn’t Want a Pregnant Lady. A free-spirited couple, committed to love but not to marriage? My gut told me this was no coincidence. When I checked my social media feed again, the “liked by a friend” feature had been disabled for Caden’s account. I could no longer see his activity. The knot in my stomach tightened. Just then, a message came through from my grandfather’s assistant. “Ma’am, the blogger ‘Wildcat’ is a young woman from the mountains you once sponsored. Her birth name was Cassie Miller. She later changed it and became a travel blogger, spending most of her time abroad.” Suddenly, a memory surfaced. It was right after we got married. Caden, who was usually so reserved, came up behind me and started massaging my shoulders. He told me he’d been on assignment in a remote mountain region and had seen girls who couldn’t afford to go to school. He asked if I would sponsor their education. It was such a rare moment of tenderness from him. I was so touched, I agreed without a second thought. My fists clenched. A sickening suspicion began to form. Just then, Wildcat’s blog updated again. “Hey guys! Next stop is the ancient site of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon! My boyfriend is so worried about me, he’s insisting on coming along to protect his girl! Tee hee!” “Way better than giving birth alone in a loveless marriage, amirite? A real knight by my side is all I need!” A wave of relief washed over me. Caden had said the training exercise was only a week long. He should be home in a day or two. I felt a pang of guilt for doubting him. This was all just a series of bizarre coincidences. He was distant, yes, but that was just his nature. And he had, in his own quiet way, told me he loved me before. Feeling reassured, I sent him a few pictures of our newborn baby. He hadn’t even seen him yet. But hours passed, and there was no reply. I was just drifting off to sleep when the unique notification tone I’d set for his messages chimed. I snatched up my phone. It was a cold, terse update. [Not coming home tomorrow. The squad’s been deployed to the Middle East for a counter-terrorism drill.] The blood drained from my face. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon are in the Middle East. I stared at the screen for a long moment, then immediately tried to video call him. It didn’t even ring for a full second before he rejected it. [What are you doing?! You’re interrupting my training!] His text was sharp, accusatory. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He had time to type out a lecture, but not one second to answer my call? And what kind of training exercise lets you keep your phone on you? Was I interrupting his training? Or was I interrupting something else entirely? I called again. Rejected. And again. Rejected. Finally, another message came through, laced with fury. [Grace, did giving birth scramble your brain?!] [Do you have any idea how seriously you are compromising my mission right now?!] [So I’m coming back a few days late, what’s the big deal?! You’re getting more and more pathetic!] I was stunned. He was calling me, his wife who had just given birth to his child, “pathetic”? Still, a foolish part of me clung to hope. [Honey, I’m really not feeling well. Can you please just ask for leave and come home?] [Don’t you guys get paternity leave?] [My C-section incision is healing so slowly. The pain at night is so bad I have to take a handful of painkillers just to sleep.] [The baby is so fussy, and your mom won’t let me hire a nanny. I can’t handle this alone.] His response was another barrage of blame. [And you think I can handle it any better?!] [You’re a mother now, a woman in your thirties. Stop being so damn dramatic!] [Every woman goes through this! What makes you so special? So fragile? You’re not a teenager anymore!] His words struck me dumb. I couldn’t believe a husband, a new father, could be so callous. I was about to type a furious reply when I saw it: a red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. From the bassinet beside the bed, the baby, sensing my distress, began to wail. I forced myself up, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen, and went to soothe him. Looking at his tiny, red, crumpled face, a cold realization dawned on me. Since the moment I went into labor, Caden had not once asked how I was, or how the baby was. Was it really just his “cold nature”? Or was it something else entirely? Utter, absolute indifference. After rocking the baby back to sleep, I opened Wildcat’s blog again, torturing myself by scrolling through her past posts. When I reached the very beginning, I covered my face with my hands as silent, hot tears streamed through my fingers. The dates of every single one of her trips, her “romantic getaways,” corresponded perfectly with every single one of Caden’s “business trips” and “training exercises.” It was true. He was cheating on me. When the tears finally ran dry, a cold, hard calm settled over me. I called my assistant and booked the first flight to the Middle East. Without a word to his mother, I dropped the baby off with the trusted nannies at my family’s estate. The next day, I was standing on the sun-scorched earth of an ancient land. I had to see it with my own eyes. Only then would I let my heart truly die. I used Wildcat’s latest post to find her location, staking out a spot near the ruins of the Hanging Gardens. I disguised myself, wrapped in scarves like a thief. My C-section scar throbbed violently, a pain that even the strongest painkillers couldn’t completely numb, a searing pain that crawled through me like thorny vines. Then I saw her. The blogger, Wildcat. My heart leaped into my throat. She was tan and tall, radiating a vibrant, youthful energy. She was undeniably beautiful. And the man beside her— He stood straight and proud, his handsome face softened by a gentle, adoring expression. An undeniable pair. Anyone would say they looked perfect together. If only the man hadn’t been my husband of ten years. Even the t-shirt he was wearing… I had picked it out for him myself. The world went dark at the edges. There, in front of the ruins of a wonder of the ancient world, my husband was kissing another woman. Wildcat’s post from the night before flashed in my mind: The Gods of Babylon will forever bless lovers who kiss before their temple. It was over. Maybe it was because I had prepared myself for the worst, but in that moment of shattering heartbreak, my first instinct was strangely clinical. I raised my phone and took a picture. Evidence. My heart was a gaping wound, but my mind was crystal clear. For the rest of the day, I shadowed them. I watched Wildcat leap onto Caden’s back like a playful child. Caden—the man who was so stoic with me he’d never once uttered a word of sweet-talk—was now carrying her with a tender smile I had never seen before. I remembered once, by the river at night, I’d asked him to take a picture of me with the city lights. He’d refused instantly. “My hands are for holding a gun, Grace. Not for doing useless things like that.” But now, this same man was patiently taking shot after shot as Wildcat handed him her camera, posing and preening. So, all those third-person photos on her blog… they were taken by my husband, whose hands were “only for holding a gun”? A desolate coldness seeped into my bones. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that I wasn’t worthy of it. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. His phone rang. I watched him, my expression unreadable. Wildcat leaned over to see the screen, then pouted. I was close enough to hear every word. “Is it that old hag again?” she whined. “Hang up! Or I’ll get mad! Your time is my time! You are mine! She already has your marriage, your love can only be mine! Your eyes, your heart, your body—they all belong to me!” Faced with her tantrum, Caden immediately went to soothe her. My call, unsurprisingly, was rejected. The next time I tried, I’d been blocked. The sun was blindingly bright, but I felt a chill deep in my bones. And this woman, this vibrant, sunny creature, was a willing homewrecker. Just then, another message came from my grandfather’s assistant. As I read the contents, the full, sickening scope of the deception came into focus. Eight years ago, Caden had an accident during a mission in the mountains. He’d fallen into a ravine. His captain called me immediately. Frantic, I’d rushed to the airport, and on the way, I got into a car crash. While I was in the ICU, fighting for my life, my husband, Caden, was in a remote village, celebrating a makeshift wedding ceremony with Wildcat. She was the one who had found him in the ravine and “saved” him. After a few nights alone together, her parents had used her “ruined reputation” to force Caden to marry her, demanding a hefty sum to make things right. I suddenly remembered Caden asking me for thirty thousand dollars around that time. He’d said it was for the widow of a colleague who had died in the line of duty. I had personally funded his dowry to another woman. And shortly after that, he’d approached me with the idea of sponsoring her education. I was the fool. The clown in their twisted little play. If he was going to betray our marriage, then he could not blame me for being ruthless. I didn’t just want a divorce. I wanted to ruin him. I followed them all day, numbly documenting every kiss, every touch, every loving glance. That night, Wildcat’s blog updated again. As I suspected, the photos were all taken from Caden’s perspective. The title was another dagger to my heart: Marriage is Nothing. True Love is Everything! I finally understood. The nonsensical, unrelated titles were her justification. The pathetic mantra of a mistress trying to paint her affair as something noble. To my surprise, she added a little note at the end of the post. [Hey guys, my amazing boyfriend got me a job offer at a Fortune 500 company! Should I take it?] [Oh, and I mentioned I needed a new car today, and he said he’d buy me a luxury car when we get back home! I’m so spoiled!] The comments were a flood of fawning praise. [I’ve followed Wildcat forever! Their love is like a fairytale, and her boyfriend is crazy rich! He buys her designer everything!] [Marry him already, girl! Before someone else snatches him up!] Wildcat replied personally to that second comment. [When you have true love, who needs marriage? Marriage is just a safety net for people who aren’t really loved!] I laughed out loud, a harsh, grating sound. With Caden’s police salary, he couldn’t afford a single one of the designer bags she flaunted. But I, worried he might be short on cash, transferred him hundreds of thousands of dollars in “spending money” every month. He had been using my money to fund his “true love.” Suddenly, my phone buzzed with that special notification tone. Caden had unblocked me. [Cooled down yet? Had a night to think about it?] [If you pull a stunt like that again, I won’t be so forgiving.] [Oh, by the way, the widow of my fallen comrade needs a car. You have that Maybach in the garage, right? Give it to her. It’s the least I can do.] [And talk to your father. I have a friend who needs a senior management position at his company. Make sure you take care of her.] The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated gall. When I loved him, I would have given him the world. I extended that generosity to all his friends and family. That kindness had not only given him the courage to be arrogant but had also fed his greed and his nerve. And now, he was shamelessly asking me to provide for his mistress. This was the man I had loved for ten years. I took a few deep breaths, forcing the rage down, and typed out the compliant, agreeable response he wanted to hear. Pleased with my “reasonableness,” he chatted for a bit longer, even graciously informing me that he had a celebratory banquet with his squad next week and wouldn’t be coming home that night. I simply agreed. After all, the best dishes, and the best dramas, are worth waiting for. I had a very special gift planned for him.

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My girlfriend’s entire family was taken hostage by terrorists. As members of a special operations team, it was our job to rescue them. During the firefight, I took a bullet shielding my girlfriend, Lisa. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, thankful for my body armor, I saw blood seeping through my uniform. A quick check revealed the horrifying truth: the vest Lisa had given me wasn’t bulletproof. It was a standard-issue cotton vest. As I stared at her, my eyes filled with pain and confusion, Lisa’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “I gave your vest to Noah. He’s new. He doesn’t have your skills. He needed two vests to be safe.” I clutched my side, my voice tight with rage. “You thought he wasn’t safe with one vest, so you took mine? Were you trying to get me killed?” Lisa’s face twisted in annoyance. “Why are you so selfish? Can’t you think about the rookie for once? It was just a vest.” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “it didn’t hit anything vital. What are you crying about?” I knew arguing was pointless. I patched myself up as best I could and sent a secure message to my father, the director of the agency: Wounded in action. Requesting immediate evac. Mission compromised. Abort. 1 A short while later, Lisa, as team leader, received the director’s order to stand down. She stormed over and grabbed me by the collar, her eyes blazing. “You’re the one who tattled, aren’t you?” “Do you have any idea that my parents and my brother are in there? Every second we waste puts them in more danger.” “And you requested to abort the mission? Are you trying to get them killed?” Her violent shove tore open my makeshift bandage. Blood poured from the wound, pooling at my feet. I pressed hard against my ribs, gritting my teeth against the pain. “We walked into an ambush. The enemy knew we were coming. Going in now is a suicide mission.” “And another thing,” I added, my voice strained, “I’m shot. Is it wrong to call for a medevac?” Before Lisa could answer, Noah chimed in, his voice dripping with condescending sarcasm. “Come on, Mason. You’re a veteran of this unit. Are you really calling it quits over a scratch?” “It’s embarrassing, man.” “Besides, we’re here to save Captain Hayes’s family. Your future in-laws. And you’re just going to walk away?” “Are you a coward, or does our captain just not mean that much to you?” His words acted as a signal. The rest of the team turned on me. “Mason, if you’re scared, you should train harder. Running away just makes you look weak.” “‘No man left behind’ is our motto. You get a scrape and you’re calling for mommy? The other units will laugh us out of the service.” The searing pain was bad enough, but their mockery was a fresh kind of agony. I let go of the wound, pointing to the blood that was now pulsing out in a steady rhythm. “Are you all blind, or did you check your conscience at the door? Does this look like a scratch to you?” The other team members fell silent, but Noah just smirked. “You think getting shot makes you a hero? Stop showing off.” Lisa stepped forward, her expression disdainful. “Why is it that everyone else is fine, and you’re the only one who got shot?” “It’s because you slack off during training. When it comes to real combat, you’re useless. And you have the nerve to complain?” I wanted to defend myself, but the pain was a steel band around my chest, squeezing the words out of me. As the blood loss mounted, my vision blurred. The world started to sway. Thank God I had sent that message. Otherwise, I’d be dead for sure. Just when I thought Lisa would finally order a retreat, I heard her give the command to advance. “Everyone, on me. We hit them now, before they regroup. We take the compound and rescue the hostages.” I struggled to my feet, the pain a white-hot fire in my side. “You… you’re disobeying a direct order?” A smirk played on her lips. “I’m the field commander for this operation. I have the final say.” “And I’m not going to let a coward jeopardize the mission.” Seeing the manic look in her eyes, I knew there was no reasoning with her. “Lisa, I understand you’re desperate. But I’m wounded. I can’t go on. I have to wait for evac.” “No!” Noah cut in before Lisa could respond. His eyes were cold and calculating. “If we leave him here, he’ll tell the director that Captain Hayes deliberately disobeyed orders.” “The only way to protect ourselves is to make him complicit.” “If he dares to say a word, we’ll pin the whole thing on him.” 2 The other team members, intimidated by Lisa and Noah’s authority, quickly agreed. I looked at Lisa, her face an icy mask. “Lisa,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, “including today, this is the fourth time I’ve saved your life.” “The first time was four years ago. I pulled you out of a pile of bodies and carried you for three days and three nights across the desert.” “You cried, you said you’d spend the rest of your life repaying me. You swore you’d never betray me.” “I know I don’t mean anything to you now. But please, for all the times I saved you, just give me a chance to live.” My words seemed to reach her. She hesitated, about to speak, but Noah cut her off. “Lisa, you can’t be soft now.” “Leaving him here will ruin everything! He could sabotage the entire rescue with one call.” At his words, Lisa’s expression hardened. “Stop trying to guilt-trip me with ancient history. That was a long time ago.” “You’re the only one who knows the layout of their compound. If you don’t come, how are we supposed to rescue the hostages?” “That’s right! Mason has to come! No playing dead,” Noah added quickly. Looking at their ugly, determined faces, I knew that reason was off the table. I played my last card. “Don’t be stupid. The director of this agency, Director Evans… he’s my father. If you do this to me, he won’t let you get away with it.” Noah burst out laughing. “That’s hilarious, Mason. I didn’t realize you were so desperate to save your own skin you’d start making up dads.” The others joined in. “Our Director Evans? Why would he have a kid with a different last name?” Lisa slapped me hard across the face. “Mason Turner, I am so ashamed to have ever called you my boyfriend.” “Say one more word of that nonsense, and I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.” She pressed the barrel of her gun against my forehead. I knew they were serious. Arguing was futile. But I had one condition. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But you have to make Noah give me my vest back.” “I’m shot, I can’t move well…” “Shut up!” Lisa snapped before I could finish. “You’re wounded, which means you’re useless in a fight. Why waste a vest on you?” “I’ll say it again. Noah is new. He has no experience. He needs two vests to be safe.” Hearing her say those words, so full of blatant favoritism, was a dagger to my heart. I couldn’t believe that the woman who once looked at me with so much love would now, for another man, completely disregard my life. Ever since Noah joined the team, she’d been different. Obsessed. Her eyes followed him everywhere. I had thought it was just a crush, an innocent attraction. I never believed she would betray years of shared history, of life-and-death situations, for some pretty boy. I was a fool. When I didn’t move, Lisa racked a round into the chamber, the sound echoing in the tense silence. She pressed the gun harder against my head. “Don’t think I won’t pull the trigger. Get up. Now.” 3 Defeated, I clutched my wound and struggled to my feet. “I’ll help you, Mason,” Noah said with a sickeningly sweet smile. Before I could refuse, he slammed the butt of his rifle into my side, directly on the wound. The pain was so intense tears sprang to my eyes. I shoved him away with all my might. “Get off me!” Noah yelped and fell to the ground dramatically. Without a word, Lisa lunged at me, shoving me hard. “What the hell is your problem? Noah was trying to help you!” Noah seized the opportunity to add fuel to the fire. “It’s okay, he’s just mad I’m wearing his vest. I can take it. As long as he calms down and leads us to the hostages, it’s worth it.” His words sent Lisa into a rage. She slapped me twice, hard. “Don’t think you can bully Noah just because he’s a good person. I won’t allow it!” she screamed. “If you hurt him again, I’ll make you pay double!” The slaps were powerful, leaving my ears ringing and my face stinging. But the pain in my heart was worse. I didn’t have the strength to explain, nor the desire. “I can walk on my own.” “It’s not that you don’t need help,” Noah sneered. “You’re just looking for a chance to run.” Lisa shot me a look of pure disgust. “Mason, if you screw this up and my family gets hurt, I will make you regret it.” She turned to Noah. “Watch him. If he tries anything, you have permission to execute him on the spot.” Her voice was cold. “We’re in a combat zone. Accidents happen.” I knew she was speaking for my benefit. I also knew she was capable of it. These were her people. If she gave the order, they would follow it without question. I had to play it smart. I just had to hold on until the evac team arrived. Noah pulled me to my feet and forced me into a run, completely ignoring the fact that my wound was bleeding more and more heavily. After a few minutes of this brutal pace, I was struggling to breathe. Black spots danced in my vision. I felt like my heart was about to give out. Suddenly, shadows flickered in the alley ahead. “Take cover,” Lisa hissed. “Movement ahead.” Before I could react, Noah shoved me forward, throwing me out into the open at the intersection of two alleys. At the same instant, I heard the tell-tale click of a machine gun being loaded just down the alley. I knew I had a second, maybe less, before I was torn to pieces. With the last of my strength, I threw myself toward the corner of a building. The impact was so hard that the crumbling brick wall gave way, collapsing around me. As the wall came down, the air filled with the deafening roar of machine-gun fire. If I hadn’t moved, I’d be dead. While they were engaged in the firefight, I crawled through the rubble and found a small, dark room to hide in. I activated my locator beacon again, praying the evac team would find me soon. The gunfire outside died down quickly. It must have been a small patrol that retreated after making contact. I huddled in the darkness, not daring to breathe. My enemies weren’t just the terrorists. They were my own teammates, who wanted me dead. I stared at the broken doorway, torn between hoping for rescue and fearing who might walk through it. Just as my anxiety reached its peak, the door creaked open. 4 A tall, thin figure stepped inside, a strange, twisted smile on his face. When my eyes adjusted, my heart sank. It was Noah. I curled into a ball, praying he wouldn’t see me. “Don’t hide, Mason. I see you.” I looked up. The bastard was standing right over me. “What do you want?” I rasped. Noah’s smile was predatory. “To help you, of course. My dear teammate.” “Get away from me. The best help you could give me is to leave me alone.” “Don’t be like that. I found some antiseptic. Let me clean your wound.” He reached for my bandage. I tried to fight him off, but I was too weak from blood loss. He tore off the gauze, then jammed his fingers directly into the bullet wound. He ripped the flesh, widening the hole, and a fresh torrent of blood gushed out. “Aaargh!” The pain was unimaginable. I screamed, and with a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, I kicked him as hard as I could. He flew back, slamming against the wall. That kick took everything I had left. Noah wiped a smear of blood from his lip and brushed the dust from his pants. “Just performed a little surgery for you,” he said with a cold smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine soon.” “I’ve never done anything to you… why are you doing this?” “Nothing? You…” Just then, Lisa and the others burst in. Seeing them, Noah immediately collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest. “Mason, I was just trying to help you with your wound! Why did you kick me?” Hearing that I had attacked Noah, Lisa charged at me, but Noah grabbed her arm, stopping her. He didn’t want her to see what he’d done to my wound. “It’s okay, Lisa. It’s my fault. He’s mad I took his vest. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt otherwise. It’s normal for him to hate me.” “Noah, you’re too kind,” Lisa seethed. “But kindness is wasted on some people. Mason is a monster, and he doesn’t deserve it.” “I’m going to teach this ungrateful bastard a lesson he’ll never forget!” She shook Noah off and lunged at me. But as she raised her foot to kick me, she froze, her eyes widening in shock. “You… your wound… it’s so bad. It was just a shot to the ribs. How are your intestines hanging out?” I used my last ounce of strength to point at Noah. “He… he did this…” “He means I was the one who bandaged him up,” Noah interrupted smoothly. He adopted a look of grave concern. “He was like this when I found him. He must have caught it on something when he was running.” He looked around at the others. “As it stands, there’s nothing we can do for him. It’s time for us to make a decision.” Lisa’s face was filled with worry. “What do you mean?” “I mean he’s not going to make it. We can’t take him with us. If the terrorists find him, he’ll compromise our position.” “The best thing we can do is end his suffering now. It’s a mercy, and it protects the team.” He said it with such conviction, as if he was doing me a great favor. The others hesitated. Noah pressed on. “If you’re not worried about him giving us all away and getting us killed, then fine. Forget I said anything.” That did it. Lisa nodded grimly. “Do as Noah says. We’ll be helping Mason… easing his pain.” With the captain’s approval, the others reluctantly agreed. Noah brought over a basin of water and a stack of paper towels. “We’ll each take a towel, soak it, and place it over his face. It will only take a few minutes.” “This way, we’re all involved. No one can snitch.” Hearing this, the others dropped their reservations and started soaking the towels, pressing them over my nose and mouth. With each new layer, it became harder to breathe. Just as I thought I was about to suffocate, the door burst open. A team of operators stormed in, their leader shouting, “Stand down!” Everyone froze.

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I was raised by my grandmother. When she died, she left behind four houses. In her will, Grandma Rose divided the properties, one for each of her four sons’ sons. One house for each of my cousins. My name wasn’t mentioned once. My uncle, Ben, sobbed uncontrollably, but then his tears dried up as his eyes started sizing up the mahogany furniture around me. “Ava,” he said, his voice suddenly stripped of grief, “this house belongs to your cousin now. I’ll give you two days to pack your things and get out.” He paused, adding as an afterthought, “My mother loved her vintage silk gowns. She had over twenty of them in that wardrobe. You can take those, as a little something to remember her by.” I nodded, tears blurring my vision. That night, I saw my grandmother in a dream. She was smiling, and she asked if I was angry with her for leaving me nothing. I shook my head, crying, and told her I didn’t want the property, I just wanted her back. Grandma Rose stroked my hair, her touch feeling impossibly real. “Oh, my sweet girl, such foolish words,” she murmured. “Now, listen to me. Get up and open that wardrobe. Grandma’s left you a little something special.” 1 The memorial in the living room had just been taken down. Tomorrow, I would have to leave the old house I had called home for fifteen years. My parents died in a car crash when I was three. It was Grandma Rose who pulled me back from death’s door, feeding me warm broth and soft porridge, one spoonful at a time, nursing me back to life. She was a formidable woman, tough as nails with everyone but me. With me, she was always soft. If it hadn’t been for the sudden heart attack, she would have been with me for many more years. I’d spent the last few days weeping until I felt hollowed out. But my four wonderful uncles, upon hearing of her death, had a first reaction that was chillingly uniform. “So… what did Mom leave behind?” I handed them the envelope my grandmother had prepared three years ago. Inside was a single phone number. My third uncle, Frank, his hand trembling, dialed the number. A lawyer arrived shortly after. He was dressed in a crisp black suit, his face an emotionless mask as he opened his briefcase and produced the will. “…The four properties under my name will be inherited by my grandsons: the eldest, Will; the second, Leo; the third, Jake; and the fourth, Finn. Each shall inherit one house.” As the last word was spoken, a collective, audible sigh of relief filled the room. The men deflated as if they, not the woman lying in the cold casket, had been the ones holding their breath. My fifth uncle, David, even patted his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Thank God Mom wasn’t senile. At least she knew better than to leave the family assets to an outsider.” As he spoke, his eyes darted pointedly in my direction. I said nothing. It felt like a hollow cavity had been carved into my chest, and a bitter wind was whistling through it. Grandma Rose used to say, “A woman makes her way in this world with her own two hands and the skills she carries.” She had already given me the greatest gift by raising me; I never once thought to fight for these material things. The lawyer packed up his documents. Before he left, he gave me a long, meaningful look. At the time, I didn’t understand the depth of what he was trying to convey. The crowd dispersed, leaving only Uncle Ben behind. He started by squeezing out a few crocodile tears, pulling me into a theatrical hug. But halfway through his performance, his gaze began to wander, appraising the fine lines of the furniture. “Ava, don’t be too hard on your grandmother,” he said, patting my shoulder. “This house belongs to your cousin now. Business is business, you understand. It’s just not right, a young woman like you living here alone.” He cleared his throat, putting on an air of generosity. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you two days. Pack up and be out.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing. Uncle Ben didn’t notice. His attention was now fixed on the closed doors of my grandmother’s wardrobe. “Oh, right. Mom adored those old silk gowns of hers. There are more than twenty in there. The fabric’s probably a bit dated, but the styles are classic.” “Take them,” he offered magnanimously. “A keepsake.” Tears streamed down my face as I nodded. The old clothes they scorned were the last tangible connection I had to her. After the burial that afternoon, they were all gone. The sprawling house was suddenly, terrifyingly empty, filled with nothing but the echo of my own memories. That night, I slept in my grandmother’s bed, the scent of her favorite sandalwood soap clinging to the sheets. I buried my face in her pillow and cried for hours, finally drifting into an exhausted sleep just before dawn. And then, I dreamed of her. She was wearing a stunning, moon-white gown, sitting right on the edge of the bed, watching me with a gentle smile. “My sweet girl,” she whispered. “Are you angry that Grandma left you nothing?” I threw myself into her arms, the embrace feeling so warm, so real. “I don’t want anything,” I sobbed. “I just want you back.” Grandma Rose stroked my hair and sighed. “We all have our time to arrive, and our time to leave, my dear. I can protect you for a while, but not for a lifetime.” “Now, get up. Go and open that wardrobe.” Her voice held a spark of mischief. “Grandma’s left you a little something special.” 2 I jolted awake. A glance at the digital clock on the bedside table showed 3:00 AM, sharp. My grandmother’s words from the dream were seared into my mind, as clear as if she’d just spoken them. My heart hammered against my ribs. As if moved by an unseen force, I slid out of bed and switched on my phone’s flashlight. The narrow beam cut through the darkness, landing on the enormous rosewood wardrobe in the corner of her room. Everyone knew what was inside. Just twenty old gowns. But for her to come to me in a dream… there had to be more to it. Taking a deep breath, I pulled open the double doors. The next second, the blinding glint of gold nearly seared my eyes. I stumbled back, the phone almost slipping from my grasp. Steeling myself, I crept closer, my heart pounding. Inside, the twenty gowns hung in a neat row. But under the focused beam of my flashlight, every single one of them was shimmering with an impossible light. It wasn’t the sheen of silk. It was… the gleam of gold. My hand trembled as I reached out to touch the nearest gown, a deep emerald green one. The touch was cool, unyielding, with the distinct heft of metal. It was only then that I saw it clearly. This wasn’t silk at all. The entire gown had been woven from threads of pure gold, each as fine as a human hair. And the phoenix embroidered on the chest with colored silk thread… its eyes were two pigeon’s-egg-sized rubies. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I turned the light to the sapphire-blue gown next to it. Its traditional knotted buttons were a row of perfectly round, lustrous black pearls. The silvery-white one beside that had its hem dusted with crushed diamonds that fractured the light into a thousand dazzling stars. Twenty gowns. Twenty masterpieces crafted from gold thread, rubies, diamonds, pearls, and the finest jade. Any single one of them was worth enough to make my four uncles, with their eyes glued to property deeds, tear each other apart. I stared, mesmerized, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest. This wasn’t a wardrobe. It was a vault. A king’s ransom disguised as old clothes. My mind buzzing, I took a step back and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. Click. The room was flooded with bright, even light. And just like that, the golden shimmer from the wardrobe vanished without a trace. I froze, then rushed back to look. They were just twenty gowns, hanging neatly in a row. Under the bright overhead light, they looked like ordinary silk and brocade. Beautifully made, certainly, with intricate stitching and vintage charm, but utterly devoid of their previous otherworldly glow. It was as if I had imagined the whole thing. My hand shaking, I reached out and switched the ceiling light off again, leaving only the weak, narrow beam of my phone. The miracle happened again. The gleam of gold thread, the fire of gemstones, the soft luster of pearls—they all burst forth in the focused light, a treasure trove so brilliant it hurt to look at. I understood everything in that instant. Oh, Grandma. My clever, clever Grandma. She had foreseen it all. Who would ever think to look for a fortune hidden in such an unbelievably clever way? And who, in the dead of night, would examine a rack of “unwanted old clothes” with nothing but a single, narrow beam of light? Only me. Her Ava, who loved her so much that I would be up at all hours, missing her. Grandma Rose used to say, “Never depend on anyone else. Always look one step ahead, think one step ahead, and only then, take your step.” She hadn’t just left me the means to stand on my own two feet; she had meticulously planned how I could secure it safely. An overwhelming wave of love and sorrow washed over me. I pressed my hand to my mouth, choking back silent sobs. But after the tears, a far more practical problem presented itself. How was I going to get all of this out of here without anyone noticing? I was being kicked out tomorrow. These twenty gowns were incredibly heavy. I couldn’t possibly move them all by myself. And if I hired a moving company, my four vultures of an uncle would surely see. Even if they couldn’t tell what the gowns were made of, the sheer weight and secrecy would make them suspicious. If that happened, I feared I wouldn’t make it out of this house, with or without the treasure.

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1 In the eight years I was married to Andrea Chabrol, I never once laid eyes on our son. The moment he was born, Andrea whisked him away to the family estate. He’d sighed, his voice laced with a weary resignation. “Seraphina,” he’d said, “marrying you was already an exception. When it comes to the heir’s upbringing, my parents will not bend.” He’d looked at me then, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Besides, with your level of education and background… do you honestly think you can raise a worthy successor?” I swallowed the bitter pill of my inadequacy, telling myself this was just how these old-money families operated. Until last night. For the very first time, my son asked to see me. My heart was bursting, every fiber of my being humming with the joy of finally meeting him. But the first words out of my seven-year-old son’s mouth were: “So you’re the mistress my dad keeps on the side?” The world screeched to a halt. My head whipped around to face Andrea. … Panic flashed across Andrea’s face. He immediately tried to hustle our son out of the room. “Where did you learn such language? That’s disgraceful! Go home right now and copy your calligraphy exercises, ten times!” But the reprimand only fueled the boy’s anger. He dodged Andrea’s hand and ran towards me, shoving me hard. “You really are something else! You didn’t even have to say a word to get my dad to punish me!” he sneered. “Today, I’m going to teach you a lesson for my real mom! You filthy homewrecker!” I stared at the small, furious face before me, a face that was a near-perfect mirror of my own. A crumpled, sour dread began to churn in my stomach. “Don’t you know,” I started, my voice trembling, “I’m the one who…” “Seraphina! That’s enough!” Andrea’s roar cut me off. Confused, I opened my mouth to protest, but just then, a woman walked through the door. The scent of expensive perfume wafted from her sleek, dark hair. The tailored trench coat she wore fit her like a second skin. She had the unmistakable air of someone who had been coddled her entire life, untouched by hardship. Her eyes flickered over me, a subtle, dismissive glance that made me instinctively tuck a stray strand of my own coarse, dry hair behind my ear. Then, she walked right past me and ruffled my son’s hair. “There you are. You ran off again. Mommy’s really going to have to let Daddy punish you this time.” My son melted into her arms. “Mommy, I’m sorry! You have no idea how horrible this woman is!” My hand, still hovering near my ear, froze. A chill crept through my veins. So she was the “Mommy” he was talking about. Andrea’s childhood sweetheart—Isabelle Vance. She had always been the Chabrol family’s first choice for a daughter-in-law. Her family was their social equal, and she and Andrea had grown up together. I was just the poor scholarship kid who had managed, by sheer academic force, to walk the same university halls as him. So even when Andrea had chosen me, his parents had never stopped accusing me of being a gold digger. That was when I started working myself to the bone, desperate to prove I didn’t need their money. Andrea would secretly slip his credit cards into my purse, but I never touched them. I knew it was his way of respecting my pride while still worrying about me. Then, he’d taken our son to the estate, citing his “education.” Seven years had passed, and he had never once let me see him. “Do you have any idea how much a mother’s genetics influence a child?” he’d argued. “Don’t you want what’s best for our son? Just wait. Once his character is formed, my parents will let you see him.” I had always believed we loved and understood each other. I trusted him. I respected his decisions. But Isabelle—the woman my son was now calling “Mommy”—hadn’t even gotten into a real university. Her family had donated a building to get her a diploma. It finally hit me. It wasn’t that my education was insufficient. It wasn’t that this was some sacred, old-money tradition. It was simply that they could not bear for the world to know that the mother of the next Chabrol heir was an ordinary woman. It wasn’t just his parents. Even Andrea had never truly respected me. The realization was a punch to the gut, stealing the air from my lungs. By the time I came to my senses, Andrea was already leading our son out the door. I took a step forward, but Isabelle blocked my path. She smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “I wouldn’t waste your energy. Both Andrea and the boy… they belong to me.” I ignored her, my heart pounding with a desperate urgency. I tried to push past her. Isabelle let out a short, sharp laugh and grabbed my arm. “Are you deaf?” Her long, pointed nails dug into my flesh, leaving angry red marks. I tried to pull away, but her grip was like steel. After a moment of struggling, I finally looked up, my eyes burning. “I don’t want Andrea anymore,” I choked out. “I just want my son.” 2 The words felt raw and foreign in my mouth. The moment my son called her “Mommy,” my world had shattered. Ten months I had carried him. And even though I was never allowed to see him, the primal, unconditional love of a mother had always been there. I had swallowed seven years of longing, telling myself it was for his own good, so he could have the best education imaginable. Even my friends couldn’t understand. They’d urged me to adopt, to have a child by my side, something to hold onto. I had been horrified by the suggestion. Now, I saw how foolish I’d been. How could I have been so naive? How could I have trusted Andrea so blindly? The regret was so intense I wanted to die and start over. Isabelle’s lips curved into a smug smile. “What are you thinking? You didn’t know? I was the one who was afraid of the pain of childbirth, of ruining my figure. That’s why Andrea had you do it.” “Andrea will never be yours,” she continued, her voice a cruel whisper. “And the child will never be yours. Because from the moment he was in your womb, he was destined to call me Mother.” Her words were a physical blow, leaving me stunned and reeling. For a moment, I thought I must be hallucinating. “What are you talking about?” “Think about it,” she said, her tone dripping with contempt. “If I had been willing to give birth, do you really think someone like you would have ever been worthy of carrying a Chabrol heir? You, a low-life from the gutter, you reek of poverty. How could the mother of the next Chabrol be someone with no background, no name? Tell me, does that sound right to you?” She reached out and twirled a strand of my hair between her fingers, then burst out laughing. “You were just ashamed of yourself a moment ago, weren’t you? You know it, too. From head to toe, not a single hair on your head can compare to mine.” My private moment of self-doubt, laid bare and mocked. A hot flush of humiliation washed over me. I yanked her hand away. But as I pulled back, Isabelle suddenly crumpled to the floor in a graceful heap. I froze. Even though I knew she was faking, my first instinct was to help her. But Andrea, who had just put our son in the car, was already rushing back. He didn’t hesitate. He slapped me, hard, across the face. “If you have a problem, you take it up with me! I was the one who told him to call her ‘Mommy’! What do you get out of bullying her?” His eyes bored into me, cold and accusatory, like I was a criminal. The stinging pain on my cheek was a stark reminder of a time when his eyes had held nothing but tenderness for me. Even when we fought, I’d never seen such pure hatred in them. They say you can see love in a person’s eyes. I don’t know when it changed. But in that moment, as the force of his blow resonated through me, I realized I no longer cared. Andrea gently lifted Isabelle from the floor and settled her on the sofa. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?” Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears, her lower lip trembling. “Everywhere,” she whimpered. “I think I twisted my ankle.” Andrea was beside himself with worry. He spun around and yelled at me, “What are you waiting for?! Get the first-aid kit! She was raised in comfort, you think she’s tough like you?!” Watching them, it all became painfully clear. Once, after I’d fallen during a track meet in college, he had been just as frantic, practically carrying the school nurse to my side. Now, his concern was just for a different person. I silently retrieved the first-aid kit and handed it to him. As he took it, I heard myself say, “Andrea, let’s get a divorce.” “The house, the cars, the money… I don’t want any of it. I just want my son.” His hand, which had been gently massaging Isabelle’s ankle, froze. 3 He slowly looked up. His eyes scanned my reddened cheek, but there was no flicker of remorse. “I was just upset,” he said flatly. He rummaged through the kit, pulled out a tube of anti-inflammatory gel, and tossed it to me, completely ignoring my previous statement. I didn’t catch it. I just watched it clatter onto the table. He hadn’t even offered a simple “sorry.” Andrea’s hand, still holding the gel, paused mid-air. When he saw I wasn’t going to take it, he dropped it on the table. “You were the one in the wrong. Being overly dramatic will just make you seem pathetic.” A chill went through me. It was in that moment I realized that in our relationship, Andrea had always seen himself as the one in power. That’s why he would never apologize, never consider my feelings, never listen to what I had to say. Even when I discovered that he had let my own son call another woman “Mother,” he felt no need to explain himself. I had thought we were equals, that we at least had mutual respect. Isabelle sighed dramatically. “Darling, it’s not a big deal. Please don’t be angry.” She then clamped a hand over her mouth, feigning a mistake, and looked at me apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m just so used to calling him that in front of the boy. You understand, don’t you? It’s important for a child’s development to have both a mother and a father figure.” I could only laugh coldly. “He has a real mother. I’ll be taking him back, so you won’t have to play pretend anymore.” Isabelle’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “I’ve been with him for seven years,” she cried. “He’s like my own son. You can’t just take him away! Do you know his favorite food? Do you know which classes he hates? Do you know which little girl in his class always wants to play house with him? You know nothing! Are you even fit to be a mother?” She paused, turning her head away to wipe a tear. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I lost control. I just don’t think you are a qualified mother.” Andrea wrapped an arm around her, comforting her. “You didn’t say anything wrong. It’s okay, don’t cry. No matter what anyone says, this family and our son will only ever recognize you as his mother.” I was shaking with rage. Her words were like daggers, carving into my heart. She had stolen my role, my life, and now she was calling me unqualified. Just as I was about to retort, I felt a force from behind. I stumbled forward, catching myself just before I fell. I turned around. It was my son, his little fists flailing at me. “You ugly homewrecker! You bullied my mommy! Go to hell! You’re shameless! You bitch!”

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The day I was welcomed into the lap of luxury, I was told my only purpose. I was to be a spare heart for the family’s golden girl, Vivian Thorne. My biological parents, my own brother, and even my fiancé—they all orbited her, their true sun. My fiancé, Kurt Ducey, tilted my chin up with his fingers, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Your job is to be her shadow. You will take her place, fulfill the engagement she cannot.” He leaned in, his words like chips of ice. “Once Vivian is well, I’ll give you a handsome sum of money and you will disappear.” They drew my blood, locked me away, and forced me to mimic every facet of Vivian’s life, all to keep her entertained while she withered away on her sickbed. Until the day of the transplant, as I lay on the frigid operating table. I smiled at their anxious faces behind the glass. “What if I told you her heart condition is hereditary?” I asked, my voice echoing faintly in the sterile room. “And what if I told you… I’m not related to any of you by blood?” … I calmly signed my name, Elena, on the “Living Organ Donor Consent Form.” They called it a “familial gift.” The ink was barely dry before my so-called mother, Eleanor Thorne, was already snapping at the staff. “Quickly, take Elena for a blood draw. Vivian needs to build up her strength.” A nurse’s cold needle slid into the delicate skin of my arm. My blood, my life force, began to drain, drop by drop, into a plastic bag. Not far away, Vivian, lounging on a plush sofa, wrinkled her perfect nose. “Mother, the smell of blood is so strong. It’s making me feel ill.” Eleanor instantly rushed to her side, cupping a hand over Vivian’s nose, her voice a syrupy coo. “There, there, my sweet Vivi. It will be over in a moment.” She never looked at me again. I might as well have been an IV stand. After the draw, the world swam in black spots. I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall. My father, Richard Thorne, approached, not with a comforting arm, but with a platinum card, which he pressed into my palm. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this. For your nutritional expenses these next few months.” His tone was that of a shrewd investor closing a deal with a guaranteed high return. “Keep your body in prime condition. Don’t disappoint us.” I clenched the card, my nails digging into my flesh. Just then, the door opened, and a tall, imposing figure strode in. It was my fiancé, Kurt. He walked straight to Vivian, his eyes melting with a tenderness I had never seen. “How are you feeling today?” Vivian offered him a fragile smile. “Oh, Kurt, I feel so much better now that you’re here.” His gaze finally fell on me, as cold and impersonal as if he were looking at a piece of furniture. He tossed a thick binder at my feet. “Memorize this. It’s a complete file on Vivian—her likes, dislikes, her favorite phrases.” His voice was sharp. “When I take you out to company events, you will not slip up. You will not tarnish her image.” I was given the room next to Vivian’s. It had no windows, only a single, unblinking security camera mounted in the corner. They called it “convenience of care.” It was a 24/7 surveillance cell for their precious investment: my heart. My first day as a shadow was spent at the piano. Kurt loved to hear Vivian play Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” My fingers fumbled over the keys, striking a clumsy, discordant note. My brother, Miles, who had been standing guard, stormed over, his boot connecting with the piano bench in a violent crack. The bench flew out from under me, and I crashed to the polished floor. “Useless!” he snarled, looming over me, his face a mask of undisguised disgust. “You can’t even do this one simple thing right? What good are you?!” That night, my stomach twisted with hunger pangs. I crept to the kitchen, only to find scraps and leftovers. From Vivian’s room next door, I could hear the warm bubble of laughter as the family celebrated her “stable condition” for the day. I retreated to my cage in silence. From a hidden seam in my luggage, I retrieved a small razor blade I had concealed. I drew a thin crimson line across my fingertip. The sharp sting of it was a shock to my system, grounding me. I needed that pain to fight the creeping numbness, the soul-crushing despair they drowned me in every day. A few days later, Kurt needed me for a corporate gala. Vivian was feeling too weak, so her understudy was called to the stage. I was dressed in a white gossamer gown identical to one of Vivian’s, with the same subtle makeup she favored. At the party, one of Kurt’s friends swaggered over, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes raking over me with a suggestive smirk. “Changing things up, Ducey? This one looks a lot more innocent than Vivian.” Kurt’s arm snaked around my waist, his grip so tight I thought my bones might crack. He smiled at his friend, a chilling smile that never reached his eyes. “Just a cheap knock-off,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Borrowed for the night.” I froze, the blood turning to ice in my veins as a ripple of condescending laughter spread through the group around us. When we returned to the Thorne mansion, the moment I stepped through the door, a stinging slap sent my head snapping to the side. Eleanor stood before me, her face contorted with fury, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Who told you to drink juice at the party?!” she shrieked. “Don’t you know Vivian is allergic to mangoes? What if it affects your body?!” Her features were twisted with a rage that was terrifying to behold. “That body belongs to Vivian, not you! You get that through your head!” I held my burning cheek, staring into her hateful eyes, and felt a profound, chilling silence descend upon my soul. In that silence, a seed of hatred, black and poisonous, finally broke through the soil. Vivian’s condition took a sudden downturn; her heart rate became erratic. The family doctor announced that she needed another large blood transfusion to stabilize. I was forced into a chair, watching my own life drain away again. 400cc this time. Already anemic from malnutrition, my vision tunneled to black and I fainted. I awoke on the cold, hard floor. My vision cleared to see Richard, Eleanor, and Miles huddled anxiously around Vivian’s bed. “Vivi, my darling, how do you feel? Is it any better?” “It’s all that Elena’s fault. Her body is so weak, her blood must be poor quality!” Miles turned, and seeing me awake, the loathing in his eyes was palpable. He strode over and hauled me to my feet with one brutal tug. “Listen to me, Elena,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “I swear, if you pull another stunt that affects Vivian, I will make your life a living hell.” I staggered, dizzy and nauseous, but couldn’t utter a single word. To make me a more convincing replica, Eleanor began giving me personal “etiquette lessons.” She wielded a long, wooden ruler, smacking my legs and back to correct my posture, my gait, even the curve of my smile. “Vivian smiles at a fifteen-degree angle, not twenty!” CRACK. The ruler struck my shins, a hot, searing pain. “Again!” Kurt appeared again one afternoon, holding a beautifully wrapped gift box. He didn’t hand it to me; he dropped it at my feet. “Change into this,” he commanded. Inside was a champagne-colored dress, an exact copy of one in Vivian’s closet. “Vivian adores this dress, but she’s too frail to wear it now. You’ll wear it for her.” I changed in silence. The dress was a size too small, the fabric straining against my skin, constricting my breath. Kurt looked me up and down, a frown creasing his brow. “You’re thin as a wraith. You have none of Vivian’s charm. It’s pathetic.” Dr. Finch, the elderly family physician, came for my routine check-up. He had kind eyes and a gentle demeanor that felt entirely out of place in this house. While taking my blood pressure, he deftly pressed a small, wrapped candy into my palm. In a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he said, “Child, don’t give up.” The hard candy dissolved on my tongue, a sweetness so intense it was almost bitter. My eyes burned with unshed tears. It was the first, and only, drop of warmth I had received since entering this gilded cage I was supposed to call home. As Vivian’s strength returned slightly, she began to torment me with renewed vigor. She made a point of being affectionate with Kurt in front of me, draping herself over him while her eyes, sharp and venomous, stayed locked on me. “Oh, Elena,” she’d purr, “you don’t mind, do you? After all, Kurt’s heart has always been with me.” Kurt would cast a cold glare in my direction. “Stop staring at Vivian like that. If you upset her, you’ll pay the price.” I would lower my gaze, burying the inferno of my hatred, my nails digging crescents into my palms. I stopped sleeping. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on that operating table, the blinding light, the scalpel. I asked Eleanor for sleeping pills. She sneered, but agreed. “Good. A sleeping girl can’t get any foolish ideas.” One afternoon, I was carrying a glass of water through the living room when Vivian subtly stuck her foot out, tripping me. I went down hard. The glass flew from my hand, shattering her favorite crystal vase. Richard came home from work to find the glittering shards on the floor and Vivian’s eyes red-rimmed with tears. He exploded. Without asking a single question, he pointed a finger at my face and sentenced me to kneel on the stone patio for the entire night. Around midnight, the heavens opened up. A torrential rain began to fall. I was soaked through in minutes, shivering uncontrollably as a fever began to burn through me. Through a haze of delirium, I thought I saw Dr. Finch again. He administered a shot that cooled the fire in my veins. And then he leaned close, whispering something in my ear that shocked me back to full, terrifying clarity. “Your blood type is a match, of course. But I noticed something…” “…several of your other genetic markers show minute, but distinct, discrepancies with Mr. and Mrs. Thorne.” “It’s… not normal.” After the fever broke, I became more “obedient” than ever. I even offered to personally cook soup for Vivian as an “apology.” Seeing me so “sensible,” Eleanor allowed it. I used my time in the kitchen to secretly collect the disposable paper cups Richard and Eleanor had drunk from. I sealed them carefully in a plastic bag and hid them under my mattress. Now, I just needed a way out. So I began to act. I became withdrawn, staring at walls for hours. I would burst into tears for no reason. I was becoming a nuisance, and my erratic behavior finally frayed Eleanor’s nerves. She was afraid my mental instability would compromise the quality of the heart destined for her daughter. “Miles, take her out,” she ordered. “Buy her a cat, a dog, whatever. I can’t stand this deathly gloom!” With a cold scowl, Miles practically frog-marched me to a pet store. I pretended to be engrossed in a litter of kittens in a glass enclosure. The moment he stepped away to take a call, I slipped out the back door. A man in a baseball cap was waiting in the alley. He was a contact from a third-party genetics lab, arranged for me online by Dr. Finch. I handed him the sealed bag from my pocket. “Rush order. I need the results as soon as possible,” I said. “The money is already in your account.” The man nodded, took the package, and vanished down the alley without a word. I slipped back inside just as Miles was ending his call. He shot me a suspicious look. “Where did you go?” “I… I just used the restroom,” I mumbled, keeping my head down, playing the part of a frightened mouse. He waved a dismissive hand. “Have you picked one yet? Stop dawdling.” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “This is the last time. Make another request for anything, and I’ll break your legs.” I returned to the mansion clutching a small, fluffy kitten. A few days later, it was Vivian’s birthday. The Thornes threw a lavish party, a veritable who’s who of the city’s elite. I was dressed in a servant’s uniform and ordered to remain in a corner, on standby. In case Vivian felt faint, I could be whisked away for an emergency transfusion. During the party, Kurt’s grandfather, a formidable patriarch with an air of old-world authority, spotted me. His gaze was sharp, filled with appraisal and distaste. He pulled Kurt aside, and I caught fragments of their conversation drifting over. “…bloodline…” “…reputation…” “…unseemly…” Kurt’s expression soured instantly. Vivian, the belle of the ball, was showered with extravagant gifts. After opening them, she floated over to me, a glass of champagne in hand. She plucked the most cheaply wrapped gift—a small music box—from a nearby table and held it out to me. “Here, Elena. This is for you. You look so lonely over here.” The guests nearby tittered. It was a calculated, public humiliation. I looked up at her and produced a grateful, almost subservient smile. “Thank you, Vivian.” I took the music box and hugged it to my chest as if it were the most precious treasure in the world. The moment I turned away, the smile vanished from my face, replaced by a mask of cold fury.

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The hospital lab exploded with a deafening roar, trapping me and Seraphina King, the golden girl of St. Augustine’s General, in a roaring inferno. My boyfriend, Liam, made his choice in a heartbeat. He abandoned me for her. I didn’t scream for him. I didn’t beg. I just watched as he left me to the mercy of the flames. I knew this would happen. In another life, I’d played my trump card—revealing I was the hospital director’s daughter—and used the threat of his career to force him to save me. Seraphina had died in that fire. And Liam, after inheriting my family’s fortune, had waited until I was nine months pregnant, locked me in that same lab, and burned me and my unborn child alive. As I’d pleaded for our lives, he’d sneered, his face a mask of cruelty. “Phoebe! If you hadn’t blackmailed me with your family’s power, Seraphina would never have died so horribly!” His voice had been a venomous hiss. “I’m going to make you suffer everything she felt, a hundred times over!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back to the day of the fire, trapped with Seraphina King. … CRACK! The sound of splintering wood jolted me back to consciousness as a heavy cabinet crashed down on me. Pain, sharp and blinding, ripped through my body. I fought to see through the thick, acrid smoke that clawed at my lungs, my eyes watering as I doubled over in a fit of violent coughing. A deep, pulling ache radiated from my lower abdomen. Instinctively, my hand went to my stomach. “Baby… just hold on…” But where my swollen, near-term belly should have been, there was only flatness. What… how? Before the thought could fully form, a frantic voice cut through the haze. “Seraphina! Seraphina! Are you okay?” That voice. It was so familiar. From the other side of the room, Seraphina’s weak reply drifted through the smoke. “Liam… help me…” I lifted my head, my heart seizing in my chest. There was Liam, kneeling beside Seraphina, desperately trying to heave a collapsed table off her. The sight of them stole the air from my lungs. Wait… didn’t Liam just lock me in a lab? Didn’t he burn me alive? And my baby… A wave of agony, so profound it was physical, washed over me. I curled into a ball, my body trembling uncontrollably. From the doorway, my colleague Alison’s voice was a desperate shriek. “Liam! Are you insane? Get Phoebe out of there! She’s your girlfriend!” The scene was so terrifyingly real. This wasn’t a nightmare. I had been reborn. Reborn into the day I was trapped in the fire with Seraphina King. With a final, grating screech of metal, Liam wrenched the table free. He didn’t even glance my way as he scooped Seraphina into his arms and bolted for the exit. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Just like last time. I was his girlfriend, but he only had eyes for her. Of course he did. Seraphina was beautiful, the resident goddess of St. Augustine’s. And the rumors were she was the heiress to the King Medical Group. Liam, ever the opportunist, must have fallen for her long ago. I tried to push myself up, but the cabinet pinned my legs. Shards of glass had sliced into my calf, and the floor around me was slick with blood. I couldn’t move. Liam finally seemed to notice me. His eyes held no concern, only a cold, deep-seated annoyance. He scowled. “Seraphina is a King. If anything happens to her, the whole hospital goes under! I’m thinking of the big picture here!” He waved a dismissive hand in my direction. “You’re not hurt that bad. I’ll get her out, then come back for you.” I almost laughed again. If I hadn’t lived this once before, I might have actually believed his noble lie about the “big picture.” I was bleeding out on the floor, and to him, I wasn’t “hurt that bad.” Alison, bless her heart, tried to rush into the inferno, but another colleague grabbed her, holding her back. “Alison, stop! The lab is full of flammable chemicals! It’s too dangerous!” He was right. I remembered. This lab was a ticking time bomb, with maybe fifteen minutes left before a secondary, catastrophic explosion. In my last life, I’d been rescued and immediately screamed for everyone to evacuate, saving their lives. Liam had wanted to go back for Seraphina, but one look at the intensifying blaze had been enough to kill his courage. So how could I possibly believe he’d come back for me this time? I knew he wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t let the people who actually cared about me die for his mistake. Propping myself up on my elbows, I used every ounce of strength I had to yell, “Alison, don’t come in! It’s going to blow! Get everyone out of here! Run!” The word “blow” made Liam freeze in his tracks. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto me with an icy disbelief, as if seeing a stranger. “Phoebe, when did you become so manipulative?” “The fire department will have this contained in thirty minutes! What do you think our colleagues will think of me now that you’ve screamed that?” he seethed. “Why can’t you be more like Seraphina? Why can’t you have a shred of kindness?!” The sheer hypocrisy of it all was so absurd, I actually did laugh. “You didn’t seem to mind my ‘manipulative’ side when you were fucking me, did you?” That struck a nerve. But Seraphina, ever the damsel, tugged weakly at his collar. “Liam, I don’t feel so good…” Instantly, his attention snapped back to her, his expression softening. “Hang on, Seraphina. I won’t let anything happen to you.” With that, he turned and ran, leaving me behind without a second glance. Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I shoved at the heavy cabinet. The agony was immense, but compared to the memory of being burned alive… this was nothing. Alison slumped to the ground in disbelief. “Liam! You bastard!” she screamed after him. “The Director will have your head for this!” Alison was the only one at the hospital who knew my father was the director. Her threat only earned a cruel, mocking laugh from Liam. “The Director?” he called back, his voice dripping with scorn. “Please! Seraphina is the sole heiress to King Medical! He’d have my head if anything happened to her!” I finally managed to squirm out from under the cabinet. The movement tore the wounds on my leg wider, staining my lab coat a deeper crimson, but I didn’t care. I had to live. Time was running out. “Don’t beg him!” I screamed at Alison. “Just run!” I would never forget it. The insane glint in Liam’s eyes as he doused me in gasoline in my last life. There was no love left, only a roaring, consuming hatred. He ignored my screams, ignored the baby in my womb, and lit the match. I finally understood then. He blamed me for Seraphina’s death. He hated me that much. The memory was still burning behind my eyes when Alison, ignoring the flames, plunged back into the lab. “Phoebe! Hang on!” The smoke was a physical thing, choking me, blurring my vision. But through the haze, Alison’s small, determined figure was crystal clear against the backdrop of fire. “Are you fucking crazy? Get out!” I roared. She ignored me, gritting her teeth as she hooked an arm under mine, hauling my dead weight up and dragging me, step by agonizing step, towards the door. The air was scorching, blistering our skin. I saw a lock of her hair catch fire, the ends glowing like embers, but she didn’t even flinch. She just kept pulling me forward. Looking at her soot-stained profile, a storm of emotions churned inside me. I glanced at my watch. We were out of time. Any second now, we’d both be history. Taking a ragged breath, I shouted over the roar of the fire, “Alison, on three, we dive for the door! Don’t look back, just go! You hear me?” “You can count all you want,” she yelled back, her grip tightening. “I’m not letting go!” A warmth spread through my chest. No more words. I fixed my eyes on the doorway. Our only hope. Three! Two! One! “JUMP!” I shrieked, launching myself forward and pulling Alison with me with every last bit of my strength. BOOM! The world exploded behind us. We had barely cleared the threshold when a concussive blastwave threw us across the hallway. My eardrums felt like they’d been shattered. My vision went white, my hearing replaced by a high-pitched, unending shriek. “Phoebe! Phoebe! Can you hear me?” I don’t know how long I was out. Alison’s frantic voice slowly filtered through the ringing in my ears. I forced my eyes open. “I’m… I’m okay… my leg…” Alison’s gaze followed mine down to my leg. Her face went pale. “It’s bad. Don’t look. I’ll… just wait here!” She scrambled away, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Moments later, she returned with a few colleagues and a stretcher. The look on their faces when they saw my leg said it all. A young resident gasped, “My God… how many stitches will that even take?” Every inch of my body felt broken, but I clung to consciousness. As they rushed me through the ER, I saw Liam. He was holding Seraphina, stroking her hair and whispering reassurances, as if he hadn’t just left his girlfriend to die in an explosion. As if he had nothing to do with any of it. A head nurse I was friendly with gently examined my injuries, her face a mask of pity. “Oh, Phoebe, you poor thing… So many fractures. It could take a year for you to fully recover.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Thank God your right hand is okay. You’ll still be able to operate once you heal.” I tried to smile, to say something, but the pain was a gag in my mouth. The nurse leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That Seraphina, you know? I heard she just has a few scratches. The way Dr. Collins was fussing over her, you’d think she was dying…” Alison heard her and finally snapped. She marched over to Liam and jabbed a finger in his face. “You! You are the most disgusting piece of—” Before she could finish, Seraphina let out a delicate little cough. “Liam,” she whispered, “I’m feeling a bit tired.” Liam’s attention was instantly hers. “Just hold on, Seraphina, help is coming,” he murmured softly. Then he looked up, his gaze sweeping over me with utter indifference before landing on Alison. “Phoebe’s fine, isn’t she?” he snapped. “This is between me and her. Why don’t you mind your own business?” I stared at his smug, revolting face, and the words came out, low and clear. “From now on, there is no ‘us.’” “We’re done.” Alison nodded fiercely. “Good. No point trying to reason with an animal.” Liam looked stunned, as if the thought of me leaving him was impossible. “Phoebe, what is this? What game are you playing now?” A cold laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Play you? You aren’t even worth the game.” I fought back the tears that threatened to spill, locking my eyes on Seraphina. “You chose to save another woman over your own girlfriend. Is that what you call being a boyfriend?” Seraphina’s tears came on cue, streaming down her perfect face. “Phoebe… how can you say that to him?” she sobbed. “He just knew you were stronger than me. He had faith in you! He chose to save the person who needed him more…” The hallway devolved into chaos—Liam’s angry accusations, Seraphina’s pathetic weeping, and the murmurs of onlookers drawn by the drama. “Well, the goddess has a point. She’s so fragile, of course she needed help.” “Yeah, Dr. Collins made a tough call for the good of the hospital. Dr. Cattrall is just being dramatic.” “And let’s be real, Miss King is from the King Medical Group… saving her was the smarter move.” Just then, my father rushed in, having just flown back from an overseas conference. Liam’s entire demeanor shifted. He practically beamed as he intercepted him. “Director! The lab exploded… I managed to save Miss King, at great personal risk.” He puffed out his chest. “And she said she can help strengthen the partnership between King Medical and our hospital!” My father’s face hardened. “Where is Phoebe Cattrall?” Liam, assuming my father was about to reprimand me for the accident, quickly threw me under the bus. “Director, she and Miss King were the only ones in the lab. I’m certain Miss King made no mistakes. This accident is entirely Phoebe’s responsibility.” He didn’t stop there. “She’s been rescued and her injuries aren’t severe. But I recommend she be kept away from lab work in the future. Miss King can handle the project on her own.” My father’s expression grew darker with every word. I lay on the gurney, a cold, vengeful smile playing on my lips. Just wait, Liam. Without me to protect you, you’re about to find out what real suffering is. The world tilted, and before I could even register my father’s face, everything went black. … The next time I woke up, it was evening the following day. My limbs were encased in heavy plaster and bandages, immobilizing me completely. But I felt… reborn. “Phoebe!” Alison, her face etched with exhaustion but her eyes bright with relief, rushed to my bedside. I tried to lift a hand to her, but a fresh wave of pain shot through me. Seeing my state, her composure crumbled. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You idiot! Do you have any idea how badly you were hurt?” I managed a weak smile. “At least… I got to keep my life this time.” This time, I owed Liam nothing. And this time, neither my father nor I would die. “You…” Alison sobbed and laughed at the same time, fumbling for a tissue. “I told your dad everything that happened. He was so furious he’s calling a full incident review meeting for tomorrow morning!” At the mention of my father, my own eyes filled with tears. Last time, because of me, he lost everything… “Alison…” I struggled to compose myself. “There’s one more thing I need you to do for me…” “Anything. Just name it.” “The lab… the security footage from before the explosion. Can you… can you get it for me?” Alison gently smoothed my hair back. “Don’t you worry,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I already have it. There was a little… hiccup… trying to get it, but I took care of it.” I looked at her, guilt washing over me. In my last life, Liam had convinced me Alison was just jealous, that she was trying to undermine me. We’d had a massive fight, and I’d cut her out of my life. I died without ever getting the chance to apologize. How could I have been so blind? Trading a diamond for a shard of glass. I was about to close my eyes and rest when Liam walked in. Trailing behind him was Seraphina. She looked completely untouched, not a hair out of place, casually flipping her hair and drawing the gazes of everyone in the ward. And then there was me, a broken doll held together by plaster and gauze. Alison took a deep breath. “Well, look at the goddess,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not a scratch on her.” Liam ignored her, walking over to my bed and reaching for my hand. I flinched away in disgust. He didn’t seem to register his own fault in the slightest. In fact, he smiled. “See, Phoebe? You’re fine.” “Seraphina said she’s going to push for a closer partnership between King Medical and our hospital. My promotion is basically guaranteed. Aren’t you happy for me?” A choked, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. “Happy? I almost died in that lab, and you want me to be happy for you?” Seraphina sighed dramatically, her eyes narrowing. “I never realized how selfish you were, Phoebe. Willing to destroy Liam’s future over a little jealousy… frankly, I find it pathetic.” I fixed her with an icy stare. “You want to talk about destroyed futures? Let me tell you something. The moment Liam chose to leave me in that fire, his future was already over.” Liam pointed a finger at me, his brow furrowed. “Phoebe! Seraphina came here out of the goodness of her heart, she was even going to apologize to you, and this is how you treat her? Don’t forget, I’m your boyfriend! Instead of being grateful, you’re cursing me?” “This dead-end job of yours barely pays the bills! Everything I do is for our future!” The man standing before me was a monster. I fought to keep my voice steady. “Liam, let me remind you, we are broken up. Now get the hell out of my room.” The argument had drawn a crowd. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. “I mean, Dr. Cattrall is okay now, she should just let it go. What’s more important than her boyfriend’s career…” “If it were me, I’d just take the hit. When Dr. Collins gets his promotion, she’ll benefit too.” … Alison spun around, her eyes blazing. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, so shut your mouths!” she roared at the gossiping faces in the doorway. “The Director is holding an incident review tomorrow! We’ll see who’s laughing when the truth comes out!” Liam, who usually treated Alison like she was invisible, finally looked at her. “What are you talking about? What incident review?” Alison planted her hands on her hips, her eyes darting pointedly towards Seraphina. “That’s right! A meeting to determine exactly how the lab accident was caused! I’m sure some people know exactly what happened!” At her words, Seraphina visibly flinched. The color drained from her face, and she swayed as if she might faint, the picture of fragile beauty. Liam immediately wrapped a protective arm around her. “Seraphina, don’t be scared,” he soothed. “It’s okay. I believe you.” She melted into his embrace, her tear-filled eyes gazing up at him. “Liam,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “you won’t believe their lies, will you? I tried to warn Phoebe in the lab, I really did…” She paused, shuddering as if recalling a terrible memory. “I told her… to be careful… but she wouldn’t listen… she said I was being nosy… and then… then it exploded… I tried my best… I really wanted to save her…” The crowd, which had quieted down, now erupted in a fresh wave of condemnation aimed at me. “So it was Dr. Cattrall’s mistake that caused the explosion…” “No wonder Dr. Collins didn’t save her. The goddess was the innocent one…” Seeing Seraphina so helpless and vulnerable ignited Liam’s fury. He rounded on me, his face contorted with rage. “Phoebe! So you were at fault and you refuse to admit it? If you apologize to Seraphina right now, I might put in a good word for you at the meeting tomorrow, save you from—” Alison and I exchanged a knowing glance. I cut him off. “If you two get on your knees and apologize to me right now, I might consider showing you a shred of mercy tomorrow.” Seraphina gave a faint, mocking smile. “Phoebe… I’m only trying to help you. Why must you be so ungrateful?” I was done with them. I pressed the call button for the nurse. The head nurse bustled in, pushing through the crowd. “What’s going on?” I pointed at the two of them. “Last I checked, Dr. Collins and Dr. King don’t work in this department. Why are they so far from their posts?” The nurse, who already disliked Liam, crossed her arms. “Dr. Collins, perhaps you should leave. Dr. Cattrall just came out of a full night of surgery and needs to rest.” Seeing that his intimidation tactics weren’t working, Liam could only point at me, sputtering, before grabbing Seraphina’s hand and storming out. Alison watched me for a long moment. “You’ve changed,” she said quietly. I managed a wry twist of my lips, half bitter, half self-deprecating. “Dying once has a way of helping you see who’s a man and who’s a dog. It’s an expensive lesson, though.”

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I’m not into men. I’m into ghosts. My friends think I’m insane. “Ghosts aren’t real,” they say. But then I moved into my new apartment. And I met him. He was lounging in my bathtub, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “You seem to like me an awful lot,” he purred. “So… want to try it with a ghost?” The thing that pressed into me was bone-chillingly cold, but I clung to it, refusing to let go. In this world, only a ghost could awaken my most primal desires… 1 The first thing I did when I got home from work was light a stick of ritual incense in the small, empty room I kept just for this purpose. A silent invitation. A desperate hope of attracting a male spirit. It’s a habit I’ve maintained for nearly a decade. My friends can’t stand it. They never visit. They plead with me to stop chasing fantasies and find a proper boyfriend. But I have absolutely no interest in ordinary men. I crave something cold, something ethereal and damp with the scent of the grave. Only a ghost can stir the deepest, most primitive desires of my soul. And tonight, on this otherwise unremarkable evening, it seemed my wish had finally come true. I was soaking in the bathtub, the water steaming around me. One moment, my mind was clear; the next, a strange, heavy dizziness washed over me. My vision blurred. I shook my head, a spike of panic rising. Was I running out of oxygen? I struggled to sit up, my limbs feeling like lead. That’s when I felt it. An icy touch against my throat. Through the swirling mist, a strange man materialized before me. He wore a long, black robe, cinched at the waist with a simple sash. The collar hung open, revealing a wide expanse of chest so pale it seemed inhuman. His hair and eyes were a stark, ink-black, and his lips were colorless, as if drained of all blood. Strands of long hair drifted around his face, moving as if stirred by an unseen wind. I forced my mouth open, my own voice a strained whisper. “Who… are you?” A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. He lifted a finger and drew two words in the air. Steven. The spectral letters shimmered for a few seconds before dissolving into droplets that vanished into the bathwater. I was stunned into silence, my mind reeling. In his right hand, he toyed with a small wooden talisman. My talisman. The one I kept in the summoning room. He’d appeared out of thin air in my bathroom. His otherworldly appearance, the floating words, and the fact that he was holding my summoning charm… No human could do these things. The realization hit me like a lightning strike. A violent tremor ran through my body, not of fear, but of pure, ecstatic excitement. A wide, uncontrollable grin spread across my face. “You’re… you’re a ghost.” “Clever girl,” he murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper. “So…” His fingers began to trace a slow, cold path down my throat. “Want to try it with a ghost?” The icy sensation traveled downwards, over my collarbone, across the curve of my breast, past my stomach, and continued its descent. From the moment I knew what he was, my heart had been hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. A desperate, burning need ignited within me, a wildfire of pure lust. This was what I had prayed for, yearned for, for a decade. He was everything I had ever imagined. The cold aura, the damp, grave-like scent clinging to him… The sight of him alone was enough to make me lose control. My breath came in ragged gasps. I cursed my weak, trembling body. If I’d had any strength, I would have pounced on him already. With a final surge of effort, I reached forward, grabbed the lapels of his robe, and pulled him down. “I do.” 2 Steven let out a soft ‘tsk’. “So impatient.” The next thing I knew, he’d lifted me from the water as if I weighed nothing and set me down on the cool marble of the bathroom counter. His hands were colder than the ceramic sink, and everywhere he touched, my skin felt as if it had been pressed against ice. But this strange, alien sensation only fanned the flames of my desire higher. Steven let his robe fall open, revealing the landscape beneath. My breath hitched, and tears of pure, physiological arousal pricked my eyes. He took my right hand and pressed it where it belonged. “Cold? Are you scared?” I shook my head frantically. Scared? How could I be scared? I wanted to pin him to the floor and explore every inch of him. He saw the raw hunger in my eyes and a pleased smile graced his pale lips. He wrapped his hands around my waist and effortlessly turned me around, so I was no longer facing him, but the mirror. He embraced me from behind, his long, slender fingers tilting my chin up. “Look at yourself,” he whispered, his voice a silken temptation. I saw my reflection in the mirror—flushed, wanton, completely undone. “Please…” I begged. Steven chuckled, his chest pressing hard against my back. But the moment our bodies made full contact, a piercing scream of agony erupted right beside my ear. “Aaargh!” The cold presence behind me vanished. Stunned, I whirled around. Steven was gone. The bathroom was empty, save for me. It was as if he’d never been there, just a fever dream born of steam and longing. But then I saw it—a faint, reddish mark on my collarbone, the ghost of a bite. And I noticed something else. A faint golden light was pulsing from my left wrist. I lifted my hand and stared at the simple red cord tied around it. My best friend, Sara, had given it to me a few days ago. It looked like a cheap, ordinary trinket. She must have enchanted it without telling me. Sara had always been fascinated by esoteric arts, spells, and charms. It was just like her. I never imagined her little protection spell would end up hurting Steven. Frustrated, I ripped the red cord from my wrist and threw it on the floor. 3 After that night, I spent hours online, researching every summoning ritual that seemed even remotely plausible. But Steven never appeared. His brief, electrifying visit had only solidified my obsession. I had to have him back. “Kayla? Kayla…?” “Huh?” I snapped back to reality to find Sara standing in front of my desk. After college, we’d been lucky enough to land jobs at the same company, though in different departments. She looked at me with concern. “Kayla, what’s up with you lately? You seem a million miles away.” “Oh,” I forced a smile. “It’s nothing. Just not used to my new mattress. Haven’t been sleeping well.” Sara pinched my cheek gently and pulled a small packet from her pocket. “These ginseng slices are great. My mom sent them from back home. You can make tea with them. Good for your energy.” We’d been friends for too long to stand on ceremony. I took them with a grateful nod. I dropped a few slices into my thermos and headed to the breakroom to get some hot water. As the water filled the cup, it happened again—that familiar, heavy wave of dizziness. My head swam, and my limbs felt weak and useless. I braced myself against the counter to keep from falling, reaching out a trembling hand to turn off the tap. But another hand, appearing from nowhere, beat me to it. My heart leaped with joy. I looked up. “You finally came back.” Steven stood there, wearing the same style of robe as before, only this time it was white. His skin was even paler than the fabric, a shade no living person could possess. He glanced at my wrist, noting it was bare. In a flash, he closed the distance between us, his cold hands clamping onto my waist, his thumbs stroking my skin in slow, deliberate circles. His voice was a low, petulant murmur. “If I weren’t as powerful as I am, that little trinket of yours would have torn my soul to shreds.” Guilt washed over me. I was speechless. “I’m sorry.” It truly had been an accident. If I’d known the red cord had protective properties, I would have sooner died than wear it in his presence. He pulled me into his arms, his lips brushing against my ear. “Is a verbal apology all I get? You should show me you’re sorry… with your actions.” A tingling, electric sensation spread from my ear down my neck. It was only then that I remembered where I was. This was the office, not my home. I tried to pull away. “No… not here… my colleagues are right outside…” The breakroom door was always open. Anyone sitting nearby could see right in if they just looked up. As much as I craved him, I wasn’t ready to become an office legend. But Steven ignored my struggles. He dragged me into the small supply closet at the back of the room. “Don’t worry,” he purred. “They can’t see us in here.” He was right. People rarely came into this closet. My frantic heart began to slow, the panic giving way to a thrill of illicit excitement.

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Three years into my secret love affair with my brother’s best friend, his adopted sister returned. I decided it was time to end it. I quietly agreed to the marriage alliance my family had arranged for me. The engagement party was an intimate, exclusive affair, with only our closest friends and family invited. As we were serving tea and formally addressing our new in-laws, my brother’s phone rang. He answered it, a smirk in his voice as he spoke. “You’re not even coming to Thea’s engagement party? And after she spent her whole childhood chasing after you, calling you her big brother.” On the other end of the line, Sam Kunz’s voice caught. “Whose engagement did you say it was?” 1 “What, did you finally break up with that mysterious boyfriend of yours?” My brother, David, was teasing me, but I could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. I couldn’t blame him. For three years, I had refused to make our relationship public. He had warned me long ago, “A man who doesn’t even have the guts to meet your family? What kind of a future can you have with him? It’s doomed to fail.” But back then, I was a true believer. I thought love could move mountains. Now, here I was, eating my words. “Yeah,” I said, my voice flat. “We broke up.” The casual teasing vanished from his voice, replaced by a weighted silence. “Did he hurt you?” The dam I’d built around my heart suddenly cracked, a flood of bitterness welling up inside me. I took a deep breath, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No. It was mutual.” “Good,” he said, his voice hardening. “Because if he did, I’d have to go break his legs.” “Thea, you can’t rely on men. If you’re going to get married, marry for an alliance. Power and shared interests—that’s what’s real.” “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “You arrange it. I’ll be back in two days.” I had just hung up when Sam Kunz walked into the room. “Who was that on the phone?” I was afraid he’d see the traces of tears in my eyes, so I kept my back to him. “Just a friend from school.” “Mm.” He brushed past me and disappeared into his study. In the three years we’d been together, he had always been like this—cool and distant. I used to think it was just his nature, that he was a man born with a reserve of ice in his veins, someone who disliked physical intimacy. But then there was last night. I’d come home early from a business trip, planning to sneak in and surprise him. The study door, usually locked tight, was slightly ajar. A warm, yellow light spilled from the crack. I crept closer, my hand raised to knock, when I saw him. Sam, his face taut with a pleasure he never showed me. His eyes were glued to his phone screen, one hand moving urgently beneath his waist. I froze, turning to stone. The photo on the screen was not of me. It was Isla, the girl his family had taken in when she was a child, his little “sister.” He was so lost in his world that he never even heard me open the door and leave. I checked into a hotel and sat in the sterile silence for hours. And finally, I understood. Sam’s coldness toward me these past three years wasn’t his nature. His refusal to go public with our relationship wasn’t because he was afraid of my overprotective brother. It was all because he didn’t love me. He just needed someone—anyone—to act as a smokescreen, a cover for his forbidden feelings for his adopted sister. And I, the girl who had chased him so relentlessly, had been the most convenient choice. He’d simply let me fall into the role of his secret girlfriend. That night, a new post appeared on Isla’s social media feed: “Touching down tomorrow! Someone better be there to pick me up.” 2 After the call with my brother, I took a cab back to the villa I shared with Sam. I still had things to pack. He was in the middle of breakfast when I walked in. He glanced up, his expression unchanging, and calmly told the housekeeper to prepare another plate. “I didn’t know you’d be back this early, so I didn’t have anything made for you.” I just nodded. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t that he didn’t know. It was that he couldn’t be bothered to know, couldn’t be bothered to ask. My quiet acceptance seemed to surprise him. Sam’s hand paused mid-motion. He looked up from the news on his phone, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He was right to be confused. The old me would have pouted, slid into the chair beside him, and snatched his plate away, chirping, “Well, since you forgot about me, I’ll just have to eat yours!” Or I would have wrapped my arms around him from behind, playfully pinching his ear and demanding to know if he’d forgotten me because he didn’t love me anymore. A man as sharp as Sam would, of course, notice the shift immediately. But he said nothing more. He simply nodded. “I’m heading to the office. Take your time.” He took the suit jacket the housekeeper handed him. For a split second, he hesitated, holding it in his hands. I had the distinct feeling he was waiting for me to do what I always did—jump up and help him into it, smoothing the lapels. Instead, he shrugged it on himself. The sound of his footsteps faded, followed by the decisive click of the front door. “Ms. Crawford,” the housekeeper asked gently, “what would you like for breakfast?” I shook my head. “Nothing for me. Could you please get me some packing boxes? I need them today.” I grabbed my suitcase and went back to our bedroom. By the time the housekeeper brought the boxes, I had already sorted my clothes and personal belongings. Next, I walked into Sam’s closet. Over the years, I’d given him countless ties, cufflinks, suits, and watches. He rarely wore any of them. They only saw the light of day when I insisted, practically dressing him myself. Just like me, his girlfriend. Kept hidden away in the dark. I swallowed the painful lump in my throat and began to methodically remove every single thing I had ever given him, packing them away. It took hours. When I was finally done, I sank onto the edge of the bed, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My phone buzzed. A text from Sam. Driver’s on his way to pick you up. He’ll be there in thirty. The message was brief, devoid of context or explanation. He was so certain I would never question him, never refuse. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Perfect timing. It was time to finally say goodbye. 3 The lights of the private club swirled in a hypnotic, decadent dance. This used to be one of my favorite places. I grew up coddled and adored, and my personality burned as bright and untamed as a wildfire. My friends used to call me the “Wild Rose of New York’s elite.” I first saw Sam at my brother’s university gala. I was immediately captivated by his cool, almost ascetic aura. I subtly grilled my brother, trying to find out if he was single. David had rolled his eyes. “Him? He’s an ice king. What girl would be brave enough to even get close?” A spark of joy ignited in my chest. He was ice, I was fire. We were a perfect match. Behind my brother’s back, I began my relentless pursuit. I even changed my university application from Columbia to the University of Miami, just to be near him. When David found out, he was furious, but his anger was always tempered by his love for me. He ended up calling Sam anyway, asking him to look out for his reckless little sister. I had smiled to myself, thinking: It’s all going according to plan. Back then, I thought I was a brilliant strategist, with both my brother and Sam playing parts in my grand design. It’s only today that I realize how pitifully stupid I was. A waiter led me to the door of a private suite. The atmosphere inside was already roaring. Someone was goading Sam. “Come on, Kunz. You’re so protective of that little girlfriend of yours, you barely ever let us see her. Now that Isla’s back—the sister you’ve doted on since you were kids—I have to ask. The girlfriend or the sister? Who’s more important in that cold heart of yours?” My feet stopped moving. I held my breath, waiting. Sam took a slow sip of his drink, saying nothing. Isla stomped her foot, pouting at him. “Sam!” Only then did a smirk grace his lips. He set his crystal glass down on the marble table with a soft clink. His voice, cool and clear, cut through the noise. “Girlfriends can be replaced. You only get one sister. You tell me who’s more important.” “Oof, I’ve got goosebumps!” the crowd roared with laughter and jeers. Isla stood up, triumphant, pointing a finger at half the people in the room. “You, you, and you! You lost the bet! Pay up!” Sam looked at her, feigning confusion. “What bet?” “They bet me you cared more about your girlfriend,” Isla explained, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Losers have to send me twenty grand each.” Groans of mock agony filled the room as people pulled out their phones. Sam watched them, a derisive chuckle escaping his lips. “Serves you right.” I raised my hand and knocked on the door. 4 The boisterous energy in the room instantly evaporated. Sam’s eyes found mine, and the seat next to him was immediately vacated, an unspoken invitation. He hadn’t brought me to meet his friends often, but on the rare occasions he did, he’d at least made a show of valuing my presence. I remember one time, after I’d pursued him for so long that his coldness was beginning to wear me down, he suddenly suggested I join him for a gathering. That night, his friends had told me, “You know, you’re the first girl Sam’s ever brought around, besides Isla.” At the time, I just thought of Isla as his sister. I didn’t think twice about it. I was just giddy, convinced that his icy exterior was just a front, that deep down, he truly cared for me. Looking back now, I see it for what it was: a performance for his friends, a simple act of courtesy. For him, it cost nothing, but for me, it was the perfect manipulation to dispel my doubts and make me even more devoted. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I ignored the empty seat beside Sam and chose a spot in the farthest corner of the room. A shadow crossed Sam’s face. “Thea?” I just smiled, saying nothing. Isla picked up a glass of wine and walked toward me. “You must be Thea,” she said. “I’m Isla. Sam’s…” She paused, searching for the right word. Sam finished for her. “Sister.” Isla’s brow furrowed, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. She held the glass out to me, her voice taking on a petulant edge. “Right. Sister. I just got back to the States. This is a toast to you.” It didn’t take a genius to sense the hostility radiating from her. This wasn’t the animosity of a sister towards her brother’s girlfriend. So, she’s in love with him, too. The image of Sam in his study flashed in my mind, and the whole situation felt grotesquely absurd. I forced a polite smile. “Welcome back. But I’m not feeling well, so I won’t be drinking.” Isla’s lips tightened. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I came all this way, and this is my welcome-home party. You won’t even have one drink with me?” “I said, I’m not feeling well.” The displeasure on her face intensified. She turned to Sam. “Sam, does your girlfriend not like me?” His gaze was cold, his tone flat. “Thea, don’t be difficult. Drink it.” A laugh, sharp and humorless, almost escaped my lips. “You called me here just to watch me drink?” He lifted his eyelids, his voice a low murmur. “Isla wanted to meet you.” So that was it. It was because Isla wanted to see me. It was all so she could size up her competition, so they could both be reminded of the societal lines they shouldn’t cross. I was just a tool, a prop in their twisted drama to keep their own forbidden desires in check. I stood up. “She’s seen me now. Can I go?” He must have sensed the uncharacteristic defiance in my tone. A storm began to brew in the dark depths of his eyes. I knew he was angry. But I was done placating him. “What has been your problem all day?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, chilling the air in the room. I looked back at him, a knowing, meaningful smile on my face. Sam, I know all about your filthy little secrets. And I’m not playing your game anymore. I turned to leave, but Isla grabbed my wrist. “The party’s not over until I say it is. I’m the guest of honor, and I didn’t say you could go.” I yanked my arm back and, with a sharp, satisfying crack, slapped her across the face. “Is it because you’re an orphan that you have no damn manners?” 5 I strode through the dimly lit corridors of the club, a whirlwind of drunken catcalls and slurred propositions swirling around me. A fire was raging inside my chest, and I desperately needed the cold night air to extinguish it. The moment I stepped outside, I finally exhaled. To clear my head, I decided against calling a car and started walking along the side of the road. I hadn’t gone far when a black van screeched to a halt beside me. I stopped dead, my hand fumbling in my purse for my phone, my thumb hovering over the emergency contact. Sam. In the next second, several masked figures in black jumped out of the van. A burlap sack was thrown over my head, and a heavy blow to my skull sent me spiraling into darkness. When I came to, I was in a deserted factory. My hands and feet were bound tightly, my body suspended in the air. “Lower her a bit,” a gruff voice commanded. My body dropped suddenly, jarring my senses. A filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth, and I tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came out. I needed to talk to them, to negotiate, to find a way to survive. But before I could even try, a mountain of a man slapped me hard across the face. My head swam, stars exploding behind my eyes. The man’s face was hidden behind a mask. “Sorry about this, Ms. Crawford,” he said, his voice flat. “We’re just doing a job. You just managed to piss off the wrong person.” “Our employer has a message for you. Be a good girl and take these hundred slaps, and you can walk out of here alive.” “But if you scream, or if you even think about calling the cops afterward, he guarantees that you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.” Tears of pain and terror streamed down my face. The man gestured toward a security camera mounted on the ceiling. “Sir, shall we begin?” A voice came through a speaker. “Yes.” I froze, every muscle in my body locking up. It was like being struck by lightning. Even as a single word, I knew it instantly. It was Sam’s voice. In a horrifying flash, it all clicked into place. He had arranged this. He was going to have me beaten. One hundred slaps. This was his revenge for Isla. I sobbed against the gag, my muffled cries echoing in the cavernous space as I stared at the unblinking eye of the camera. He loved her that much. He truly, madly loved her. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer the slightest indignation. But I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could he be so cruel? For one slap, he would do this to me? Even if he didn’t love me, I had given him five years of my life, three years of my heart. Even if he didn’t care about me, I was still his best friend’s sister. How could you do this to me, Sam? How could you! I thrashed against my restraints, screaming his name through the gag, praying for a single shred of humanity to surface in his heart. There was no response from the camera. Just the sickening sound of one slap after another. The burning sting on my cheeks slowly gave way to a throbbing numbness. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, dripping down my chin, painting my face in crimson.

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My younger sister got pregnant out of wedlock and vanished after giving birth to a boy in a back-alley clinic. The doctor used the address she left behind to find my family, leaving the baby with me. My parents got on their knees and begged me to adopt him. Just like that, I, a single woman, began the arduous task of raising a child alone. Years later, just as I’d finally raised him, my sister returned. On her arm was a rich businessman, a thick gold chain gleaming around his neck. She clutched my son and sobbed, telling him I was a jealous monster who had stolen him at birth, tearing their family apart. My son, my pride and joy, renounced me on the spot and ran into her arms. My parents threw me out of the house. The neighbors’ gossip and condemnation became my personal hell. In utter despair, I threw myself from the roof of my apartment building. When I open my eyes again, I’m back on the day my sister gave birth. 1 The pounding on my door started with the dawn, jolting me awake in a cold sweat. This was it. In my last life, this was the exact moment the clinic doctor had hammered on our door, waking the entire neighborhood. He’d handed me the baby in front of everyone, scolding me for being an irresponsible mother. Only later did I learn the baby was my sister’s. My parents had pleaded with me to keep him. Since I had no plans to marry anyway, I agreed. A choice I came to regret with every fiber of my being. Hearing that sound again, a jolt of electricity shot through me. I scrambled out of bed and yanked the door open to see that same, familiar face. “Lina,” the doctor began, his voice dripping with condescension. “You can’t just have a baby and abandon it. You know that’s illegal.” The neighbors were already awake, their heads craning out of their doorways to watch the drama unfold. I stared at him for a single, silent second. Then I ripped off my slipper and brought it down on his face with all my strength. “You goddamn vulture!” I screamed, hitting him again and again. “How dare you show up at my door with this scam! I don’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a baby! Have you ever seen a woman who just gave birth hit this hard?!” I gestured wildly at my own body. “Do I look like I just had a baby?!” My furious assault left the doctor stunned and speechless. Mrs. Gable from across the hall was the first to find her voice. “She’s right, you know. Lina goes to work every single day. I’ve never once seen her with a baby bump.” “Yeah, you must have the wrong person.” “Wait, I recognize him. Isn’t that the doctor from that sketchy clinic down the street?” I planted my hands on my hips, my slipper still raised. “You sleazy old quack! You run a back-alley clinic and now you’re trying to pin a baby on me? That’s it, I’m calling the cops!” The word “cops” made him panic. “I—I won’t press charges for the assault!” I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. “Oh, you won’t press charges? Too bad, because I’m not letting you run away!” I pulled out my phone and dialed. “Hello, 911? I’d like to report a case of infant trafficking!” “Don’t you dare say that!” he shrieked. “You’d better have a good story for the police,” I snarled, “or I swear to God, I will burn your little clinic to the ground.” Fate had given me a second chance, and I was unleashing every ounce of frustration and injustice from my past life. When the police arrived, they found a bizarre scene: a doctor with a swaddled newborn, his face bruised and swollen, and me in my pajamas, wielding a slipper like a weapon. The neighbors had all gathered, buzzing with speculation. The officers looked from the baby—so fresh its umbilical cord was still clamped—to the doctor. “Alright, what’s going on here? Start talking.” “She’s the one! The patient left this address and name!” he sputtered, pulling a medical file from his pocket. An officer took it. The address was indeed mine, and the name on the file was Lina Scott. I crossed my arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Someone obviously used my name to have a baby and is now trying to make me pay for it.” Just as I finished speaking, my parents, who had been hiding inside, finally emerged. “Lina,” my mother began, her voice wheedling, “since you’re not planning on getting married anyway, why don’t you just adopt him?” “Are you serious, Mom? I’m not just going to randomly adopt a child who appeared out of nowhere! We have no idea who his parents are. What if they’re drug addicts? That stuff is genetic, you know. I’m not raising some ungrateful little monster!” My parents were stunned into silence. The doctor’s face was a mask of fury. He shoved the baby into my arms. “This is your family’s problem! I’m done! You can tell Stella she can raise her own damn kid! If I’d known you people were this unreasonable, I never would have come!” A collective gasp went through the crowd. The secret was out. The baby belonged to my sister, Stella. 2 “You’re a liar!” I shouted, shoving the baby right back at him. “First you say he’s mine, now you say he belongs to Stella? Where’s your proof? You have none! You just want to dump this baby on us. Officer, I’m telling you, this man is trafficking infants!” I crossed my arms again, making it clear I was washing my hands of the situation. “Lina!” my mother gasped, horrified. “Mom, Dad, don’t be so naive! The world is full of scammers!” Mrs. Gable chimed in from her doorway. “She’s right, you two. This doctor shows up claiming the baby is Lina’s, then changes his story to Stella. He’s obviously lying through his teeth.” “Yeah, who knows where he got that baby!” another neighbor added. The doctor practically jumped up and down. “My name is Evan White, and I don’t lie! I’ve been running my clinic for years. Do I look like a con artist?” He pointed a shaking finger at me. “It was last night! Your sister, Stella, came begging me to deliver her baby!” He rummaged in his medical bag. “I even have her phone as collateral!” He produced a smartphone. One glance and I knew it was Stella’s. My parents froze. The proof was undeniable. The baby was Stella’s. The neighborhood gossip erupted. “Stella? She’s just a kid! Who’s the father?” “Who knows! You never see her around much, and she always wears such baggy clothes. I can’t believe she was pregnant!” “God knows what kind of trouble she got into out there.” “You shut your mouths! My daughter is a good girl!” my mother shrieked, finally finding her voice. “Say one more word and I’ll tear your tongue out!” Dr. White sneered. “Please. Stella told me to bring the baby here as soon as it was born. She said her older sister would raise it. Officers, I even have a letter she wrote herself!” He pulled a sealed envelope from his bag. There was no letter in my last life. In fact, when Stella had returned to destroy me, Dr. White had stood by her side, helping her spin her lies and pushing me closer to the edge. The man was a snake. “I never should have gotten involved,” Dr. White muttered. “What a damn headache.” The police officer sighed, seeing the situation for what it was. “This is a domestic dispute. You all need to handle it yourselves.” I grabbed the officer’s arm. “This isn’t just a domestic dispute! He’s expecting us to believe my sister had a baby and ran off based on nothing but a phone and a letter? For all we know, she could be dead in his clinic!” The officer’s expression sharpened. He saw the logic in my words. He immediately grabbed Dr. White. “Let’s go. You’re taking us to your clinic. Now.” My parents trailed after them. I didn’t waste a second. While they were gone, I threw my life into a suitcase. I was not staying in this house. As I was leaving, a neighbor saw me. “Lina, where are you going?” “I’m moving out,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “If I stay, that baby will end up in my parents’ hands, and we all know who they’ll expect to raise it. Stella’s the one who had a kid she couldn’t handle, not me. Why should I be responsible? I’m not even married! What would my future husband’s family think if they saw me with a baby?” They nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Lina. You have to think about yourself. Go on, get out of here.” “That poor girl. Stella has some nerve, just having a baby and running away.” “Who knows, maybe that doctor did something to her…” “No way!” I didn’t care what they whispered about. I just needed to run. By the time my parents got home, I was already settled into my company’s dormitory. It wasn’t long before my mother’s call came. The moment I answered, her frantic voice filled my ear. “Lina, where did you go?!” I could hear a baby crying in the background. “I moved out,” I said calmly. “How could you move out? What are we supposed to do with this baby?!” 3 So, they had been to the clinic. They had confirmed the baby was Stella’s, and that Dr. White had, in fact, delivered him. What I couldn’t understand was why they were still so fixated on me. “Mom, what does that baby have to do with me? I didn’t give birth to him.” “Right now, the most important thing is to find the baby’s father. Anyway, I have to work. Bye.” I hung up and went about my day. At the office, my colleague Carol slid up to my desk. “Lina, you seeing anyone? I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.” My first instinct was to refuse, but I stopped myself. “Oh yeah? Who is it, Carol?” “My nephew! He’s three years older than you, a veteran. Owns his own little restaurant now.” She grinned. “How about lunch today?” I agreed immediately. Carol was thrilled and rushed off to call him. In my last life, Carol had seen how exhausted I was raising the baby and had thrown a lot of freelance work my way. She’d also tried to set me up, but I was always too afraid that a new man in my life would mistreat my “son.” Looking back, I was unbelievably foolish. I met her nephew, Cole, for lunch. The connection was instant. We exchanged numbers, agreeing to see where things went. When I got back, Carol was waiting. “Well?” I nodded. “He’s great. I’d like to see him again.” She was ecstatic. “I’m telling you, if this works out, he’ll treat you right. I’ve watched that boy grow up. He’s a hard worker, a good man.” I felt a blush creep up my neck, which only made Carol more excited. And so, Cole and I started dating. For two solid weeks, my parents didn’t contact me, and I didn’t go home. But I should have known it wouldn’t last. My mother found me at work. I was in the middle of a sales call when the security guard at the front desk rang my extension. “Lina, you need to get down here, now. Your mom just dumped your son with us! You need to come get him, he’s screaming his head off.” My mind went blank for a second. “What son?” I said, deliberately raising my voice so the entire office could hear. “I’m not married, where would I get a son from? Don’t spread rumors!” The guard sighed. “I don’t know, man. Just get down here.” When I hung up, every eye in the office was on me. “What’s going on, Lina?” “I have no idea. The guard said a woman claiming to be my mom just dropped off my son.” Carol gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding me! That’s a new one. Come on, let’s all go see what this is about.” “Yeah, is this some kind of scam?” “Lina has a son? I never saw her pregnant.” “Maybe it was a few years ago. You know how young people are these days, their lives are a mess.” Hearing that, even Carol shot me a suspicious look. I put on my most bewildered expression, and she couldn’t read me. When we got to the front desk, everyone stared at the tiny, wailing infant. Carol let out a breath of relief. “There’s no way that’s Lina’s baby. He can’t be more than a month old!” “Exactly! Who would be so cruel? If it was a toddler, Lina would never be able to clear her name!” “This is character assassination!” I was laughing on the inside. The guard just shrugged helplessly. “The woman said she was Lina’s mother. What was I supposed to do?” An idea sparked. “Pull the security footage,” I demanded. “Let’s see this woman.” When the footage played, I didn’t recognize the woman who had dropped off the baby. I knew exactly what to do. “Call the police. That’s not my mother, and I have no idea who she is.” The others hesitated. I threw my hands up. “This is child abandonment. I’m in sales; I hand out hundreds of business cards. Who knows who got their hands on one and decided to pretend to be my mother. I am not raising someone else’s kid!” Everyone agreed that made sense. The police were called, and they took the baby away. I made a point of asking, “Where will he go?” “Where do you think? If we can’t find his parents, he’ll go to a group home. He’s in the system now.” Hearing those words, a wave of relief washed over me. This time, I would not be raising that ungrateful viper.

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The day the Vereen empire crumbled, everyone expected me to break off my engagement to Seraphina. But as the downpour hammered the city, I was the one holding an umbrella over her, shielding her rain-soaked, broken figure as I guided her into my car. “Here’s a hundred million,” I told her, my voice low and steady. “If you succeed, you come back and marry me. If you fail, I’ll come and marry you.” Five years later, Seraphina Vereen returned to Veridia City, a titan of industry with three publicly traded companies at her back. In front of a wall of flashing cameras, she made her grand announcement: “Landon Shaw and I terminated our engagement five years ago.” 1 In those five years, another man had been by her side. A man who gave her a shoulder to lean on when she was exhausted, who comforted her when she was broken, who applauded her triumphs. They had weathered the storm together, a perfect match born from hardship and mutual devotion. And the man who had staked a hundred million on her comeback? He was now the city’s biggest joke. “This is three hundred million. Consider my debt of gratitude repaid.” The Seraphina who stood before me now was a world away from the girl I once knew. The youthful innocence was gone, replaced by a cool, commanding confidence. She was a powerhouse, radiating an almost dangerous allure. It was that allure that had first captivated me, making me defy my own father to back her when she had nothing. Even now, a single glance was enough to ignite a possessive fire within me. I picked up the credit card she’d placed on the table and handed it to my assistant behind me. My face was a blank mask, my voice devoid of warmth. “Check the balance. I want every last cent.” Sera watched the assistant take the card, letting out a long sigh as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. I observed her subtle shift in expression and chuckled, a low, careless sound. “You think that makes us even?” Her spine straightened, her expression turning serious. “Mr. Shaw, if you ever need anything in the future, you have only to ask. I, Seraphina Vereen, will not refuse.” She paused, then added with deliberate weight, “Anything but marriage.” She said it with such earnest gravity, playing the part of the honorable debtor. I wasn’t buying it. “That watch you won at the auction yesterday,” I said, my tone casual. “I like it. Have it on my desk by morning.” She’d paid a fortune for that timepiece. It was a one-of-a-kind, a global exclusive she had reportedly bought for her fiancé, Leo Price. I wondered what a certain someone might think if it suddenly appeared on my wrist. Seeing her hesitate, I rose from my chair and headed for the stairs, not bothering to look back. “If a CEO’s word means nothing, then just consider my request a joke.” The next day, the watch was on my desk. I held it up, admiring the intricate craftsmanship. A masterpiece of engineering, worth a king’s ransom. It would pair perfectly with my custom suit for the evening’s gala. Sera arrived with Leo on her arm. I, of course, was alone. The whispers started almost immediately, growing louder as the night wore on. Everyone was buzzing, wondering why the engagement gift she’d bought for her fiancé was now gracing my wrist. Eventually, the fiancé in question made his way toward me, a practiced smile on his face. “Mr. Shaw,” Leo began, his tone smooth. “Sera explained everything. The watch was a gesture of her gratitude.” I took a slow sip of my champagne and turned away, dismissing him. He wasn’t worth my time. But he persisted, a new, sharper edge to his voice. “I guess all that money can’t buy you the first thing about how to love someone, can it? Otherwise, Sera would never have chosen me.” I looked at the half-empty glass in my hand and decided it wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. I reached for a slice of cake from a nearby table, and with a flick of my wrist, I smashed it directly into his smug, smiling face. A collective gasp rippled through the room, all eyes turning to us. Sera was at his side in an instant, pulling a handkerchief from her purse to wipe the cream from his stunned face. Her voice was sharp with accusation as she turned on me. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Shaw? Why are you tormenting my fiancé?” I dropped the empty cake plate, wiped my fingers with a napkin, and shrugged. “He was ruining my appetite.” Leo adopted a look of pained forbearance, a masterclass in male fragility. “I was just telling Mr. Shaw that I don’t mind him taking my watch,” he said to the onlookers, his voice trembling slightly. “As long as it helps him feel better, I’ll do anything.” That was all it took. My arch-rival, Ryder Thorne, who was lounging nearby, chimed in with performative outrage. “There goes Landon Shaw again, throwing his weight around. Thinks his family’s money gives him the right to take whatever he wants.” A chorus of condemnation followed as others joined in, painting me as the arrogant, spoiled heir everyone loved to hate. Through it all, I maintained a polite, detached smile, my eyes locked on Sera’s. Her gaze was a dark, unreadable storm. After a long, tense moment, she finally said, “Let’s go.” She took Leo’s hand and led him away. The sight of their retreating backs was like a thorn in my eye. We were engaged at eighteen. The Sera I knew then was sweet and innocent. A careless joke from me was enough to make a delicate blush bloom across her fair cheeks. I loved to tease her, the way a man loves to fluster a woman he desires. The day her family’s company collapsed, it was as if she grew up overnight. Her gaze became steel, her entire being radiating an unbreakable defiance. I knew she would succeed. I just forgot that once she did, she might not remember the promise she’d made to me. Do I regret it? I never do anything I regret. I was the one who lifted her up. I can be the one to drag her back into the mud. 2 From that night on, wherever Seraphina Vereen appeared, I was sure to be there. If she bid on a parcel of land, I doubled her offer. If she competed for a contract, I undercut her by half. When it came to a war of wealth, she was still an amateur. While she was struggling to turn her hundred million into something in some forgotten corner of the country, I was already the undisputed king of Veridia City. Finally, she broke. She came to my office alone, ready to surrender. She stood before me, tears shimmering in her eyes, but her gaze was as defiant as ever. “This isn’t doing you any favors, Mr. Shaw. Even the Shaw fortune has its limits. You can’t keep burning money like this.” So, she was here to lecture me. I glanced past her shoulder toward the empty doorway. “Where’s your fiancé?” I asked, my voice flat. “Isn’t he going to apologize?” Her full, red lips pressed into a thin line. She lowered her gaze, her voice laced with forced sincerity. “I apologize on his behalf for what happened that night.” Then, her tone shifted. “However, you were the one who resorted to violence first. Regardless of the circumstances, both sides share the blame.” Fine. So much for an apology. A smirk played on my lips. I leaned back, feigning regret. “I admit, I was too soft on him. You’d better tell him to stay far away from me. Next time, it won’t be just a piece of cake.” Seeing that I was immovable, Sera dropped the pretense of compromise. Her face darkened. “If you refuse to leave my fiancé alone, then there’s nothing more to discuss. I’ll see you on the battlefield.” I leaned back on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other, the very picture of arrogant power. “Excellent. I’ll be waiting.” After leaving my office, Sera began reaching out to industry leaders, trying to forge new alliances. But in Veridia, all it took was one word from me, and no one dared to work with her. On top of that, the Vereen collapse had entangled many powerful figures. Besides me, plenty of people wanted to see her fail. What I hadn’t anticipated was that her fiancé, Leo, was an influencer with millions of followers. He posted a video online, a tearful tirade accusing me of monopolistic practices and deliberately targeting Sera. He spun a sob story about their struggles, painting them as victims and himself as a devoted hero. It struck a chord with his audience, and sympathy for them poured in. My assistant showed me the video. I just laughed. I pulled out my phone and dialed Sera’s number. “That video your fiancé posted. You have two minutes to take it down.” “Everything Leo said is the truth,” she replied, her voice steady. “The truth?” My voice turned to ice. “Are you really prepared to sacrifice the last shred of your dignity?” There was a long silence on the other end. “I’ll have him delete it.” Only a handful of insiders knew about the hundred million I’d given her. If that story got out, she would be the one humiliated. She was a businesswoman, after all. When it came to a cost-benefit analysis, what was a fiancé? 3 Stella Monroe and I grew up together. The night I got engaged to Sera, they say she cried all night. The day the Vereen empire fell, she spent millions on a city-wide fireworks display that lasted until dawn. “It wasn’t for you,” she’d insisted. “I just really, really hate Seraphina Vereen.” It was why we got along so well, and also why we could never stand each other. That night, she invited me to a club to blow off some steam. She’d thoughtfully arranged for eight women to join us—every type imaginable. After a few glasses of whiskey, my true colors came out. I had a sultry vixen on my left and a sweet-faced college girl on my right. Life was good. The door to our private room swung open. Through a drunken haze, I thought I saw Sera’s furious face. No, it was her. “Who invited the party-pooper?” I grumbled. Stella, snuggled up beside me, adjusted the collar of my shirt with a triumphant smirk. “I did. We were short a bartender.” I glanced at her, confused. But Stella was already calling out to the woman in the doorway. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Come pour us some drinks.” She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “She needs a favor from my father for a new project. She wouldn’t dare disobey me.” So, this was about humiliating Sera. A way to get back at her on my behalf? I suppose I could see it that way. While I was processing this, Sera had already picked up a bottle. She knelt before me, her movements fluid and precise, and filled my empty glass. Grace under pressure. Those were the words that came to mind. The shifting, colored lights played across her face, highlighting its cold, fractured beauty. Her eyes were a placid lake, betraying nothing. Even in this position, she radiated an untouchable pride. I deliberately knocked over my glass. The amber liquid spilled across the front of her pristine white blouse. A flicker of annoyance crossed her features, her brow furrowed for a fraction of a second. “Oops,” I said. “Be a dear and pour another.” The rise and fall of her chest, the way she bit her lower lip—every subtle sign betrayed the fury she was holding back. I took the refilled glass and downed the fiery liquor in one gulp. It burned. I grabbed the collar of her blouse and yanked her toward me. Our faces were inches apart. I could feel her warm breath on my skin. I lunged forward. She instinctively jerked her head to the side. The move infuriated me. I grabbed her chin, forced her to face me, and crushed my lips against hers. Sera struggled violently, shoving me away. She scrambled to her feet, the whiskey bottle still in her hand. With a cry of rage, she smashed it on the floor. Shards of glass flew, one slicing a thin, red line across her bare calf. “I’ve paid you back,” she hissed, her voice trembling. “To keep humiliating me like this… it’s too much.” “Too much?” I glanced at Stella. Stella shook her head immediately. “Of course not. If you hadn’t helped her back then, who knows what gutter she’d be begging in right now.” My gaze returned to Sera. “You hear that? You owe me more than just money. You owe me everything.” 4 Sera said nothing. She turned to leave, dragging her bleeding leg behind her. Stella’s bodyguards blocked the door, making it clear she wasn’t going anywhere. Just then, there was a commotion outside. The door burst open, and Leo rushed in. Perfect timing. He planted himself in front of Sera, the valiant knight protecting his princess. “If you lay a single finger on her, I swear I’ll make you pay.” I looked at this man, so full of himself, so utterly clueless, and I burst out laughing. I took two steps forward until I was standing right in front of him. I reached out and patted his cheek lightly. Once. Twice. As my hand came up for a third time, Sera’s fingers clamped around my wrist. “Landon, don’t push it,” she warned, her eyes blazing with a murderous light. I turned to Stella, feigning innocence. “Am I pushing it?” Stella shook her head. “Not at all. She’s the one who stole your woman, after all.” So, that made me the victim here. One was my fiancée, with whom I had yet to officially break our engagement. The other was the man my fiancée called her fiancé. It was a beautiful, twisted mess. “Sera, don’t forget, our engagement is still legally binding,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “For you to publicly claim this man is your fiancé… don’t you think that’s pushing it?” The fire in her eyes dimmed. “Our engagement ended five years ago.” She looked up, meeting my gaze directly. “You didn’t know, did you? Your father had a hand in my family’s downfall.” I refused to believe it. “Then why didn’t he stop me from helping you?” A bitter, quiet laugh escaped her. “It was just a game to him. A cat chasing a mouse. Your family is all the same. Aren’t you just waiting for the right moment to drag me back into the mud?” I was speechless. Because she was right. In the end, it came to blows. I sat on the sofa, a cold spectator to the drama. I watched as Stella’s bodyguards beat Leo to the ground. I saw the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, the gash that opened on his forehead. Sera was shielded beneath him, her voice a desperate cry of “Stop! Stop hitting him!” They carried Leo out. Stella, in a fit of mock charity, had them sent to the hospital. As they were leaving, Sera shot one last look in my direction. Our eyes met, and for a heart-stopping moment, I felt it again—that old spark. The shattered look in her eyes, the mess of her hair… it all pulled at something deep inside me. I wanted to be the one protecting her. All these years, she had buried her vulnerability, showing the world only a shell of unyielding strength. I wanted to find the girl who had once made my heart race. I refused to believe she was truly gone. It was the ghost of that youthful infatuation that fueled my relentless obsession. A few days later, that obsession curdled into pure, unadulterated rage. In an interview, Sera stated unequivocally: “My engagement to Landon Shaw was terminated five years ago.” Reporters camped outside my house, hungry for my side of the story. My side was simple: “Seraphina Vereen took a hundred million from me to rebuild her empire, and then she dumped me.” Half an hour later, headlines screaming about the ungrateful heiress and her boy-toy lover were everywhere. In response, Leo posted a video of Sera’s injured leg, claiming I had a violent temper, that I was emotionally unstable, that I was mentally ill. He even produced a forged therapist’s diagnosis to “prove” I’d been seeing a psychiatrist. The war between us had just begun. I donned a custom suit and attended my company’s new product launch, a serene smile plastered on my face. When reporters asked about my personal life, I deflected every question. “Please, let’s focus on the new product line.” “Miss Vereen? I’m not familiar with her.” “Mr. Price? The name doesn’t ring a bell.” The media went from salivating over the gossip to utter confusion. A mental breakdown? Just days ago, we were at each other’s throats, and now I didn’t know them? My bizarre behavior only fueled their curiosity, driving even more attention to the launch. The new product needed buzz to sell. Now, not only had I saved on marketing costs, but I had also turned myself into a brand. In a VVVVIP room at a private hospital, Sera was resting in bed, her calf wrapped in bandages, watching the news. I sat beside her, quietly peeling an apple. I managed to get the peel off in one long, unbroken spiral. A strange sense of accomplishment washed over me. I held the apple out to her. “Eat.” She smiled at me, a genuine warmth in her eyes. “You have it.” I pulled my hand back and took a huge, crunchy bite. Then I offered it to her again. “It’s crisp and sweet. Go on.” She took it with an amused, exasperated sigh. Just then, we heard a commotion outside the door. It was Leo. “Let me in! I need to see how Sera is!” A guard’s deep voice rumbled, “Mr. Shaw’s orders. No one is allowed inside.” “I’m her fiancé!” Leo protested. “Who the hell is Landon Shaw to keep me from seeing my own fiancée?” Hearing his voice, Sera put the apple down. I glanced toward the door. “Sera, your hired actor is really getting into character.” Her expression was neutral. “I’ll handle it.” The louder our public war, the more our enemies would believe she was truly alone in Veridia. The Vereen collapse had been a web of conspiracy, and my own family was tangled in it. For Sera to return alone was a gamble of the highest stakes. She had to find the ones who framed her family, which meant walking directly into the trap they’d set and waiting for them to reveal themselves. I was a Shaw. I was also her fiancé. And I was the one who had financed her return. By playing the role of her greatest enemy, I was giving her the greatest protection.

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