Category: English

I walked in on my husband, Blackrock Pack Alpha Kane, rolling around in our marital bed with his mistress Talia. I demanded a divorce on the spot. Talia, clothes still disheveled, immediately slapped me across the face and shrieked mockingly: “You’re nothing but a lowly waitress from a border club. What makes you think you have the right to ask an Alpha for a divorce? Do you really think you’re the Luna of Blackrock Pack?” Kane’s sister Jessa chimed in from the side: “So what if my brother has a mistress? What are you making such a fuss about?” Kane looked at me with undisguised impatience and warned: “Everything you have, I gave you. Without me, you’re nothing. Are you really going through with this divorce?” I nodded decisively: “Yes.” After all, my father, the Rogue King who strikes terror into the hearts of North American werewolves, was about to be released from prison. He’d been wanting to throw Kane to the rogues at the border to be torn apart for a long time now. Talia was Kane’s most favored mistress. Despite her humble origins, she was the most arrogant of all his lovers. Seeing my determination to divorce, a flash of joy flickered through Talia’s eyes. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, sneering at me with contempt: “Ungrateful women never come to a good end.” “Kane is the Alpha of Blackrock Pack. For a lowly waitress like you to marry him was your good fortune. Instead of being grateful that he pulled you out of the gutter, you’re making a scene about divorce over such a trivial matter as him having other women. You’re an absolute fool.” “You just got lucky, meeting Kane before he became Alpha. Otherwise, with your status, you wouldn’t even qualify to set foot in Blackrock Pack territory.” “If I could become Kane’s mate, I would never be as jealous as you. I would arrange all the women around him properly and never let such trivial matters distract him!” Talia’s words made it clear she wanted to steal my position as Luna. In the past, I might have confronted her angrily. But now, I’d completely given up on Kane. This so-called Luna position was nothing more than a cold cage to me. Jessa toyed with a sharp dagger, sneering at me with contempt: “You waitress, are you planning to use this divorce to blackmail my brother and force him to give you an astronomical settlement?” “Raina, can you stop being so naive?” “Do you think divorcing my brother will let you take a share of Blackrock Pack’s power and wealth? Like that Omega who divorced the Whitespire Pack Alpha a while back and became a top-tier rich woman overnight?” “You’d better abandon that idea right now! Before my brother married you, he made you sign a prenuptial agreement. And with me, Blackrock Pack’s chief lawyer, here, the moment you dare to divorce, you’ll leave with nothing but the clothes on your back. Not even a single strand of wolf fur!” Jessa certainly had grounds for her confidence. She’d studied countless loopholes in Alliance law. Though not the most elite lawyer, she’d fought plenty of divorce cases with extremely ruthless tactics. Even though I’d completely given up on Kane, hearing Jessa’s naked threats, I couldn’t help but feel a bone-chilling cold rise in my heart. I glared at Jessa and shouted: “Without me, the lowly waitress you speak of, you siblings wouldn’t be where you are today!” “Your brother was critically injured by rogues back then. I stayed by his side day and night, which let you study without pressure.” “And you? You couldn’t even afford tuition back then. If I hadn’t used my savings, you would’ve been expelled from the academy and sent back to the border long ago!” “You knelt before me back then, saying if your brother ever treated me badly, you’d be the first to hold him accountable…” Without my help back then, Jessa never could have completed her education. Kane would have died in the border’s snowfields long ago, let alone risen to his current position as Alpha. Back then, the siblings were grateful to me, practically wanting to worship me. I foolishly thought I’d found people who truly cared about me. And what happened? “You grabbed my hand back then, crying and saying I’d given you this life, and anyone who disrespected me would have to answer to you…” Without my unreserved efforts to save them, Jessa would have become just another corpse at the border long ago. Kane would have died in some unknown corner, never becoming Blackrock Pack’s Alpha. Back then, the siblings treated me like a second parent, ready to give me their very hearts. I foolishly thought I’d found family I could trust with my life. And what happened? After Kane firmly secured his position as Blackrock Pack’s Alpha, he stopped coming home. Instead, I frequently saw him in tabloid news, entering and leaving clubs with different Omegas, living it up without a care in the world. Ever since Jessa became Blackrock Pack’s lawyer and started dealing with elite wolves from various packs, she looked down on me more and more. She thought I, a club waitress, wasn’t worthy of her brother and brought shame to both siblings. Now they fancied themselves superior, never mentioning those days of struggling to survive in the garbage dumps. As if that period when they relied on my support was the greatest stain on their lives.

Kane and Jessa’s faces instantly turned ashen. Before I could finish speaking, Jessa suddenly grabbed the teacup beside her and hurled it viciously at me. The heavy cup struck my temple, and pain exploded through my head, darkening my vision. Warm blood trickled down from my brow bone, blurring my sight and leaving me in a wretched state. Jessa stared at me with vicious eyes and cursed: “Ungrateful trash! Who do you think you are, bringing up the past in front of me?” “Without my brother elevating you, you’d spend your whole life licking boots for lowlife wolves at that club! That little bit of kindness you showed us was your own choice. Did we beg you?” Kane leaned back on the sofa, legs crossed, watching me coldly: “Enough, Raina. Let me be frank with you. Omegas wanting to climb into my bed could form a line from here to the border. You’ve occupied the Luna position for years. I’ve provided you with the best food and lifestyle. I’ve done more than enough.” “This divorce is happening whether you like it or not. I don’t want people digging up the fact that my Luna used to serve plates at a club.” “Sign voluntarily, and I’ll let you keep some dignity. If you insist on making trouble, I have a hundred ways to make you disappear without a trace.” “But since you’ve been with me these past few years, I won’t go to extremes. Sign this agreement, and I’ll give you a million dollars. Take the money and disappear forever.” Kane had me sign a non-disclosure agreement. The agreement stated that after the divorce, I couldn’t mention how I’d helped the siblings in the past, and I couldn’t tell any pack that I’d been Kane’s partner or Blackrock Pack’s former Luna. I agreed without hesitation. Although Kane and I had been married for over three years, almost no one outside knew of my existence. Everyone assumed Blackrock Pack’s Alpha Kane was still single. After all, our wedding was extremely simple with no guests from any pack invited. The only witnesses were Blackrock Pack’s old priest and Jessa. Plus, after the marriage, Kane began his philandering, deliberately maintaining his persona as a single, eligible Alpha. Jessa also hinted at various occasions that both siblings were single. So these past three years, very few people knew I was Kane’s partner. I signed both the divorce and non-disclosure agreements, picked up the million-dollar check Kane tossed at me, and turned to leave this place that disgusted me. Just then, Talia spoke up with a mocking laugh: “Now that’s better. Raina, being sensible is good for everyone.” “Oh, by the way, isn’t your crippled old man in prison about to get out? What do you think he’ll do when he finds out his only daughter got kicked to the curb? Will he get so angry he ends up back inside?” Jessa picked up the thread, adding coldly: “Her dad? Ha, one old waste raising a younger waste, that’s all. If my brother hadn’t been kind-hearted back then, trash bloodlines like yours wouldn’t even qualify to step foot in our Blackrock Pack territory.” Kane looked at me coldly, his voice devoid of warmth: “You’ve signed the agreement and taken the money. From now on, you have no relationship with us siblings.” “I don’t care where you go or what you do, just don’t appear before me and dirty my sight.” “If I hear even half a word about us outside, I have ten thousand ways to make you regret leaving here alive.”

I said nothing, suppressing the grief and rage churning inside me, and walked out of Blackrock Pack’s main fortress without looking back. Returning to what used to be our residence, I quickly packed my personal belongings, tears falling despite my efforts to hold them back. Who could I blame for things ending up this way? I could only blame myself for being blind, for showing mercy back then and saving these ungrateful siblings! I dragged my suitcase out of the residence, wanting to take a shortcut through the back alley behind the main fortress to get to the station. I’d just entered the alley when I heard chaotic, heavy footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around, several rough hands shoved me hard from behind. Several burly men blocked both ends of the alley, each emanating the fierce aura of werewolves. I recognized them. The leader was Vorn, Kane’s head of security. Vorn and his men used to be rogues from the border. After following Kane, they’d transformed into Blackrock Pack’s guards. Before, when they saw me, they would respectfully call me Luna. Now, their faces were twisted with savage grins, looking especially terrifying in the dim alley. “Why the rush? Luna,” Vorn drawled, stepping closer to me. “The brothers haven’t seen you off yet.” I backed up until my spine hit the wall, saying in a low voice: “I’ve already signed the divorce papers. I have nothing to do with Blackrock Pack anymore. Let me pass.” Vorn and the men behind him laughed. “Let you pass? That won’t do.” He walked up to me and looked down, lowering his voice: “Don’t blame us for being ruthless. You shouldn’t have offended people you can’t afford to offend.” “Jessa said it herself—you taking that million and walking out the door is like slapping her face. She needs to teach you that Blackrock Pack’s money isn’t easy to take.” “She told us brothers to take good care of you, preferably filming something as a keepsake. That way, even if you try to make waves later, you’ll have to consider your own reputation first.” “Talia said you were quite good at servicing people at the club back in the day. Today we’ll let you practice your old skills so they don’t get rusty.” “Blame your own bad luck for deserving to be disposed of like garbage!” With that, Vorn and his men reached out with lecherous grins, trying to tear at my clothes. At this critical moment, a tremendous noise came from the mouth of the alley. They turned with furious expressions, ready to curse, but the next second, that anger froze on their faces, replaced by bone-deep terror as they all looked toward the alley entrance. A group of men radiating fierce auras, carrying steel pipes and silver blades, surrounded Vorn and his men. The leader strode up to us and shoved Vorn aside roughly. Vorn and his men trembled under the oppressive presence, hastily begging for mercy: “Bosses, have you got the wrong people?” “We’re from Blackrock Pack. Our boss is Alpha Kane!” “Bosses, let’s talk this out, let’s talk…” The group of men completely ignored Vorn’s pleas and turned in unison to bow respectfully to me: “Luna Raina, Rogue King Gareth wishes to see you!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “390957”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I loved the three Hunt brothers for ten long years. I thought giving them everything would make them cherish me. It didn’t. I gave them my heart. I worked for them for free for ten years. But they took the glory that should have been mine. They took my wedding dress. They gave it all to Serena. That fake little snake. The most ridiculous part? When the earthquake hit, I was the one who risked my life to save them. And they still chose the fraud who stole my identity. They pushed me into the frozen lake. The moment the water closed over my head, my heart died. After they pulled me out, I called their uncle. “Can we move up our wedding?” Elara’s POV “The winner of this year’s Most Influential Internet Personality Award is…” The spotlight swept across the vast ceiling. The entire audience held its breath, waiting. I sat in the front row, took a deep breath, and lifted my dress. As a lifestyle blogger with thirty million followers, I had to win this award. And tonight’s gala was hosted by Hunt Corporation. The three Hunt brothers, Cole, Nathan, and Ethan, weren’t just the presenters. They were the men I’d grown up with. The men I was supposed to marry one day. I planned to officially announce my choice of husband in tonight’s acceptance speech. “Serena Shaw! Let’s congratulate Serena!” The host’s voice rang out, brimming with excitement. My hand stopped on my dress. The spotlight swung past me and hit a woman in the back row. White dress. Fake surprise plastered on her face. Serena Shaw. She’d been active for less than six months. Her entire career was built on copying me. She was also the Hunt family maid’s daughter. The room was stunned. My followers erupted. “What’s going on? Elara’s award was stolen?” “How does Serena even qualify? She clearly cheated!” But what really made my blood boil were the three men coming down from the stage. Cole Hunt, wearing an expensive suit, extended his hand to Serena. Nathan Hunt carefully smoothed her dress. And Ethan Hunt, the superstar, casually put his arm around her shoulders and led her toward the stage. The three of them didn’t even glance at me. I sat there in the front row, awkward and furious, like a complete fool. After the awards ceremony ended, I returned to the backstage lounge. I pushed open the door to see the three brothers celebrating with Serena. I asked them, hurt and confused. “Why? My fan vote count was clearly far higher than everyone else’s.” Cole frowned with impatience. “Elara, you already have thirty million followers. Do you really care about one trophy? Serena’s just starting out. She needs this award to support her career more than you do.” “Exactly,” Ethan laughed, playing with his lighter. “Can you stop being so greedy? Don’t you know how long Serena prepared for this gala?” Nathan said coldly, “As compensation, I can give you ads for next quarter. Stop making a scene. You’re acting like a clown.” I looked at these three familiar faces, my heart clenched by an invisible hand, the pain suffocating. These were the three men I’d loved for so many years. For Cole’s media company, I’d worked for free as a tool to boost engagement for all his accounts. For Nathan’s investment business, I personally helped him sell products. For Ethan’s acting career, I promoted his work on my account every single day. But now, they were viciously putting me down just to make Serena happy. “I understand.” I didn’t lose control. I just answered very calmly. I turned and walked out of the lounge. The cold wind outside hit my face, and my mind had never been clearer. I’d planned to marry one of the three. But now I had a better idea. Half an hour later, I stood shivering in my grandparents’ living room. “I’ve decided. The person I want to marry is Damon Hunt.” Grandma was so shocked she nearly dropped her cup. “Are you crazy, Elara? Damon is Cole’s uncle! He’s six years older than you, cold, and impossible to get along with…” “I’m not crazy.” I clutched my clothes, nails digging into my palms. “Those three don’t love me, and I’m done hurting myself. Please, Grandma. Ask Damon if he’ll marry me.” Grandma saw the pain in my eyes and let out a long sigh. She dialed Damon Hunt’s number. The moment the call connected, I was incredibly nervous. “Hello.” Damon Hunt’s voice was deep and pleasant. Grandma briefly explained the situation. The silence on the other end was suffocating. Every second of pause was torture for me. My mind went blank. I’d even prepared myself for a ruthless rejection. After a long time, Damon Hunt on the other end laughed softly, his tone lazy and unreadable. “Sure. Tell Elara I’m willing to marry her.” The weight on my heart finally lifted. Tears streamed down my face. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Elara’s POV When I returned to the villa I shared with Cole and the others, it was already late at night. The villa blazed with lights. Serena’s and the Hunt brothers’ cheers pierced my eardrums. Streamers hung in the living room. A champagne tower was stacked high. Cole, Ethan, and Nathan surrounded Serena as she cut a cake, celebrating her award. Hearing the sound of the door opening, everyone looked at me. Serena fearfully hid behind Cole, calling out softly, “Elara, you’re back… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take your award. Cole and the others insisted on giving it to me…” “Enough, Serena. Why are you apologizing to her?” Ethan impatiently cut her off, then turned to look at me with contempt. “Elara, who are you throwing a tantrum for? It’s just an award. Does it really make you this crazy?” I ignored him and walked straight toward the stairs, ready to pack my belongings. “Stop.” Cole’s loud voice halted me. His tall frame blocked the stairway. “Since you’re back, there’s something I need to tell you. Hand over the password to your account with ten million followers. Give it to Serena.” I suspected I’d heard wrong. “What did you say?” “Are you deaf?” Nathan mocked. “Serena just won an award. She needs traffic and exposure right now. Your account has a lot of followers. It’s perfect for her to use for business deals. You have other accounts anyway.” I was livid with rage. I’d spent four years building that account. I’d traveled alone to cities all over the country with my camera, spent countless nights editing videos, slowly accumulating those followers! And now they wanted me to just hand it over to Serena with one sentence? “Impossible.” I looked into Cole’s eyes and immediately refused. “That’s my personal property. It has nothing to do with you. Want to give my account to Serena? I refuse.” “Elara, you’re such a bitch!” Ethan suddenly stood up, pointing at my nose as he cursed. “You usually spend our money, live in our house, and now when we ask you to help Serena with one small favor, you refuse. How can you be so selfish and vicious?” “I spend your money?” I said mockingly. “I bought this villa. I earned the money for your daily expenses by taking on ads! Who’s spending whose money?!” “Enough!” Cole’s expression turned ugly, as if I’d hit a nerve. “Elara, I’m asking you one last time. Are you giving up the account or not?” “No.” “Good. Very good.” Cole laughed mockingly and pulled out his phone to call his assistant. “Freeze all of Elara’s social media accounts registered under the company immediately. No one is allowed to unlock them without my permission.” After hanging up, he looked at me with contempt. “Since you’re so principled, let me see how you survive on your own without our help. When you come to your senses, kneel down and apologize to Serena. Then I’ll consider returning your accounts.” Serena gently tugged on Cole’s sleeve from behind, saying softly, “Cole, forget it. Elara just cares too much about that award. I don’t need her account anymore…” “Serena, stay out of this. We need to fix her arrogant attitude today!” Nathan chimed in. Looking at these three men in front of me, I suddenly felt disgusted. I didn’t want to spend another second in this house reeking of disgust. I turned and went upstairs. Ten minutes later, I came down dragging a suitcase. “What are you trying to do now?” Ethan sneered. “Running away from home in the middle of the night? If you’ve got guts, don’t come back once you walk out that door!” I didn’t give them a single glance. I dragged my suitcase straight toward the door. The moment my hand gripped the doorknob, I paused. Without turning back, I said, “Don’t worry. I’ll never set foot in here again. I don’t want this house anymore.” The door slammed shut with a bang, cutting off the noise inside. The night wind was very cold. I pulled my coat tighter and took out my phone. Looking at the forced logout notification on the screen, my eyes held no tears, only hatred. It’s fine. If my account is gone, I can rebuild.

Elara’s POV The day after moving out of the villa, I received a call from my mother. The moment she answered, her abuse came through. “Elara, have you lost your mind?! What did you do to make Cole angry? This morning he cancelled three collaboration projects with our company! Are you trying to destroy our whole family?!” I gripped my phone tightly, saying painfully, “Mom, they forcibly froze my accounts just to promote Serena, and they tried to steal my work…” “I don’t care!” Mom’s shrill voice stabbed my eardrums. “What use is a woman doing social media? Your job is to please the Hunt men and successfully marry them! I order you to go apologize to them right now. Even if you have to kneel to that woman, you need to get those collaborations back for me!” Before I could speak, she hung up. I looked at the darkened screen, my lips twisting into a smile uglier than crying. This was my family. In their eyes, I’d never been a daughter, just a bargaining chip for profit. Taking a deep breath, I pushed down the bitterness and took a cab to Hunt Corporation. I wasn’t going to apologize. I was going to retrieve my personal hard drive. It contained all my original footage and unreleased work from the past few years. My only capital for rebuilding my accounts. When I reached my former private office, I was shocked. The office door stood wide open. The minimalist decor that had been mine was completely gone, replaced with frilly lace and stuffed animals. Serena sat in my chair, playing with my personal hard drive in her hands! “Who said you could touch my things?” I strode in, demanding coldly. Serena jumped in fright. Her hand slipped, and the hard drive hit the desk with a clatter. “Elara…” Serena’s eyes instantly reddened like a startled rabbit’s. “I’m sorry. Cole said this office is mine now. I didn’t know this was yours…” “Give it back to me.” I was too lazy to listen to her talk. I reached out directly to take it. Just as my fingertips were about to touch the hard drive, Serena suddenly cried out. Her body lurched backward, and along with it, the hard drive in her hand fell heavily toward the massive decorative fish tank beside her! Splash! The hard drive sank instantly to the bottom, releasing a few bubbles before being completely ruined. “My hard drive!” I screamed in shock and pain. That contained five years of my work! “What are you doing?!” An enraged male voice came from the doorway. Cole rushed in quickly, shoving me aside and carefully helping Serena up from the floor. Nathan and Ethan followed behind them. Seeing this scene, their expressions instantly darkened. “Elara, have you gone crazy?!” Ethan rushed forward, pointing at my nose as he cursed. “You not only ran away from home, now you’re coming to the company to attack Serena? Are you sick?!” “I didn’t push her. She fell on her own and threw my hard drive in the water!” I pointed at the tank, my whole body trembling. “That had all my footage!” “Enough!” Cole cut me off, his eyes as cold as if looking at an enemy. “Serena is so kind. How could she deliberately destroy your things? You’re clearly jealous she took your office!” Nathan pushed up his glasses, his tone cutting. “Elara, you’re getting more and more insane. It’s just a hard drive. How much could it be worth? You scared Serena like this. Apologize to her immediately!” Looking at these three stupid men, I suddenly felt absurd. I used to think that if I just tried hard enough, was enthusiastic enough, I could eventually move them. But now I understood. Idiots can’t see the truth. “Apologize?” I stared at them, the light in my eyes extinguishing bit by bit, turning into a desolate wasteland. “Impossible.” I didn’t look at the hard drive in the tank again. I turned, straightened my back, and walked out of the office step by step. Ethan’s shout came from behind. “Elara, if you dare walk out that door today, even if you beg us on your knees later, we’ll never forgive you!” My steps didn’t pause. Forgive me? You don’t deserve to.

Elara’s POV After leaving Hunt Corporation, I went to New York’s largest underground auction house. Next month was my wedding with Damon Hunt. Although it was a contractual marriage, Damon had given me enough dignity and respect on the phone. I wanted to prepare a wedding gift for him. In the auction catalog, a pair of sapphire cufflinks from European royalty in the last century caught my eye. Expensive and luxurious. They seemed exactly like the feeling Damon gave me. I checked my account. Although my main account was frozen, I still had some money in my personal account. Just enough to buy these cufflinks. The auction progressed to the second half, and the cufflinks were finally presented on the display stand. “Starting bid, two million.” I bid without hesitation. “Two million five hundred thousand.” “Three million.” A female voice came from the front row. I frowned and looked up to see Serena sitting on Nathan’s lap, holding up her bidding paddle. Cole and Ethan sat on either side of her. Just my luck. I gritted my teeth and raised my paddle again. “Three million five hundred thousand.” Serena looked back at me, bit her lip pitifully, and acted coy with Nathan. “Nathan, those cufflinks are so beautiful. I want to buy them as a birthday gift for Cole, but it seems Elara really likes them too…” Nathan laughed coldly and raised his paddle directly. “Five million.” The whole venue was shocked. Five million for a pair of cufflinks was way over market value. My palms were sweating. I only had eight million in liquid funds in my account. “Six million.” I gritted my teeth and followed. Ethan laughed mockingly. “Elara, we kicked you out, and you still have money left? Buying expensive men’s cufflinks. Who are they for? Don’t tell me you’re trying to butter us up and get back in our good graces.” Cole said contemptuously, “It’s useless. Anything you give, I’d find dirty.” I didn’t even look at them, keeping my eyes on the auctioneer. Nathan was enraged by my disregard and raised his paddle directly. “Eight million.” At that number, my heart sank completely. I had no more money to bid. Just as the auctioneer was about to drop the hammer, Serena suddenly grabbed Nathan’s hand. “Nathan, forget it. Elara doesn’t even have a job now. This might be her last savings. I don’t need them. Let her have them.” Nathan snorted coldly. “She’s lucky. Serena, you’re just too kind.” In the end, I bought the cufflinks for eight million. I emptied every penny in my account and walked out of the auction house with the beautifully packaged velvet box. Just as I reached the main entrance, Serena blocked my path. Cole and the others stood not far away smoking, not following over. “Elara, can I see the cufflinks?” Serena’s face wore a provocative smile. “Something you spent all your savings on must be very precious, right?” I looked at her coldly. “Get lost.” “Don’t be so stingy.” Serena suddenly reached out and snatched the box from my hands. “What are you doing!” I was furious, reaching to grab it back. But Serena suddenly stepped back and loosened her hand. Click. The velvet box fell to the ground, and two exquisite sapphire cufflinks rolled out. Serena’s high heel seemed to accidentally step forward, directly kicking one of the cufflinks into the nearby storm drain grate! “Oh no!” Serena covered her mouth, crying out in surprise. “I’m so sorry, Elara. I didn’t mean to. My hand slipped…” My brain buzzed. That was the gift I’d spent all my money on for Damon! I raised my hand and slapped Serena hard across the face! Smack! The crisp sound of the slap was especially loud in the night. Serena screamed and fell to the ground, clutching her face as she burst into tears. “Elara, you’re asking for death!” Ethan was the first to rush over, shoving me aside. My back slammed hard into a solid column, making me gasp in pain. Cole and Nathan also rushed over. Seeing Serena’s swollen face, their eyes instantly became terrifying. “Elara, you actually dared to hit her?!” Cole grabbed my throat, pinning me against the column, his eyes full of rage. “They’re just cufflinks. Serena accidentally dropped them. We’ll pay you double! How dare you get physical!” “Pay?” I was being choked, struggling to breathe, but I still stared at them, a cold smile on my lips. “Pay with what? You blind trash don’t even understand what’s valuable!” “You still dare to talk back!” Nathan’s eyes were frightening. “Ethan, throw her in the lake nearby. Let her sober up!” Ethan didn’t hesitate. He came forward, grabbed my arm, and regardless of my struggles, dragged me toward the icy lakeside. Splash! The lake water was freezing, instantly swallowing my head.

Elara’s POV The freezing lake water rushed into my nose. I struggled violently in the water. I couldn’t swim. On the shore, the three Hunt brothers watched coldly. “What’s she pretending for? The water’s only five feet deep. She could stand up and live.” Ethan had his hands in his pockets, saying mockingly, “Elara, your acting is way too fake.” Serena leaned against Cole, deliberately saying, “Cole, Elara really seems like she can’t swim. Maybe we should pull her up. What if something happens…” “What could happen? She’s strong as an ox.” Nathan pushed up his glasses, his eyes cold. “Let her soak in the water for half an hour. Then we’ll see if she dares hit you again.” Underwater, I heard these words, and the despair in my heart was colder than the lake water. I gave up struggling and let my body slowly sink. Just as my consciousness was about to blur, park staff finally noticed something was wrong and jumped in to rescue me. I was completely soaked, coughing violently on the shore in a wretched state, almost vomiting bile. Cole looked down at me from above, like looking at garbage. “Today’s just a warning. If there’s a next time, I guarantee you won’t be able to stay in New York.” After speaking, they escorted Serena into their luxury car and left. The night wind blew, and I shivered all over. I dragged my heavy steps to kneel by the storm drain grate, using my frozen fingers to pick at the gaps bit by bit, trying to retrieve the fallen cufflink. But it was too deep. I couldn’t feel anything. I was alone on the deep-night street, like a pitiful ghost abandoned by the whole world. The next day, I developed a high fever. I forced myself to open my phone, only to find that online abuse had completely drowned me. Serena had done a livestream last night. In the stream, she held my golden retriever “Buddy” that I’d raised for three years, crying miserably. Buddy looked very unwell. Serena said in the livestream, “Poor Buddy. His previous owner often locked him in a cage for work and didn’t even feed him. Now that I’ve brought him home, I’ll definitely take good care of him.” The three Hunt brothers even reposted this video from their respective accounts with the caption: “People who abuse animals don’t deserve forgiveness.” This was undoubtedly slandering me with a scandal. Online fury was completely ignited. “Elara can go die! Dog-abusing bitch!” “I used to like her, but she’s actually a poisonous woman!” “Boycott Elara! Make her get off the internet!” I looked at those vicious curses on the screen, my whole body shaking with anger. Buddy was a pet I’d raised from a puppy. I loved him like family. The day I moved out of the villa, Cole forcibly kept Buddy, saying he’d give him to Serena. Now they were turning it around, slandering me for abusing him! Just then, Mom called again. “Elara! What have you done! Cole officially announced the withdrawal of investment today. Our company’s stock has already hit the limit down!” Mother screamed on the other end. “You need to start a livestream right now and kneel to apologize to Serena! Admit that you abused the dog, that you’re jealous of her! Otherwise, I’ll act like I never had a daughter!” I closed my eyes as tears finally slid down my burning cheeks. “Mom,” my voice was hoarse, “I have a fever. One hundred and three point six degrees. I’m dying.” “That doesn’t matter!” Mom cut me off. “Even if you die, you need to resolve our company’s crisis first! I’m giving you one hour to post an apology video, or don’t ever come home again!” The call was hung up again. I curled up in the cold blanket, feeling like all the blood in my body had frozen. No one cared if I lived or died. My lovers. My family. My fans. Every one of them was pushing me toward the edge. Just as I was suffering, my phone screen suddenly lit up. It was a text from an unknown number. “Need help? -Damon Hunt.” Seeing this short sentence, my despairing heart suddenly beat violently. I bit my cracked lips and replied with trembling fingers. “No. I can handle it. Damon, can we move up our wedding?” He replied almost instantly. “As you wish. See you tomorrow, Elara.”

Elara’s POV After recovering from the high fever, I completely changed my life focus. I didn’t post an apology video, didn’t pay attention to the online abuse, but focused wholeheartedly on wedding preparations. Although Damon was abroad, he arranged the best team to assist me. The wedding venue was set at New York’s most expensive hillside manor, a private property under Damon’s name. That afternoon, I went to the bridal shop to try on the wedding dress I’d personally participated in designing. I’d spent an entire year designing it, originally intending to wear it for Cole and the others. Now, I just wanted to wear it and marry Damon beautifully. After trying on the dress, I took the packaged gown and headed to the hillside manor to decorate the wedding venue. However, the moment I pushed open the manor’s main door, I was completely shocked. The romantically decorated wedding venue was now in complete chaos. Expensive imported roses were trampled into mud. Carefully selected delicate decorations were thrown everywhere. In the center of the living room, the three Hunt brothers were playing loud music, partying with a group of friends. And Serena was wearing an extremely familiar white dress, laughing happily in the crowd. That was my backup wedding dress! “Well, well, if it isn’t our big star Elara?” Ethan walked over with a wine glass, swaying drunkenly, his face full of mockery. “What, did you come to attend Serena’s birthday party?” I stared at the wedding dress on Serena, my voice cold as ice. “Who allowed you to come in? Who allowed her to wear my wedding dress?!” “What are you yelling about?” Cole walked over frowning, protecting Serena behind him. “This manor is our company’s property. We can use it if we want. As for this cheap dress, Serena thought it looked nice. What’s wrong with her wearing it? Are you really that petty?” “Exactly.” Nathan sneered. “Elara, don’t tell me you actually think that by finding some random man and holding a fake wedding, you can provoke us?” They thought there was no way I could actually marry someone else. Everything I did was just to pressure them. Serena deliberately tugged at the wedding dress hem, saying delicately, “Elara, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was your wedding dress. But this dress fits me perfectly. Cole said when we get engaged, he’ll let me wear this one.” As she spoke, she deliberately let her hand slip. Her wine glass tilted, and dark red liquid instantly splashed onto the pure white dress, leaving conspicuous stains. “Oops, I got it dirty.” Serena covered her mouth, apologizing without sincerity. I watched this scene without losing control like before, without shedding a single tear. I suddenly felt it was ridiculous. How stupid must I have been to fall in love with these three idiots? I calmly took out my phone, opened the camera, and clearly recorded this floor full of trash and their ugly faces. “What are you doing? Put your phone down!” Ethan’s expression changed, reaching to grab my phone. I stepped back, avoiding his hand, a mocking smile on my lips. “Cole Hunt. Nathan Hunt. Ethan Hunt.” I called out their names one by one, looking at them like they were already dead. “This wedding dress? Think of it as Serena’s funeral gown. And this venue? Since you like it so much, stay as long as you want. Play slowly.” “Because tomorrow, I’ll put on the world’s most expensive wedding dress, at New York’s most luxurious hotel, and marry a man you could never measure up to.” After speaking, without a trace of reluctance, I turned and walked out of the manor. Cole roared from behind. “Elara! Walk out that door, and tomorrow we’ll crash your fake wedding. We’ll make you the joke of New York.” I didn’t stop. I just kept walking. Crash it? Good. I’m looking forward to it. I couldn’t wait to see their faces when they found out who the groom really was.

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In the end, during that final mission, Regina didn’t hesitate. She pulled the trigger to save the man who had always been the ghost in our relationship—her “one who got away”—and the bullet tore right through me. She knew. She knew I had the Protocol backing me up. To her, my death was nothing more than a temporary glitch, a brief nap before the reboot. For three days, she stayed by Becket’s side, nursing him, comforting him, erasing me from her mind as if I’d never existed. By the time she finally remembered I was a person who actually occupied space in her life, she wasn’t greeted by a sleeping fiancé. She found a corpse beginning to succumb to the heat. I remember asking her, just before we set out, clutching onto a final, pathetic shred of hope: “Would you ever actually kill me, Reggie?” She had gone quiet for a long time before the words tumbled out: “No.” At that moment, both I and the Protocol felt a heavy sink in our collective chest. We knew it was a bad omen. If she had just said yes—if she had actually killed me by choice—my mission would have ended right then and there. But that “no” made me delusional. It made me think she actually loved me. It made me think the mission was about to get a whole lot more complicated. Looking back, all that worrying was for nothing. It wasn’t love. It was just me, making a fool of myself until the very end. … I sat on the edge of the roof, reaching out as if I could brush the stars with my fingertips. Before I could lean out too far, the Protocol’s voice hissed in my ear, sounding genuinely bewildered: [Host, please tell me you aren’t doing something stupid. We’ve put in too much work to get this close to the finish line. Don’t you dare jump.] My mouth twitched into a grimace. “Relax. I’m just catching the breeze. Do you really think I’m that fragile?” In fairness, the view from the roof was spectacular. It gave me a front-row seat to my fiancée wrapped in another man’s arms in the garden below. Becket looked like the protagonist of a tragic indie film, his eyes brimming with a manufactured sorrow. “You have to forget me, Regina. We’re a secret that can’t survive the light. This isn’t going to end well for us.” Regina spoke to him with a tenderness I had never once been allowed to taste. “I’ll take care of everything. I just need a little more time.” But Becket wasn’t playing along this time. “I’m almost thirty, Reggie. How much more time am I supposed to waste waiting in the shadows?” Regina started to say something, her lips parted in a desperate plea, but Becket cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. “I’ve agreed to the setup my mother arranged. A blind date. A real future. Reggie, I’m begging you… let me go.” Regina turned her face away, her jaw tight with irritation. “Becket, stop being dramatic, okay?” He gave a hollow, bitter laugh and turned on his heel, disappearing into the darkness of the driveway. I watched her standing there, a lonely silhouette against the manicured lawn, and shook my head. “See that? That’s the tax you pay for an affair.” The Protocol chimed in: [Technically, you two aren’t married yet.] I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know a damn thing. Watch this. I’m going to go down there and push her buttons. If I’m lucky, she’ll get pissed enough to just stab me and get it over with.” The Protocol gave me a mental thumbs-up. [High-risk, high-reward. I like it.] I kept my pace light and bouncy as I walked down the stairs, finding Regina exactly where I expected—looking like a woman whose world had just collapsed. “Ouch. You look like you just got dumped. Want to talk about it? I’m a great listener,” I said, flashing a grin and throwing an arm over her shoulder. Her face remained a mask of stone. She shoved my arm off with a cold efficiency. “It’s nothing.” Nothing? No, that wouldn’t do. I needed more fire than that. “Come on, Reggie. I saw the whole thing from the roof. Getting dumped isn’t the end of the world, it’s just—” I didn’t finish the sentence. Her hand flew out, catching me by the throat with a strength that felt like iron. She looked like something that had crawled out of a nightmare. “You were spying on me?” she hissed. Her eyes were bloodshot, shimmering with a terrifying intensity. “Have I been too kind lately? Have you forgotten who you are in this house?” Looking into her murderous eyes, I felt my lips curl upward. Yes. That’s it. Just squeeze. Kill me. Let me go home. “Yeah, I followed you. So what?” I gasped out, leaning into the pressure of her grip. “Are you really that ashamed of being caught acting like a common tramp? I don’t blame him for leaving. A woman who wants the whole world while she’s already got a man at home? Even I’m starting to find you pathetic.” I poured every ounce of venom I could into my voice, terrified she might soften. Her grip tightened. Her knuckles turned white. To be honest, the sensation of dying isn’t pleasant—it’s a panicked, primal sort of pain. But the thought of home, of ending this grand humiliation, was a powerful anesthetic. Then, abruptly, she let go. I crumpled to the pavement, my lungs burning as I hacked and coughed, trying to pull in air. “I was wrong to snap,” she said, her voice dropping back into that terrifyingly cool professional tone. “I’ll keep my distance from him from now on.” My heart stopped for a different reason. I looked up at her, eyes wide with disbelief. But she didn’t look back. She just gave me the cold view of her retreating back. “Protocol… what the hell was that?” I whispered, my voice trembling. The Protocol sounded just as stunned. [She let you go? Are you kidding me? A woman who treats men like disposable tissues actually showed mercy?] I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. But nothing could change the fact that I was still here. By the time I was halfway through my third bag of chips in the kitchen, the Protocol finally spoke up. [Host, why are you eating your feelings?] I crunched down viciously on a chip. “I’m going to get so fat she can’t stand the sight of me. Maybe then she’ll finally put a bullet in my head.” The Protocol decided I had finally snapped and went quiet, leaving us both to sit in our shared misery. It was a pathetic scene: one man and one invisible AI, failing at suicide-by-fiancée. I was plotting my next move when a knock sounded at the door. It was Becket. He stood there with a thin, polite smile, holding a crisp white dress shirt. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” he said, his voice dripping with faux-humility. “Regina stayed over at my place a few nights ago and I… well, I accidentally got some wine on her shirt. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea if you found it, so I brought it back myself. You aren’t upset over such a small thing, are you?” I knew what he wanted. He wanted the explosion. He wanted me to scream and throw a punch so Regina could come running to his rescue. But I had too much on my mind to play my part in his melodrama. “Thanks. Appreciate it,” I said, reaching for the shirt. Becket’s smile faltered. The lack of a reaction clearly bothered him. He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly tight. “What are you acting for?” he spat, his voice dropping the polite facade. “I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter how ‘understanding’ you are. she’ll never truly look at you. If I hadn’t moved away, you wouldn’t even be a footnote in her life. You’re just a cheap placeholder. A discount version of me.” It was a textbook provocation. Amateur hour. “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night,” I said. “Now let go.” I tried to pull my hand back, barely using any force, but the moment I moved, he went limp. He collapsed toward the floor like a puppet with cut strings. “Ah!” he cried out. Before he could hit the hardwood, Regina appeared as if summoned by a spell. I didn’t even have time to blink before her palm connected with my face. Crack. “Ewan, I’ve warned you so many times,” she said, her voice trembling with rage. “Why can’t you just behave?” My cheek burned. The pain was sharp enough to bring involuntary tears to my eyes. I didn’t defend myself. I just stared at Becket. He buried his face in Regina’s shoulder, a calculated sob escaping his throat. “Reggie, it’s my fault. All my fault. I shouldn’t have upset him. You two are getting married… don’t let me be the reason you fight.” He made a weak motion as if to pull away. “I just wanted to see you one last time. Now that I have, I’ll leave you both in peace.” Regina wasn’t about to let that happen. She gripped his hand with a fierce protectiveness and led him toward the master bedroom, brushing past me as if I were a piece of furniture. She didn’t even give me a second glance. The look she had given me—the sheer, unadulterated disgust—left no doubt in my mind. If Becket hadn’t been there to play the victim, she might have actually finished what she started earlier. “What are you still standing there for?” Regina’s voice drifted back, cold and hollow. “Get out.” I looked down at my phone. A message had just come in from the rescue coordindator. I felt a ghost of a smile touch my lips. “Regina,” I called out. “If I keep hurting him… would you kill me?” She went silent. I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it. If the end was already written, I wanted the closure of the spoken word. She didn’t answer right away. I didn’t wait. The rescue team was blowing up my phone. A notorious cartel cell had moved into the valley. People were dying, the medical teams were overwhelmed, and they needed every able body. I sighed. “The protection is in the drawer. I probably won’t be back for a while. Do whatever you want.” I shouldered my pack and turned to leave. But just as my foot hit the threshold, I heard it. Her final answer. “No.” Two days of grueling travel later, I arrived at a hidden mountain village. The team leader barely looked up before tossing a trauma kit at my chest. “Move! We’ve got casualties that won’t last another hour!” I’d heard stories, but the reality was a visceral shock. The ground was littered with the wounded, their cries a dissonant chorus of agony. It was a slaughterhouse. “How did it get this bad?” I asked, already kneeling over a man with a jagged shrapnel wound. The leader’s face was grim. “These people are monsters. Right now, our priority is getting the hostages out of the compound across the ridge.” I frowned. “There are more?” The compound was a fortress. Trying to pull someone out of there was a suicide mission. The leader sighed. “Yeah. Some poor kid. Apparently, he was lured out here by a girl he met on a dating app. He’s been in there for twenty-four hours. God knows what’s left of him.” My heart went out to the guy. Even in this “scripted” world, I’d spent enough years here to feel for the locals. Most of them were just ordinary people trying to survive, no different from the office drones I knew in my real life. The cartel had sent word: they would trade the hostage, but only for a medical professional and a full trauma kit. They were bleeding out over there, too, and they were desperate. I volunteered. It wasn’t because I was a hero. It was because the Protocol guaranteed my resurrection as long as the mission wasn’t “complete.” Regina knew that. It was the safety net that allowed her to be as cruel as she wanted. I walked toward the enemy lines, the trauma kit heavy in my hand. When I was only a few yards away, a sharp gasp cut through the mountain air. “Ewan?” I looked up. My heart skipped a beat. Looking back at me, his eyes wide with terror, was Becket. What the hell was he doing here? The cartel gunman didn’t give us time for a reunion. He pressed the barrel of his rifle against Becket’s temple. “Don’t just stand there! Hand over the kit if you want him to live!” Becket was a mess—bruised, bloody, and shivering. He looked broken. “Are you deaf? Give it to them! Move!” If I weren’t a member of this team, if I didn’t have a code of ethics to uphold for every life, I would have dropped the bag and walked away. I took a breath and held out the kit. “Take it. Now let him—” Before I could finish, men surged from the brush on either side. A heavy boot slammed into the back of my knee, and I hit the dirt hard. “You bastards! We had a deal!” I snarled. the leader laughed, a cold, rasping sound. “You talk about deals with us? Here’s the truth: we never planned on letting you go. An extra hostage is just an extra insurance policy.” I felt a surge of genuine fear. Resurrection or not, the pain was real. These men weren’t the type to give you a quick, clean exit. “Why waste your breath on him? He’s a dead man anyway.” I was already calculating my escape when I saw it. Becket wasn’t being held down anymore. He calmly untied the ropes around his wrists and sat down on a grimy sofa in the back of the room. The realization hit me like a physical blow. The wounds, the terror—it was all a performance. He wasn’t a victim. He was a partner. “Why?” I asked. I used to think he was just a petty, jealous man. But this? This was a different level of evil. He chuckled, leaning back. “You really thought I was at university in Europe all those years? Please. I dropped out months in. This business pays way better than a desk job. Every man for himself, right, Ewan?” I went quiet. When I looked up, I just felt a weary kind of pity. “What do you want?” He pulled a knife and traced the flat of the blade along my cheek. He gave me a brilliant, manic smile. “I want to play a game.” A cold pit formed in my stomach. “What game?” He checked his watch. “Regina will be here in a few minutes. I want to see who she chooses. You… or me?” All this effort, all this blood, just to play a sick game of “who do you love more” with Regina. I didn’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed by the sheer scale of his obsession. But I couldn’t say a word. They taped my mouth shut before I could respond. Time became a blur of silence and mountain wind. Eventually, the sounds of an arrival echoed from outside. “Miss Thorne! What an honor to have such a powerful woman visit our humble home!” The cartel leader grinned and shoved both Becket and me toward the door. We were bundled like cargo. Regina’s eyes swept over the scene. Her gaze didn’t even pause on me; it locked onto Becket immediately. “Let them go. Name your price. I have the wire transfer ready.” The leader scratched his ear. “You misunderstand, Regina. It’s not about the money anymore. I want to play.” “What?” Regina’s eyes narrowed, her hand drifting toward her holster. “I know you’re armed,” the leader said. “But my boys have their fingers on the triggers. One wrong move, and we all go up in flames.” Regina stopped. “What do you want?” He pointed at the two of us. “Simple. You can take one man with you. The other… you have to shoot him yourself.” “…Name a price for both. I’m not playing this,” Regina said after a long, agonizing silence. The leader barked out a laugh. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate? You have ten seconds. If you don’t choose, I’ll kill them both.” I looked at Becket. He was actually risking his own life for this. If Regina chose me, he’d die. He was insane. Bang. The bullet tore through the air before I even realized what was happening. I felt the impact, a sudden, blinding heat in my chest. My body began to tilt backward. Blood sprayed into the air, vivid and bright against the gray sky. Regina hadn’t even hesitated. She had made her choice in a heartbeat. All those promises, those years together—they meant nothing. Not even a second of doubt. As my spirit drifted from my body, I stood there, a ghost watching the wreckage. I watched her sprint past my cooling corpse, not even looking down as she stepped over my arm to reach Becket. She gripped his hands, her voice frantic as she checked him for injuries. She really did hate me that much. Suddenly, a triumphant chime echoed in my head. [Congratulations, Host! Mission Complete. Proceed to return to the real world?] [Warning: Upon return, this body will be truly deceased. No further resurrections will be possible in this plane.] I watched Regina’s retreating back as she led Becket away. I smiled. “Yes. Do it.”

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The tragedy of my last life began with a leaked corporate proposal. That afternoon, my uncle found the evidence on my cousin’s computer, and the finger was immediately pointed at me. I was the only other person who had touched her desk. Faced with my cousin’s breathless, tear-soaked pleading, my heart had softened. I swallowed my defense and took the blame, muttering something about a misclick. From that moment on, I was branded the family curse. The loss of her job, the derailed career—it was all hung around my neck. My relatives tore me apart at every family gathering. My parents, exhausted and humiliated by the relentless screaming from my aunt and uncle, eventually forced me to my knees to beg for forgiveness. Later, when my cousin’s own startup imploded, leaving her drowning in a mountain of debt, my aunt and uncle showed up at my door. They demanded I sell the small condo my grandmother had left me to bail her out. They said I owed them. In the violent scuffle that broke out on my landing, my uncle shoved me. I fell down the concrete stairwell. My neck snapped. I died instantly. The grief and shock destroyed my parents; they both fell ill and followed me to the grave within the year. But today, my eyes snap open. I am back on the exact day the proposal leaked. And this time, I’m not carrying anyone else’s cross. 1 “You ungrateful little parasite! After everything this family has done for you, you sell our company’s secrets to a competitor?!” “What kind of sick game are you playing? I’m calling the cops right now!” My uncle’s palm cracked across my cheek like a gunshot. The explosive, stinging heat radiating across my skin jolted me completely awake. I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights. Scattered manila folders covered the office floor. My cousin, Brittany, was crouched by her leather desk chair, sobbing into her hands. Her mother—my Aunt Carol—was standing over me, hands on her hips, spitting venom. My laptop bag sat right where I’d left it on the glass table. I had actually come back. Back to the exact moment I took the fall. In my past life, this slap had completely disoriented me. Just as I opened my mouth to swear I hadn’t touched Brittany’s files, I had met her eyes. They were wide, brimming with tears, begging me silently. I had caved. I took the hit. I promised my aunt and uncle I would find a way to make up the financial loss. I didn’t know I was buying a one-way ticket to hell. Because of me—supposedly—Brittany lost a multi-million dollar bid and got fired. My uncle’s family made sure everyone in our zip code knew I was a backstabbing snake who ruined her bright future. The disgust in my relatives’ eyes. My parents, beaten down by the sheer volume of Aunt Carol’s hysteria, dragging me over to their house to grovel. Then came Brittany’s doomed business venture. The six-figure debt. My aunt and uncle, eyes red with greed and desperation, pounding on my door, screaming that this was my karmic debt to pay. They knew my grandmother had left me that little house in the suburbs. They brought men to physically pry the keys from my hands. The weightlessness of the fall. The agonizing crunch of my skull against the concrete. The sight of my parents, broken and weeping by my hospital bed as I slipped away. The memories rushed through my blood, freezing it into ice. I dug my fingernails so hard into my palms that the skin broke. The sharp pain grounded me. In this life, I would rather die than take the fall for her. Seeing me just standing there, Brittany dialed up the waterworks. She threw herself against her father’s chest. “Dad, stop, don’t hit Jo anymore! She probably didn’t mean to do it! She came by to hang out yesterday, she was messing around near my desk… she must have clicked the wrong thing…” It sounded like mercy. It was actually a perfectly executed trap to establish that I was the one on her computer. Aunt Carol pounced immediately. “Didn’t mean to?! This little bitch is just jealous of your salary! She did this to ruin you! You’re too sweet, Brittany, you’re letting her stab you in the back and you’re still trying to protect her!” “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” my uncle roared at me. “That was a multi-million dollar contract! You’ve destroyed her life!” A low murmur rippled through the open-plan office. The other employees were watching the spectacle. “Jo is usually so quiet when she comes around,” someone whispered. “Always so polite. Why would she do corporate espionage?” “You never know with people,” another muttered. “Paul is her own uncle. He wouldn’t falsely accuse his own niece, would he?” “Maybe she really was jealous of Brittany…” The whispers acted like gasoline on my uncle’s rage. Breathing heavily, his face flushed purple, he raised his hand to strike me again. I didn’t freeze this time. I took a sharp step back, dodging his hand effortlessly. When I spoke, my voice was absolute zero. “I didn’t leak that proposal.” 2 The office went dead silent. Brittany’s sobbing abruptly hitched, a flash of genuine panic cutting through the faux-tears in her eyes. My uncle glared at me, his jaw working. “You expect me to believe that? If it wasn’t you, who was it? Brittany said you were on her computer yesterday. Who else could have done it?” “I came to the office yesterday to see her, yes.” I locked eyes with Brittany. “But I never touched your computer. Not even the power button. I came to borrow a GRE prep book. You told me it was on your desk and to grab it myself. When I walked over, your monitor was black. I grabbed the book and walked out. I was in your cubicle for sixty seconds.” Aunt Carol practically foamed at the mouth. “Liar! You’re just trying to save your own skin! If you didn’t touch it, how did our competitor get the exact file?!” “It’s incredibly easy to prove,” I said, my voice steady, cutting through her hysterics. “Brittany’s computer has an activity log. What time the file was opened, what time it was sent—it leaves a digital footprint. Check her email, her Slack, her cloud drives. There will be an outbound record. Furthermore, this company has security cameras. Pull the tape from yesterday. See exactly how long I was at her desk, and see who else sat in that chair.” Aunt Carol wasn’t backing down. “You’re a tech major! You know how to hack! You probably remote-accessed her desktop!” A harsh, dry laugh escaped my throat. “So I spent four years mastering network security just so I could hack into Brittany’s completely unencrypted, password-free desktop?” I paused, turning my gaze back to my cousin. Her face had lost all its color. “Brittany, you just told everyone I ‘clicked the wrong thing.’ So which is it? Was I an accidental klutz, or an elite hacker? And if I clicked the wrong thing, tell me—what email address did I accidentally type out perfectly? At what exact time?” Brittany opened her mouth, but only a pathetic, raspy breath came out. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her silk blouse into knots. She couldn’t meet my eyes. I had spent the last two years helping this office out with their IT issues for free, just as a favor to my uncle. The staff liked me. Unlike Brittany, who treated the receptionists and tech guys like the help, I actually talked to them. Gary, the senior systems administrator, finally stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Jo has maintained our servers for months. We all know her character. If she wanted to steal a file, she wouldn’t do it from Brittany’s physical machine and leave a trail a mile wide.” My uncle hesitated, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion. He looked down at his daughter. “Brittany… is she telling the truth?” “I… I don’t remember,” Brittany stammered, her voice trembling—this time for real. All her self-righteousness had evaporated. “I was just so panicked! I saw her near my desk, and then the file was gone…” “You don’t remember?” I sneered. “A million-dollar contract on the line, and your memory gets fuzzy? Think harder, Brittany. Was it an accident, or did you send it to someone yourself?” Aunt Carol exploded. “How dare you speak to her like that! Why the hell would Brittany send it on purpose? Is she insane?!” “Only she knows the answer to that,” I said quietly. “Stop it! Dad, Mom, please, I just want to go home, I’m having a panic attack…” Brittany immediately reverted to the helpless, fragile girl routine, knowing it was her parents’ kryptonite. Realizing there was no smoking gun to immediately hang me with, Aunt Carol grabbed her purse. She shot me a look of pure venom. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this with your smart mouth. I will find the proof, and when I do, I’ll make sure you pay for this.” She grabbed Brittany by the arm and stormed out, my uncle trailing behind them. The glass door slammed shut behind them, rattling in its frame. Once they were gone, the adrenaline left me in a rush. My knees buckled, and I collapsed into the nearest rolling chair. I had survived the first hurdle. But I knew Aunt Carol and Brittany. They had lost the contract and humiliated themselves in front of the office. They wouldn’t let this go. The file really was in the competitor’s hands, because Brittany had sold it to them. And she would move heaven and earth to make sure I took the fall for her greed. 3 Sure enough, by 7:00 AM the next morning, the family group chat was a warzone. Aunt Carol led the charge. She sent over twenty voice memos, each one dripping with manufactured tears, twisting the events of the previous day into a bizarre work of fiction. In her version, I was a jealous, sociopathic monster who bit the hand that fed me. “Everyone, you have to hear this! When has Paul and I ever treated Jo with anything but love? Her parents work crazy hours, so she practically grew up in our house! Brittany treated her like a sister. She shared everything with her!” “And how does she repay us?! She steals Brittany’s proposal and sells it to a rival firm because she can’t stand that Brittany makes more money than her! Millions of dollars, gone! Brittany was fired! Her life is ruined! And Jo won’t even admit it! She brought her little IT friends to gang up on us! We tried to talk to her, and she practically raised her hand to hit Brittany! Is she even human?” “Her parents are just as guilty for raising such a toxic, rotten kid! I’m saying this right now: if Jo doesn’t pay us back for Brittany’s lost wages and get down on her knees to apologize, our side of the family is cutting her off. We’ll go to her parents’ workplaces and let everyone know what kind of criminals they’re raising!” Following her mother’s barrage, Brittany dropped a long text paragraph, accompanied by three selfies showing her red, swollen eyes. “Hi aunts and uncles… I know you all love Jo. I never thought she’d do something like this to me over petty jealousy. When I saw her at my desk, I just thought she was looking at my things. I never imagined she was stealing from me. I’m completely broken right now. I lost my job, and the person closest to me betrayed me. I don’t want to ruin Jo’s life, but I need her to take accountability and give my parents some closure. When you make a mistake, you have to pay the price, right?” It was a masterclass in manipulation. Within minutes, the chat was swarming with relatives taking the bait. The ones who usually sucked up to Aunt Carol for favors were the first to draw blood. “Jo is so out of line. How could she do this? Disgusting behavior!” “Brittany has always been such a sweet girl, she wouldn’t lie about this. Make Jo pay for the damages!” “This is what happens when you let someone else’s kid eat at your table. Paul and Carol wasted their love on her.” Even the relatives who usually stayed quiet chimed in, eager for the drama. “Family is family, but if Jo stole something, she needs to face the music.” “Millions of dollars is a big deal. The least Jo could do is show some remorse.” My phone rang. It was my parents. “Jo, honey, what is going on?” my mom’s voice was trembling with anxiety. “What is Carol saying about you? Tell us it’s just a misunderstanding.” Hearing my parents’ voices—alive, healthy, frantic with worry—sent a wave of fierce warmth through my chest. In this life, I wouldn’t let anyone touch a hair on their heads. “Mom, Dad, breathe,” I said softly. “It has nothing to do with me. Brittany leaked the file herself, and she’s trying to use me as a human shield. I have the proof. I’m just waiting for the right moment to drop it. Do not reply to the group chat. I have it handled.” They hesitated, but my parents trusted me. “Okay, sweetie. We believe you. But if they try to come over here and harass you, your dad and I aren’t going to just stand by.” “I know. I love you.” I hung up. I sat on my bed, scrolling through the toxic sludge in the group chat, quietly screenshotting every single message. Seeing that I wasn’t responding, Brittany grew bolder. She tagged me directly, demanding I come out of hiding. She warned that if I didn’t show my face, they were coming to my parents’ house. Aunt Carol took it a step further. She dropped a pin of my parents’ address into the chat. She invited everyone who lived nearby to come over at 7:00 PM to “demand justice” and watch my parents “discipline their thief of a daughter.” A cold, sharp smile touched my lips. Perfect. The stage was set. The audience was invited. It was time to pull the trapdoor. 4 At exactly 7:00 PM, cars started pulling up to the curb outside my parents’ house. Aunt Carol, Uncle Paul, and Brittany got out, followed by three of my louder aunts and uncles. They marched right onto our front lawn. Aunt Carol didn’t even bother ringing the doorbell; she just started screaming at the second-floor window. “Jo! Get your ass out here! Hiding in your bedroom like a coward won’t save you!” “Come out here and look your cousin in the eye! Pay up or we’re throwing a brick through your window!” “Come out here and explain yourselves!” an aunt yelled at my parents’ silhouettes in the window. Neighbors started stepping out onto their porches. People walking their dogs stopped on the sidewalk. Whispers broke out. Brittany stood slightly behind her mother, playing the tragic victim perfectly. She kept wiping her dry eyes, looking up at our window with a sickeningly triumphant smirk hidden just beneath her hands. She was waiting for me to break. Inside, my dad was shaking with rage. He reached for the front door handle. “I’m going down there. I’m not letting them speak to you like that.” “Dad, no.” I gripped his forearm tight. “Don’t get in the mud with them. It just makes you dirty.” I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Watch. Today, they’re going to choke on every single word they just spat out.” Down on the lawn, Brittany was still staring up at my window, waiting for my surrender. Then, a voice cut through the crisp evening air from the sidewalk behind her. “Brittany?”

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Three days. That was the countdown flickering in the back of my mind before I could finally claw my way back to reality. The cold, electronic drone of the System echoed in my skull just as I felt myself slipping toward the edge of consciousness. It told me the narrative arc had finally reached its conclusion. The nightmare was almost over. I’ve always been “genetically predisposed,” as the doctors put it—a high-fertility asset in a world that treated me like a biological machine. By the fifth year of my captivity under Gideon, I was carrying twins for the third third time. That afternoon, a little girl snuck into my room. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes and whispered that she had a gift for me. My throat tightened, and my eyes burned as I looked at her. She was my daughter—my own flesh and blood—whom I hadn’t been allowed to hold in years. “Sophie,” I choked out her name. She didn’t hug me. Instead, she giggled and pressed something into my palm. It was a small, rusted pocketknife. “Daddy says you’re having another baby, and that it makes you sad,” she said, tilting her head with a terrifying, airy lightness. “I already have enough brothers and sisters. We don’t need the ones in your tummy. Why don’t you just use this and die? Wouldn’t that be better?” A primal chill raced through my veins. I looked at her, searching for any trace of the toddler I once loved. “Sophie… do you even know who I am?” She blinked, her smile as innocent as a summer morning. “Of course. They told me you’re the woman who birthed me. But it’s okay. I have Mommy Lydia. She’s the only mother I need.” Those words were the final twist of the blade. A jagged, tearing pain erupted in my abdomen, and I felt the sickening warmth of blood beginning to soak through my clothes, pooling between my legs. Gideon was there suddenly, his eyes bloodshot as he knelt by my bed. “Norah, stay with me! Hang on! I promised you—once you gave Lydia three sets of twins, I’d let you go. I’ll wipe the slate clean. You can even raise these two yourself.” I was too far gone to speak. The pain was an ocean, but beneath it, a singular thought kept me afloat: Thank God. I’m finally going home. … The twins were taken the second they drew breath. I didn’t even hear them cry. Gideon returned a few hours later, his face glowing with a frantic sort of triumph. “Norah, you really are a miracle. Another set of twins. A boy and a girl.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They look just like us. Do you want to see them? Or… do you want to start making arrangements to keep them this time?” I forced my head to turn away, my voice a thinned-out rasp. “No need, Mr. Craig. Whoever you decide should raise them is fine by me.” He froze. “What did you just call me?” I didn’t answer. His shock was pathetic, really. It was the first time I hadn’t used his name—the first time I hadn’t reached for the man I used to know. The last time I called him “Gid” was right after my first delivery. He had been standing by the door, already reaching for the bassinet to take my baby to Lydia. I had crawled out of bed, trailing blood and IV lines, clutching at his expensive wool slacks. I had begged him. I had screamed his name until my vocal cords tore, pleading with him to leave me just one. He had simply peeled my fingers off his hem with clinical precision. “Be a good girl, Norah,” he had said, looking down at me as if I were a tragic but necessary sacrifice. “Lydia can’t conceive, and you… you were made for this. You’re just sharing the blessing. You wouldn’t want to be selfish, would you?” I had watched his silhouette vanish down the hallway, my tears hitting the hardwood floor like lead. He had promised me once—long ago, in a life that felt like a movie I’d watched once—that he would only ever love me. That I would be his wife. But he broke that promise for status, for the “perfect” marriage with Lydia. And to keep his conscience clear, he decided that my children should be the tribute he paid to his new life. He never thought he was the villain. I kept my gaze fixed on the sterile white wall, which only served to ignite his temper. “Norah! Are you seriously playing these games with me? You went through hell to bring them here, and you won’t even look at them just to spite me?” It was almost funny. After the first birth, when I had fought him, he watched my hysterics with a cold, detached boredom before taking the child anyway. Then, he had forced me to stand outside in the freezing rain all night as a “lesson” in obedience. If it hadn’t been for the System’s protection, that night would have broken my body forever. It would have rendered me barren. But the script required me to be the “fertile tragic lead,” so I survived. I fell pregnant again. I had hoped, foolishly, that the second time would be different. But when the babies came, Gideon was there like a debt collector. He told me Lydia needed them. “Norah, she’s the Mrs. Craig. If she only has one set of twins, the women in her social circle will talk. You’re so good at this. Do it for me, okay?” The System’s invisible hand clamped over my throat, forcing back the “No” that was screaming to get out. I was a tool. A plot device. I wasn’t allowed to defy the protagonist. He didn’t even let me see their faces that time. I was shattered, but the cruelty didn’t stop there. Lydia would purposefully bring the children by my window. I once saw her raise a hand as if to strike my eldest son, who wasn’t even five yet. I lost my mind. I burst through the doors and shoved her away, pulling my boy into my arms. And then, the world stopped. My son—my own little boy—reached up and slapped me across the face. It wasn’t a hard hit. His hands were too small for that. But the sting was deeper than any physical blow. I looked into his eyes and saw no recognition—only a mirrored reflection of Lydia’s coached spite. “Don’t touch me, you crazy lady!” he screamed. I gripped his shoulders, my lips trembling, trying to ask him if he knew who I was. Gideon arrived a second later. He kicked me away with a force that sent me sprawling. I didn’t even feel the impact; I was still staring at my son. The boy burst into tears, leaping into Gideon’s arms. “She tried to hurt me, Daddy! She’s the bad lady! I want my mommy!” Lydia scrambled up from the floor, weeping gracefully, clutching the boy. And Gideon? He looked at me with utter disgust. “Teach her a lesson,” he told the guards. Then he walked away with his perfect family. The ringing in my ears was only drowned out by the thud of fists against my ribs. After that, the punishments became routine. The kneeling, the beatings, the isolation—they were just the background noise of my life. But the only thing that truly killed me was the look in my children’s eyes. “Since I can’t keep them,” I said to Gideon now, my voice devoid of emotion, “there’s no point in looking. It just adds to the heartbreak.” He bristled, letting out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Still haven’t learned your place, have you? Fine. You don’t see the children until you learn how to behave.” He thought he still had leverage. He thought the children were the leash that kept me tied to him. But I had let go. I was going home. If Lydia wanted them so badly, let her have them. At least they’d be fed and clothed in that gilded cage. My silence drove him into a frenzy. He stormed out, barking orders at the staff to lock me in. Beth, the young maid who usually looked after me, looked at me with pitying eyes, but she didn’t dare cross him. I sat in the silence, waiting for the clock to run out. But on the third day, just as the countdown reached its final hours, I overheard the gossip in the hall. “Stepmothers are never the real thing, are they? That poor baby… so tiny, and she’s already bruising him.” “I know. I heard she nearly choked the life out of the little one last night.” I bolted upright and threw open the door, grabbing the two maids by their shoulders. “What did you say?” They shoved me back with a sneer. “What’s it to you? You’re a useless bird in a cage. You couldn’t protect them if you tried.” Panic, raw and agonizing, flooded my chest. I thought Lydia just wanted the status of being a mother. I didn’t think she was a monster. I had to see them. I had to know. I tried to slip out the side exit, but I ran straight into Beth. I expected her to scream for the guards, but she just quietly unlocked the small service gate. “Norah,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You saved my life three years ago when I had that fever. I can’t help your babies, but I won’t stand in your way.” I thanked her through tears and ran toward the main mansion where Gideon and Lydia lived. I reached the nursery window, my lungs burning, and what I saw stopped my heart. Lydia was standing over the bassinet. Her face was a mask of cold fury. Her hands were clamped around the throat of the newborn infant—the one who wasn’t even three days old. The baby was so fragile. Before I could even scream, the tiny struggle stopped. “What are you doing!” I shrieked, throwing myself against the glass. I didn’t care about the pain as the window shattered, raining shards over my skin. I scrambled inside, my eyes fixed on the limp form in the crib. “You stole them!” I sobbed, clutching the cooling body of my child. “You took them from me! Why would you do this?” Lydia’s expression didn’t change. “Because they look too much like you, Norah. Every time Gideon looks at them, he sees your face. I won’t have it.” “You monster!” I lunged at her, but she didn’t fight back. Instead, her face transformed in an instant. She collapsed to the floor, wailing. “Norah, please! I know you’re angry I’m raising them, but how could you? He’s just a baby! How could you kill your own son?” “You—” “Norah!” Gideon’s voice thundered from the doorway. In that heartbeat, I realized the trap. Lydia had orchestrated the gossip. She had known I would come. Gideon didn’t ask questions. He crossed the room in two strides and backhanded me so hard I hit the floor. He hauled me up by my collar, his eyes burning with a murderous light. “How could you be this evil? To kill your own child just to hurt Lydia?” I saw Lydia over his shoulder. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was smiling. “It was her!” I screamed, struggling against his grip. “She choked him! Gideon, look at his neck! She killed your son!” He didn’t look. He just looked at me with a mixture of pity and rage. He threw me down onto the bed of broken glass. I couldn’t move. My old wounds reopened, and new ones bloomed. Blood dripped from my hair onto the floor. “Gideon… please…” Lydia whimpered, clinging to his arm. “It’s my fault. I’m a failure. I can’t give you children, and I can’t even protect the ones we have.” She looked like a saint in her white silk nightgown. Gideon’s anger softened into a cold, hard resolve. “Take her back to the cottage,” he told the guards. “Lock her in. Permanently.” As the guards dragged me away, I saw Lydia lean against him. She looked at me and slowly raised a hand to her own throat, mimicking the act of strangulation. She was going to kill them all. One by one. I couldn’t let it happen. With a final, desperate burst of strength, I tore myself away from the guards. They weren’t expecting it. I grabbed a jagged shard of glass from the floor and lunged at Lydia. If I was leaving this world, I was taking her with me. Gideon was caught off guard, hampered by Lydia’s weight in his arms. But just as the glass was about to find its mark, a small shadow darted out. Sophie. She threw herself in front of Lydia, glaring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred. “Don’t you touch my mommy!” I froze. The glass was inches from her eye. If I hadn’t stopped, I would have blinded my own daughter. “Pin her down!” Gideon roared. The guards slammed me into the floor. I heard the sickening snap of my wrist as they twisted it behind my back. My face was pressed into the blood-soaked carpet. Gideon gently placed Lydia on the bed before walking toward me. He knelt down, his voice terrifyingly soft. “Norah, you just won’t learn, will you?” “Kill me,” I spat, my voice thick with blood. “Just kill me, you coward!” He laughed. “Oh, I can’t kill you. I still need you to provide for Lydia. But you need to remember this moment.” He signaled the guards. They dragged someone into the room. It was Beth. She was unrecognizable. Her face was a pulp of bruised flesh, her clothes soaked in red. “Beth?” I whimpered. Gideon leaned down to my ear. “See? Because you were a ‘bad girl,’ your little friend has to pay the price.” He nodded to a guard. The man grabbed Beth by the hair and yanked her head back. I saw her mouth—her tongue had been cut out. “No!” I screamed. “Shh, Norah. Be quiet.” I broke. I didn’t care about pride. I didn’t care about the System. I crawled to Gideon’s feet and began to bang my head against the floor. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Mr. Craig! Please, stop! I’ll do anything! I’ll give her a hundred babies, just let Beth go!” Gideon looked down at me, bored. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to.” I turned to Lydia’s bed and bowed until my forehead hit the ground. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Craig. It was my fault. I was arrogant. Please, save her.” Lydia looked down at me, a cold smirk playing on her lips. “Norah, you’re making this so difficult. I want to forgive you, truly. But this girl… she’s the one who let you out. If we don’t handle this…” She looked at Gideon with faux concern. “You’re right,” Gideon said. He raised a hand. With a swift, practiced motion, the guard ended Beth’s life right in front of me. I stared at her body. I tried to scream, but the sound died in my throat. The room began to spin. The walls blurred into a dizzying smear of red and white. Beth… Beth… “Warning: Hostile environment detected. Vital signs failing. Extraction protocol initiated.” The electronic voice was back. “Three… two… one…” As the countdown hit zero, the world went black, and I felt my soul slip through the cracks of the script.

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I stayed late at the office to finish a project, and when I saw a colleague struggling with his filing, I decided to be a decent human being and help him organize his documents. I didn’t think twice about it. By the time I walked into the office the next morning, the entire company was whispering about “us.” When I checked his Instagram, my blood turned to ice. He’d posted two photos. The caption read: Nothing beats coming home to a woman who knows how to take care of her man. The first photo was a candid shot of me, head down, focused on the paperwork. The second was a deepfake—an AI-generated image of him and me locked in an intimate kiss. The office group chat was exploding with people cheering, telling me I should just marry him already. I didn’t say a word to anyone. Instead, I opened our private chat and sent him a single photo: my actual wedding portrait with the CEO. Underneath, I typed: Your photo is an AI fake. Do you think mine is? 1 Silence. It lasted for maybe ten seconds. Then, Brad’s reply popped up. [LOL, nice Photoshop skills. Almost had me there. You didn’t actually think I’d fall for that, did you?] He followed it with a mocking, toothy-grin emoji. I set my phone down and looked over at his cubicle. He was leaning back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers, chin tilted up in a smug, self-satisfied gesture of victory. I stayed silent. When I first saw his post last night, I’d tried to brush it off. I figured he was just one of those men who didn’t understand boundaries—someone who thought a “joke” justified anything. I had even prepared a mental script: if he apologized sincerely, I would let it go. Of course, Brad didn’t apologize. A few minutes later, he swaggered over to my desk. He leaned a hand on my workstation, looming over me with an expression he clearly thought was “smoldering.” “Carlton, I saw the group chat,” he said, his voice dropping into a performative huskiness. “Don’t be mad. I just figured I’d help you say the things you’re too shy to admit yourself. I know you’re the modest type.” He let out a short, dry laugh. “Anyway, we’re both single. Why not give it a shot? Who knows, maybe the AI was just predicting the future.” I looked up at him, studying him as if he were a specimen in a lab—something fascinatingly broken. “Brad, if these rumors cause serious damage to my reputation, I can and will sue you.” My voice was flat. “Delete the photos from the group chat and your social media. Post a public apology stating that the images were AI-generated. Now.” Brad’s grin vanished instantly. He straightened up, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Seriously? It was one picture, Carlton. Everyone’s having a laugh, keeping the office vibe light. You’re really going to turn this into a federal case?” I didn’t blink. I just watched him. He shifted under my gaze, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “Fine, fine. I’ll delete it. God, you’re so high-maintenance.” He turned and walked away. No apology. I waited all morning. Brad did delete the photo from the group chat, but then he posted a new one on his story: an AI image of a couple in wedding attire, hands intertwined. You couldn’t see the faces, but the message was clear. The caption: [Someone’s getting shy and told me to stop showing off our love. Fine, I’ll take it down for her, but you can’t hide true happiness. Those who know, know. 😉 ] The comments were a flood of “LMAO” and “We get it, Brad!” He had “deleted” the evidence, but he’d only reinforced the lie. And because the faces weren’t visible in the new photo, I couldn’t even prove it was me he was claiming to be with. I stared at my screen, feeling a heavy, suffocating sense of powerlessness. 2 The next morning, the atmosphere in the office was even more suffocating. As I pushed through the glass doors, the girl at the front desk gave me a look that was a cocktail of pity and judgment. My phone buzzed. It was a DM from Sophie in Accounting: [Carl, have you seen the group chat?] She sent a screenshot of Brad’s latest post—a photo of a homemade breakfast for two. I opened the main company Slack channel. The notifications were well over 999. I scrolled back to 7:13 AM. Someone had asked: “Hey Brad, did Carlton cook that for you?” He had replied with a coy: “I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no. Let’s keep it private, guys.” The channel went nuclear. [Damn, Brad’s the man!] [Wait, are they living together already?] [Is this the official announcement?] [Wedding! Wedding! Wedding!] Everyone was caught up in the spectacle. I closed the app and walked to my desk. Sitting there was a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses. The card read: To the most beautiful girl in the world. I picked up the bouquet and set it on the floor, ignoring it. This wasn’t the reaction Brad expected. He probably thought I’d be blushing and demurely accepting the “public’s” blessing. But I didn’t say a word to him. Around noon, he sent me a text: [I’ll put the flowers in your car later so you don’t have to carry them on the train. Lunch together?] I glanced at it and locked my phone. Fifteen minutes later, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. He marched over, bracing his hands on my cubicle wall and looming over me again. “Carlton, I’m being serious here.” I kept typing, my eyes fixed on the monitor. He chuckled. “You don’t have to be shy. I’ve known you’ve had a thing for me for a while. Ever since the company retreat when you brought me that water… I saw the way you looked at me.” The retreat? The water? I remembered it. It was three months ago. A hundred degrees outside during a team-building hike. He’d been standing in the sun, talking someone’s ear off. I was walking by with a bottle for myself, the cooler was right there, so I grabbed an extra one and handed it to the person standing closest to me. Him. That was it. I stopped typing and finally looked him in the eye. “Brad, don’t send me flowers. If you actually want to do something for me, stay at least ten feet away at all times. Thanks.” His face twitched with embarrassment. “Why are you playing hard to get? I get it, you want to keep it professional at work. I can wait.” He patted the top of my cubicle and walked off. I watched his back, realizing how terrifyingly delusional he was. And then, the “pursuit” truly began. 3 Every morning, there was a Starbucks latte on my desk with a smiley face and “For my love” written on the side. I walked it back to the front desk every time and told them it was a “wrong delivery.” Brad continued to post photos of the breakfasts he supposedly “made for me.” The comments were a never-ending stream of encouragement for him and teasing for me. I remained a ghost in his digital world. Then, he cornered me in the parking garage. He was leaning against the elevator wall, holding a small bouquet of baby’s breath. “Carlton, why are you ignoring me?” “I’m not ignoring you, Brad. I’m working.” “Then why don’t you answer my texts?” “Because I’m working.” His brow furrowed. He stepped closer, and I caught the heavy, cloying scent of his cheap cologne. His voice dropped into something that sounded less like romance and more like a threat. “You know the whole office is watching us, right? When you act like this, you make me look bad.” I almost laughed. “Brad, let me be very clear one last time. Helping you with those files that night was a professional courtesy. I would have helped anyone who was that far behind on their deadline. It had nothing to do with you personally.” His face darkened. “You know, I’ve met girls like you before. You say no, but you’re secretly loving the chase. You think it’s fun to keep me on a leash?” “I’m not keeping you on any—” He waved me off, that “I know all your secrets” smirk returning to his face. “Whatever. I get it. You have to keep up appearances. I’ve got patience.” He tossed the flowers into a nearby trash can and walked away. I stared at the bouquet lying among the coffee cups and waste paper, and it finally clicked. If I didn’t accept him, I was “ungrateful.” If I fought back, I was “playing games” or being “dramatic.” Brad’s posts became increasingly bold. When the office chatter became unbearable, I tried posting a message in the company Slack: [Brad and I are not in a relationship. Please stop spreading misinformation.] Brad replied within seconds: [Copy that! Lesson learned, boss lady! I’m shutting up now!] Immediately, the thread was flooded: [LOL!] [Brad’s whipped!] [Is this what public flirting looks like now?] I tried talking to him privately, being as cold and professional as possible. “Brad, I have no romantic interest in you. Your behavior is harassment. If you continue, I will go to HR.” Brad just spun his pen, looking at me with an expression that made my skin crawl. As I turned to leave, he muttered, “Women always say the opposite of what they mean.” I was so angry I had to stand in the hallway for five minutes just to breathe. That night, I stayed until 8:00 PM. When I went to pack my bag, my car keys were gone. I tore through my drawers, my purse, my pockets. Nothing. I was about to call an Uber to go home and get my spare set when I saw my car parked near the building exit. The door was unlocked. On the passenger seat was a note: Your car was filthy. I took it for a wash. No need to thank me—it’s what a boyfriend does. I stood by the car, my entire body shaking with rage. He had taken my keys. He had entered my car. He had violated my private space without a second thought. This wasn’t a “joke” anymore. This was a crime. I took a deep breath, photographed the note and the car, and called a valet service to drive me home. The next morning, I went to the building security office and pulled the surveillance footage. It was clear as day: Brad using a key to enter my car at 6:00 PM, driving away, and returning two hours later. I copied the footage and went to a local mechanic to check for any tracking devices or hidden cameras. The mechanic found nothing, but as I sat in my car afterward, I felt drained. I couldn’t just sit back and hope he’d stop. I had to end this.

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My wife had her heart set on a new Porsche. Every document was signed, every box ticked; all that was left was for me to swipe the card. I’d taken the afternoon off work to play the supportive husband, standing there in the sleek, glass-walled showroom while she ran her hand over the hood like it was a holy relic. But just as I reached for my wallet, her phone vibrated on the marble counter. A voice note played—loud enough for the entire room to hear. It was her “junior assistant,” a kid named Cody. “Hey, boss lady,” his voice oozed, “Remember what you promised? This car is our private sanctuary. Just the two of us.” Before I could even process that, a second message pinged. “And don’t you dare let certain people ruin the vibe by sitting in my passenger seat. I don’t want it smelling like… well, you know.” Nina snatched the phone up, her face a mask of cold indifference. She didn’t look guilty; she looked annoyed that I was hearing it. She turned to me with a look of practiced superiority. “Cody’s just being a brat,” she said, her voice light, dismissive. “He’s young. Don’t take it personally. Anyway, you should probably figure out your own way home. I’m taking the car out for a spin.” I froze. I was the one paying the six-figure down payment. I was the one whose credit score was on the line. And I wasn’t even allowed to sit in the front seat? Seeing my silence, Nina’s expression soured. She opened her mouth to snap something at me, but I beat her to it. I grabbed my Amex off the desk, tucked it back into my wallet, and looked the salesman straight in the eye. “The deal’s off,” I said, my voice vibrating with a coldness I didn’t know I possessed. “Whoever wants this car can buy it themselves.” … I didn’t wait to see the shock on her face. I turned on my heel and headed for the glass double doors. Nina stood paralyzed for a heartbeat before her heels started clicking rapidly against the tile behind me. She caught my arm just as I hit the sidewalk, her fingers digging into my blazer. “Elliott! What the hell was that?” she hissed. “You just humiliated me! We negotiated for weeks! You’re seriously going to throw a tantrum now?” I wrenched my arm away. “I’m not ‘throwing a tantrum,’ Nina. I’ve decided I don’t want to spend my money on a ‘sanctuary’ I’m not allowed to enter. It’s my money. I’m done.” She stepped in front of me, blocking my path, her eyes flashing with genuine panic—or maybe it was just greed. “If you don’t buy this, how am I supposed to explain it to Cody? I promised him!” “Tell him whatever you want,” I said, sidestepping her and walking toward the bus stop at the corner. The salesman had followed us out, too, holding the mobile card reader like a desperate offering. “Mr. Vance—I mean, sir! This was for your wife! I’ve never seen a man go back on his word like this. Look how excited she was. What about the deposit?” I looked at the card reader, then at him. He didn’t care about my marriage; he cared about his commission. He didn’t seem to understand that the person holding the purse strings wasn’t the woman shouting at me. Nina was right on my heels, her voice rising to a shrill pitch that drew stares from passersby. “You wonder why I don’t want to come home anymore? It’s because of this! This psychotic behavior! Cody told me you were getting unstable, and even the salesman thinks you’re being a prick!” Cody. I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. If that kid hadn’t spent every waking hour whispering poison into her ear, Nina might still remember the man she married. For ten years, I’d been the architect of her “ideal life.” I’d started with nothing. I’d delivered pizzas in the snow; I’d worked three jobs at once, scraping by on caffeine and grit to build my firm. We’d finally hit the big time a few years ago. Then she hired Cody. Within a month, I was no longer her partner. I was “stifling.” I was “boring.” She told me I wasn’t “attuned to her needs” like Cody was. She’d even used her position as a board member to sideline me at my own company because Cody “felt intimidated” by my management style. Every time I went to the office, he’d smirk at me from her desk. He told me not to call her after six because “work-life balance was essential,” yet he was the one holding her phone during dinner. When I finally confronted her about it, she just sighed with bone-deep exhaustion. “Elliott, do you think Cody and I have time for your insecurities? This is the new company policy. Even I have to follow it.” Buying this car was supposed to be a peace offering. A way to bridge the chasm between us. But the passenger seat comment was the final straw. It wasn’t just a car; it was the last piece of my dignity she was trying to sell. I didn’t look back. I stepped onto the bus, leaving her standing on the curb in her designer heels, screaming my name into the wind. I hadn’t even made it through the front door of our house before my phone started blowing up. It was my best friend, Marcus. “Elliott, man, what’s going on with you and Nina?” Before I could answer, he sent a screenshot of her Instagram story. It was a black-and-white photo of her looking “wistful” out a window. The caption read: Finally realizing who my real rock is. Some people use money to control you, but they can’t control a woman who’s finally found her own strength. In the comments, Cody had already chimed in: Some guys think a bank account gives them the right to treat their wife like a subordinate. They don’t realize you’re an alpha now. You don’t need his scraps. I stared at the screen until the words blurred. I tried to click on her profile, but I couldn’t. She’d blocked me. A laugh bubbled up in my chest—bitter and hollow. I spoke into the phone to Marcus. “If she thinks I’m a monster for not spending my ‘blood and sweat’ money on her and her boyfriend, then fine. I’m the monster. And the monster is officially closing the vault.” I hung up. If she wanted to be an “alpha woman,” she could start by paying her own mortgage. I was in the kitchen, mechanically changing the cat’s litter, when the phone rang again. It was Nina. I hit decline. It rang again. And again. Finally, I picked up. “Elliott! Get down to the mall right now,” she commanded, her voice bright and forced, as if the afternoon hadn’t happened. “Cody and I are at the tech store. He picked out this incredible 85-inch QLED for you. It’s perfect for your gaming. Come pay for it so we can get it delivered.” “You want me to come pay for a TV?” I asked, my voice flat. “Nina, listen to me: I don’t have the money. And even if I did, I wouldn’t spend a dime on you.” “Elliott! Don’t be a child!” she shrieked. Then Cody’s voice filtered through the background. “Hey, man, don’t be like that. Come on down, buy the TV, and let’s put this bad energy behind us. Nina’s even looking at shirts for you. She wants to make it up to you.” The suggestion caught me off guard. Was she actually trying? Was she finally seeing how far she’d pushed me? We had ten years and two kids between us. If she was actually trying to fix this, I didn’t want to be the one to burn the bridge. I grabbed my coat and drove to the mall. When I found them, Nina was holding a $7 latte, her face a mask of boredom. She didn’t greet me. She just turned and walked into a high-end menswear boutique. I followed her, my heart hammering against my ribs. She did a quick lap of the store, glanced at me with a look of profound disapproval, and turned to the clerk. “Where’s your clearance rack? The stuff you’re trying to get rid of?” I blinked. Before I could speak, Cody leaned in, smelling of expensive cologne I’d probably paid for. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Elliott. Nina’s budget is a little tight right now. Plus, with your… situation… we didn’t want people thinking you were living off her success. It’s better to look humble.” “Humble?” I repeated. Nina rolled her eyes, pulling a thin, scratchy white T-shirt from a bin marked $19.99. “Just wrap this up,” she told the clerk. Cody rushed to tap his phone on the reader to pay the twenty bucks, looking like a saint. The shirt was a size small. I haven’t been a size small since high school. “Okay, now that Cody’s got you a gift,” Nina said, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the Rolex boutique next door, “you should show him some appreciation for all the hard work he does for our family. He’s had his eye on a Daytona.” I stopped dead. I looked at the $19.99 plastic bag in her hand, then at the luxury watch display. The sheer, ballsy audacity of it made my head spin. I took the bag from her and dropped it on the floor. “Twenty bucks for a shirt that won’t fit me, and you want a thirty-thousand-dollar watch in return?” I looked at Cody. “You want the watch? Buy it yourself.” Nina’s face transformed. “What is wrong with you?” Cody stepped in, playing the peacemaker. “Elliott, man, I’m just trying to keep the peace. I work for her. She just doesn’t want us fighting anymore.” He turned to the salesclerk. “Show us the cheapest thing you have.” “No!” Nina snapped. “I want the one we picked out earlier! The Platinum one!” The clerk brought out a piece that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. I didn’t say a word. I turned to walk away. “Elliott! You are not walking away from me!” Nina screamed, her voice echoing through the mall. Cody caught up to me, grabbing my shoulder. “Man, I’m giving you signals! Just buy the watch and give her the ‘attitude’ she needs to forgive you! Just play the part!” “The part?” I turned on him. “The part where you destroy my marriage and I thank you for it with luxury jewelry?” I looked at my wife. “If I buy him this watch, does he leave? Does he disappear from our lives?” Cody chuckled, a dry, nasty sound. “Wow. You really are paranoid, aren’t you? You don’t even trust your own wife? Nina has been under so much pressure because of how you treat me at the office. We’re letting you stay home, fish, and drink tea all day. What more do you want?” I took a breath. I was ready to tell her I’d go back to work. I’d take the reins again. I’d do anything if she just sent this parasite packing. But Nina spoke first, her voice dripping with artificial trauma. “I can’t do this anymore! Everyone, look!” she shouted, gesturing to the growing crowd of shoppers. “Look at the man who installed hidden cameras in my office! The man who tracks my every move because he’s convinced I’m cheating!” The mall went silent. Then the whispers started. Creep. Controlling. Loser. I was stunned. “The cameras were because of the data leak, Nina! Someone was stealing our bidding secrets! I was trying to find the mole!” She let out a harsh, theatrical sob. “He’s so suffocating! I’ve tried to be a good provider, but he’s obsessed!” A woman in the crowd hissed, “I’d leave him in a heartbeat. Poor girl.” Another man added, “He’s just scared of losing his golden goose.” Nina looked at me, a predatory glint in her eyes. She leaned in close, so only I could hear. “You want a reason to be paranoid, Elliott? Fine. I’m sleeping with him. I’ve been sleeping with him for months. And I’m going to make sure you walk away with nothing.” She straightened up, looking like a broken victim again. “There! Are you happy now? I said it!” Cody looked at me with pure triumph. “You pushed her to this, Elliott. If you’re so lonely, I can give you the numbers for some professionals. Just stop harrassing her.” The crowd laughed. The humiliation was a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs. “I’ve spent ten years building a life for you,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Apologize. Right now.” “Or what?” Cody sneered. “If you keep lying about us, maybe next time we’ll let you watch from the middle of the bed.” That was it. The snap. I didn’t think. I just launched a kick into Cody’s chest. He went down hard, gasping for air. The crowd gasped. Nina screamed and lunged for me. I stepped back, but Cody scrambled up, fueled by adrenaline and spite, and kicked my back leg out. I hit the floor, landing on my knees right at Nina’s feet. “Apologize to her!” Cody barked, standing over me. “Why do you have to ruin everything?” Nina looked down at me, disgusted. She took the $19.99 shirt and threw it in my face. “Elliott, apologize now, or I’m filing for divorce.” I felt the fabric hit my skin. I looked at the floor, then slowly stood up. The heat in my chest had gone cold—a deep, Arctic chill. I reached into her expensive handbag. “These are the keys to the office,” I said, pulling them out. “I built that company. They’re mine.” “This is the secondary credit card,” I pulled out the black card. “The account is in my name. I’m taking it.” Cody grabbed my wrist, his face red. “You’re accusing her! You’re the one who should leave with nothing!” I looked at Nina. She was a stranger. A cruel, hollow stranger. “You think you’re the one in charge?” I whispered. “Wait until your gambling-addict father finds out the checks are stopping. Wait until you realize you haven’t actually worked a full day in six years.” I picked up my phone and dialed my lawyer. “I want the divorce papers,” I said, loud enough for the whole mall to hear. “And I want them filed by tonight.”

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The light from my phone was a surgical strike to my retinas in the 4:00 AM darkness. My own reply to my best friend’s message was still sitting there in the text bubble, a testament to my own blindness. “Bro, my wife’s pregnant. Three months. We’re finally making it official with a ceremony!” His words felt like shards of glass under my eyelids. “That’s incredible, Jackson! I’m honored to be your best man!” My response from that morning felt like a sick joke now. A punchline to a gag I didn’t know I was starring in. It turned out that in this wedding, I wasn’t the best man. I was the redundant extra. Talia stood in front of me now, holding two garment bags. Inside were two tuxedos. One was a standard off-the-rack number, maybe five hundred dollars. The other was a bespoke masterpiece, the kind of silk-wool blend that screamed old money—half a million dollars’ worth of craftsmanship. “Keep the five-hundred-dollar one,” I said, forcing a smile that felt like it was tearing my face apart. I reached out to touch her hand, desperate for a spark of the sweetness we’d shared for three years. She just nodded, her expression as cool as marble. Her voice carried a casual, devastating cruelty. “The cheap one was always for you, Noah. The bespoke suit is for Jackson.” She smoothed a phantom wrinkle on the expensive sleeve. “He’s got an ego. He wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t outshine you at the altar.” The room began to tilt. I felt the air leave my lungs as if I’d been struck by a physical blow. I just stood there, paralyzed, as she reached out to hook her arm through mine. Her smile was a beautiful mask, hiding a truth that turned my blood to ice. “The truth is, Jackson and I have been married for six years. We kept it quiet for the sake of the business. Three years ago, during a high-stakes game of Truth or Dare, he got pissed off and literally bet you away to me.” She leaned in, her scent—that expensive jasmine I used to love—now making me gag. “I actually did end up falling for you, Noah. But I’m carrying his child. Three months along. So, we’re just going to do the wedding together. One big happy family.” Every memory of the last three years—the late-night talks, the promises, the whispered ‘I love yous’—crumbled into ash. All that was left was the bone-deep cold. … My limbs felt like lead. It took everything I had to find my voice. “Why?” Three years of my life. Three years of a curated lie, all because of a drunk bet. Talia looked at me with genuine confusion, as if I were the one being difficult. “Noah, in our circle, nobody cares about the paperwork. To the world, you’ll still be my husband. One of them, anyway.” I wrenched my arm away from her touch. “How can you say that? How can you stand there and justify an affair like it’s a business merger?” Talia stepped closer, wrapping her arms around my waist, refusing to let go. “I just knew him first, that’s all. But I love you more. How is that an affair?” My stomach turned. I felt the bile rising. “Either you divorce him, or we’re done. Right now.” Talia’s grip slowly loosened. Her warmth vanished, replaced by a gaze as piercing as a winter lake. “I’m carrying Jackson’s legacy, Noah. I won’t let my child grow up without a father.” Three months. Suddenly, the ‘late nights at the office’ made sense. The times she’d come home in the small hours, letting me hold her, smelling of a cologne that wasn’t mine—traces I’d convinced myself were just my imagination. I never suspected Jackson. My best friend. My brother. I thought of the toy car I’d found in the backseat of her SUV last week. I’d been so excited, so hopeful. I’d asked her, “Talia, maybe it’s time? Maybe we should have a baby of our own?” She’d told me then that a child would only get in the way of ‘us.’ She didn’t want a child. She just didn’t want mine. Fury roared in my ears. Seeing my anger, Talia tried to soften. She stepped back into my space, her hands tracing the line of my jaw. “Don’t be like this. Tell you what, I’ll buy you a better suit. Whatever you want.” She looked exactly the same as she did six months ago when I went down on one knee and she screamed Yes through her tears. The face was the same. The woman was a stranger. A phone rang, shattering the silence of our standoff. She didn’t even try to hide the screen. The caller ID flashed a single word: [Husband]. It hit me then, like a physical weight. She had a special ringtone for him. A special label. Talia glanced at me, then turned her back to take the call. I found myself holding my breath, feeling like a thief in my own home, a squatter in a life that didn’t belong to me. I opened my own phone and went to my messages. My two pinned chats were side by side. [Jackson] [Talia] I was the clown, the third wheel trying to wedge himself into a marriage that had already been built. I scrolled to Jackson’s latest Instagram post. It was a photo of him and Talia sitting with her parents. They were all beaming. The caption read: “Early Christmas gift from the in-laws: a new brownstone in the West Village! Taking the wife for her three-month ultrasound tomorrow!” The date was yesterday. Yesterday, Talia had canceled our anniversary dinner, claiming she had a migraine. She hadn’t been in bed. She’d been at an ultrasound, holding Jackson’s hand. My hands began to shake, the text on the screen blurring into a smear of light. Talia hung up and turned around, her expression perfectly composed. “Noah, about tonight… I might have to—” I didn’t wait for the excuse. I pushed past her and walked out the door. The hallway was freezing, but her voice followed me, colder than the draft. “Think long and hard, Noah. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” I stepped into the elevator and let the doors slide shut. I felt my heart sink in sync with the car, dropping into a pit of nothingness. I walked the streets aimlessly until I found myself near the hospital. The sterile white building loomed over me like a tombstone. “Noah! What are you doing here?” It was my mother. She looked exhausted, but her face lit up when she saw me. “Toby heard about the wedding and he’s been in such high spirits. He’s been insisting he’s going to be your junior usher, even if he has to do it in a wheelchair!” The words I’d been prepared to scream—about the lies, the betrayal—died in my throat. I forced a smile. “How is he, Ma?” “Not great,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “The doctors say the cancer is spreading again. If it wasn’t for that experimental treatment Talia’s paying for… I don’t think he’d still be with us.” Talia’s name hit me like a lead pipe. Since I’d started dating her, my brother’s medical bills—the ones that had been drowning my mother, forcing her to work three cleaning jobs—had vanished. He was in a private wing now. He had the best specialists. The doctor had been clear: without the imported drugs and the specialized team Talia funded, Toby wouldn’t survive the month. “Listen to me, rambling on,” my mother said, patting my cheek. “You’re the pillar of this family now, Noah. Seeing you marry a woman like that, seeing you start a real life… your father is looking down from heaven with so much pride.” My father died two years ago. A freak accident on a construction site. The company claimed it was ‘operator error’ and refused to pay a cent of worker’s comp. They’d smeared his name, calling him negligent. We’d lived under the shadow of that shame until Talia’s family lawyers stepped in and fought the case, clearing his name. I realized then, with a sickening clarity, that I couldn’t just walk away. My dignity was a luxury I couldn’t afford. “You’re so lucky to have her, Noah,” my mom continued as we walked toward the ward. “She really loves you.” Does she? I wondered. Maybe there was a version of love there. When I was at my lowest, when Toby was dying and we were broke, Talia had appeared like an angel. I’d been too afraid to even date, knowing I couldn’t afford a movie ticket, let alone a dinner. I’d only ever been able to cook for her at my place. And I remember how she, a woman who grew up with Michelin-starred chefs, had devoured my simple pasta like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. “This is incredible, Noah. I’m so happy here with you.” The second year we were together, I’d been caught in a massive pile-up on the interstate during a blizzard. I was trapped in the car, my leg crushed, shivering in the dark as the snow buried me. The signal was dead. The roads were blocked. And then, out of the white void, Talia had appeared. She’d hiked three miles through the snow with a rescue team she’d hired herself. “Noah, don’t close your eyes. I’m here. I’ve got you.” She had been my light. And today, she told me that our entire beginning was just Jackson tossing my contact info to her because he’d lost a bet. My mom pushed open the door to Toby’s room. She nudged my arm, grinning. “Look who’s here, Noah.” Talia was already there. She was sitting by Toby’s bed, laughing with him. There was a tray of high-end organic food on his table and a new gaming console I knew cost more than my monthly rent. Toby’s pale face lit up. “Noah! Talia was just helping me pick out my tie for the big day. I’m gonna look sharper than you!” My mother’s voice echoed in my head: Be grateful for a woman like her. I looked at Talia. She looked back at me, her eyes steady, full of a terrifying, quiet power. She knew. She knew she owned me. What if the ‘greatest blessing’ of my life was just a game my best friend played because he was bored? Toby’s condition seemed to stabilize with the new medication. I didn’t have the courage to cancel the wedding. Not yet. Three days before the ceremony, Jackson showed up at the hospital. I was holding a box of Toby’s meds, my grip so tight the cardboard was crumpling. Jackson was talking to Toby, who was offering his congratulations on Jackson’s own ‘private’ marriage and the baby. “I hope your kid is healthy and happy, Jackson,” Toby said softly. Jackson shot me a smug look. “Yeah, me too. But the key to a happy kid is a stable home, right Noah? Everyone in their proper place.” Toby’s eyes welled up. “You’re right. I’m glad he won’t grow up like us—without a dad.” I turned away, the bridge of my nose stinging with suppressed tears. Jackson followed me into the hallway. “Even your kid brother gets it. Why don’t you?” I spun around, my voice a low growl. “Why? Why would you do this? You were my brother, Jackson. You ruined my life for a joke.” He looked at me with bored amusement. “Why? Because it was fun, Noah. Did I ever mention my family owns the development firm your dad worked for?” The world stopped spinning. “What?” “The construction site. The accident. That was our project,” Jackson said, leaning against the wall. “Talia told you she ‘cleared’ his name? Please. She just made a few calls to my dad. We buried the evidence so she could look like a hero to you. You really are a sucker.” I felt the blood drain from my face. My fists clenched so hard my nails drew blood. My father’s death—the shame that killed my mother’s spirit—it was them. They were the ones who had destroyed us, and then they had played the saviors. “You bastards,” I whispered. “I’ll kill you.” Jackson laughed. “With what? You have nothing. You go to the cops, the funding for Toby’s meds disappears. You make a scene at the wedding, your mom loses her house. Just play your part, Noah. Be the pretty little accessory Talia wants you to be.” He reached out to pat my shoulder. I didn’t think. I just lunged. I shoved him back with everything I had. He tripped over a cleaning cart and hit the floor hard. “Jackson!” Talia had appeared out of nowhere. She ran to him, pushing me aside. Jackson stayed on the floor, groaning, putting on a performance for the ages. “Talia… I was just trying to talk to him… I wanted to check on Toby, but he just snapped…” He looked at me with mock terror, making me look like a violent lunatic. Talia looked at me, her eyes red with anger. Slap. The sound echoed through the sterile hall. My head snapped to the side. “Noah, Jackson is your best friend! And he’s the father of my child!” she hissed. “Why are you being so small-minded? So petty?” She helped him up, giving me one last look of pure disappointment. “If anything happens to him, or the baby, I’m done with you. And you know what that means for your brother.” They walked away together. I leaned against the wall, trembling. I had to find proof. I had to take them down. But that afternoon, the lead doctor called me into his office. “Mr. Miller, I’m afraid the specialists from Zurich have suddenly pulled out of Toby’s case. And the pharmaceutical company has revoked his access to the clinical trial drugs.” The room went dark. I couldn’t breathe. “Please,” I whispered. “There must be a mistake.” “They said the funding was ‘diverted,’” the doctor said, not looking me in the eye. I called Talia. She didn’t answer. I drove to her penthouse, my heart hammering against my ribs. I burst through the door, and the sight stopped me cold. Clothes were strewn across the hardwood floor. In the living room, Jackson had Talia pinned against the sofa. They were mid-kiss, his hands possessive on her waist. “Tell me,” Jackson murmured against her neck. “Who’s better? Me or the charity case?” Talia’s voice was breathy, cruel. “He doesn’t even belong in the same conversation as you.” Even though I knew. Even though I hated them. Seeing it—the woman I’d loved for three years and the man I’d trusted for a decade—it felt like being flayed alive. Talia looked up, seeing me in the doorway. She didn’t even try to cover herself. “Get out.” I didn’t move. I sank to my knees. “Please. Save Toby. I’ll do anything. Please.” Talia looked at Jackson, then back at me. “Fine. But you’re going to pay your debt at the wedding. You’re going to apologize to Jackson in front of everyone.” “You pushed him,” she continued, her voice cold. “You could have hurt the baby. So, at the ceremony, you’re going to tell the guests that you’re the one who forced your way into our lives. You’re going to admit you were just a stalker, a mistake.” I thought of Toby, gasping for air in that hospital bed. He just wanted to see me happy. He just wanted to see a wedding. He was never going to see one. The day of the ceremony arrived. I was dressed in the cheap tuxedo, standing in the wings as a ‘groomsman’ for Jackson. Down in the front row, I saw my mother. She was crying, arguing with a group of socialites who were whispering loudly. “My son is a good man!” she was sobbing. “He’s not a homewrecker! They’ve been together for years!” But then, I stepped onto the stage behind Jackson. The cameras were everywhere—this was a high-society event, covered by every lifestyle blog in the city. Jackson handed me the microphone. I looked at the sea of faces. I looked at my mother’s confused, breaking heart. “My name is Noah Miller,” I said, my voice hollow, echoing through the chapel. “And I am a lie. I am the man who tried to tear apart Talia and Jackson’s marriage.” “I manipulated my way into their lives. I tried to steal a wedding that wasn’t mine.” “I’m nothing. I’m a parasite.” The room erupted in murmurs. “I knew he was a loser,” someone whispered. “Look at him, selling his soul for a seat at the table.” “Poor Talia,” another said. “To be harassed by a man like that.” My mother’s face went gray. She looked at me like she didn’t recognize her own flesh and blood. Jackson leaned in, whispering so only I could hear. “Now, get on your knees. Apologize for hitting me. Or your brother dies today.” I dropped. My knees hit the marble floor with a sickening thud. I began to slap myself. Hard. Left, then right. “I’m a homewrecker,” I said, the words tasting like copper. “I’m pathetic.” Talia’s brow furrowed. She reached a hand out toward me, then stopped. For a second, I saw a flicker of something—guilt? Pity? “Enough,” she said quietly. “I’ll call the hospital. I’ll restore the meds.” My mother suddenly screamed. She lunged onto the stage, her hand catching me across the face with more force than Talia ever could. “How could you be so weak!” she shrieked. “I didn’t raise a coward! Noah, why are you doing this?” She clutched her chest, her eyes rolling back. She collapsed onto the stage. “Ma!” I screamed, scrambling toward her. At that exact moment, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from the head nurse. “Mr. Miller, I’m so sorry. Toby’s vitals crashed. We couldn’t stabilize him without the equipment. He’s gone.” The phone slipped from my hand, the screen shattering into a web of black glass. The tears didn’t come. I felt something inside me simply stop. Talia seemed to realize the gravity of the chaos. “Call an ambulance! Now!” She tried to help me up, her eyes filling with tears. “Noah, it’s over. Jackson’s had his fun. The wedding is still happening, we’ll fix the press, we can still be together…” I looked at her. I didn’t see the woman who saved me from the snow. I didn’t see the woman who ate my pasta. “Talia,” I said, my voice dead. “Toby is dead.” She froze. Before she could process the words, I stood up and walked toward the arched window overlooking the cliffs. Then came the scream—

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The words from the flight coordinator hit me like a sudden loss of cabin pressure at forty thousand feet. They told me the jet belonged to a Mr. Tyler Corey. They suggested I leave. Immediately. Just moments ago, I had been the one holding all the cards, ready to humiliate the arrogant kid standing in front of me. I had even sent the ground crew to pull the ownership records, confident that the paper trail would crush him. He had been screaming, louder and more entitled by the second, claiming the plane was a gift from his wife just last month. He insisted he couldn’t possibly be mistaken. I tried to keep my voice level, explaining that this was Hangar 25. That this was my plane. That he must have the wrong address. Then a man in a sharp suit burst onto the deck, demanding to know who was touching his aircraft, shouting that this machine was worth more than all our lives combined. My private jet had been intercepted just as we were taxiing for takeoff. I was in a feverish rush to get to London; I had a ten-billion-dollar acquisition to finalize with the European royals. Everything was on the line. … “All systems go. Ready for departure,” the pilot’s voice crackled over the comms. “Wait! Sir, we have an emergency on the tarmac!” Just as we were about to throttle up, the ground crew signaled a hard stop. I signaled the flight attendant to crack the air-stair door. I needed to see what kind of circus was delaying my billion-dollar meeting. “What do I pay you people for? Thousands in hangar fees every month, and you let some random nobody board my plane? Am I throwing my money into a furnace?” Through the doorway, I saw a young man in a slim-fit Italian suit. He was red-faced, screaming at the hangar manager. Behind him stood a clique of wealthy-looking twenty-somethings, their eyes darting between him and the jet with a mix of mockery and boredom. The manager, looking like he was about to have a stroke, pointed up at me. “Sir… I—I really can’t be blamed. The registry only listed a ‘Mr. Miller.’ This gentleman showed up, said he was the owner, and since the name matched the initial check, I let him in.” The young man—Tyler—looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, swimming with a cocktail of expensive scotch and unearned confidence. He stormed up the stairs, roaring at us, “Who gave you permission to touch my jet? Don’t you know this thing is worth more than your damn lives?” My crew, a group I’d hand-picked from the best flight agencies, looked at me with growing unease. “Mr. Miller, what’s going on?” the pilot asked. I held up a hand, signaling them to stay calm. I took a long, slow look at the kid. He was handsome in that vapid, symmetrical way, but the stench of booze was unmistakable. I figured he was just some trust-fund brat who’d stumbled into the wrong hangar after a long brunch. Trying to be the adult in the room, I kept my voice low. “Look, kid. Take a breath. This is Hangar 25. This jet is mine. Check the hangar next door—maybe your ride is over there.” The moment I spoke, his friends started chirping from the tarmac. “Tyler, man, you told us we were flying private to the Hamptons. Is this it? Or is the ‘billionaire lifestyle’ just another one of your stories?” “Seriously, Ty. Your dad’s worth maybe ten million on a good day. You know what a Gulfstream G700 costs? You couldn’t afford the fuel, let alone the wings.” “Let’s just go. This is embarrassing.” Tyler’s face went from red to purple. He grabbed the hangar manager by the lapels, shaking him. “You were there! You saw it! My wife gave me this plane last month. Tell them! Tell them it’s mine!” The manager looked trapped. “I… I remember a gift ceremony, yes, but…” Tyler didn’t let him finish. He turned to his friends, his chest puffed out. “You hear that? It’s mine! I told you!” The atmosphere shifted instantly. The mockery turned into sycophancy. “God, Tyler, you really made it. A G700? You gotta let us in on the secret.” “I’m finally gonna see what it’s like to fly like a king. Drinks are on Tyler!” “Hey, does your wife have a sister? Or a mom? I’m looking for a sugar mama who drops nine figures on birthday gifts.” Basking in the glow of their worship, Tyler grew bolder. He shoved the manager aside. “I’m taking my friends to my wife’s birthday gala. Get these squatters off my plane. Now! If you ruin my schedule, I’ll have your job.” He looked so certain, so utterly convinced of his own lie, that for a split second, I actually doubted myself. Had I messed up the hangar number? I glanced at my assistant, Felix. He gave me a sharp nod. No mistake. This kid wasn’t just drunk; he was using my jet to play-act a life he didn’t own. And he was doing it while I had the most important meeting of my career waiting on the other side of the Atlantic. I stepped forward to end the charade, but the hangar manager beat me to it. He looked at me with a pained expression. “Sir, impersonating the owner of a private aircraft is a federal offense. I’m going to have to ask you to disembark before I call security.” “Are you insane?” I snapped. “You’re taking his word over mine?” “I bought this jet last year for a hundred million dollars. I had it customized in Savannah. You think ownership just changes because some kid with a hangover says so? Your airline is a joke.” The manager stammered, “But… you both said you were Mr. Miller. How am I supposed to—” “Because it’s my plane! It’s mine!” Tyler screamed, cutting him off. I felt the heat rising in my chest. “Listen to me, you little prick. Posing is one thing, but interfering with my travel? I will sue you into the next decade. Get off my plane. Now.” Tyler stepped into my personal space and shoved me. “I haven’t even started with you for trying to steal my jet, and you’re threatening me? You’ve got some balls, old man.” “Get your people and get out, or I’ll make sure you never walk again.” Felix stepped forward to intervene, but I held him back. I didn’t have time for a brawl. I needed a surgical strike. “Fine,” I said, my voice cold. “You say it’s yours? Tell me the tail number. Tell me the registration.” Only the owner or the primary operator would know the specific N-number off the top of my head. I stood back, waiting for him to trip over his own tongue. The crew and his friends all went silent, eyes fixed on Tyler. I waited for the silence to stretch, for the sweat to break on his brow. But it didn’t. “N9527B,” Tyler barked, his lip curling. “Gulfstream G700. Custom interior. Price tag: one hundred and four million dollars, taxes and delivery included. You want the engine specs too, or are you ready to fuck off now?” I froze. The world seemed to tilt. He didn’t just know the tail number; he knew the exact, down-to-the-cent price of the customizations. That was impossible. Every G700 has a base price, but the interior work is private, negotiated between the buyer and the manufacturer. My crew started whispering. The pilot walked over, his face pale. “Mr. Beaumont… is this true? Tell me we aren’t part of a hijacking. If this is a legal dispute, we could lose our licenses. We could go to prison.” “Sir,” the lead mechanic added, “I can’t sign off on this. The risk is too high. I’m out.” “Wait!” I shouted, trying to stop the bleeding. “I don’t know how he got that information, but I swear to you, this is my jet. Look—” I pulled out my phone, scrolling frantically to my archived emails with Gulfstream. “Look at the correspondence. Look at the design approvals!” The crew looked at the screen. They seemed to settle slightly, but the tension was still thick enough to choke on. “I’ve already sent Felix to the airline’s main office,” I told them. “They’re pulling the official deed of sale right now. When it gets here, I’m not just kicking this fraud off the plane—I’m handing him over to the feds.” The crew went back to their stations, though their eyes kept darting back to us. Tyler burst out laughing. “You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that. ‘Checking the records.’ You’re probably just sending your boy to find a back exit so you can bolt.” I ignored him, staring out the window, waiting for the proof. Tyler turned his venom on the crew. “You guys are morons. Can’t you see a thief when he’s standing right in front of you? He’s trying to steal my plane and take you down with him.” His friends joined in, emboldened. “Seriously, look at the guy. Does he look like he owns a G700? Tyler’s wearing Armani. He’s got a Daytona on his wrist. He’s a high-roller.” “Look at the other guy,” a girl sneered, pointing at my charcoal sweater. “His clothes don’t even have a logo. Probably picked that up at a thrift store. He couldn’t afford a toy plane, let alone this.” Felix couldn’t take it anymore. “You idiots,” he spat. “That sweater is vicuña wool from Loro Piana. It was custom-made in Italy and cost more than your cars. Just because there isn’t a giant ‘GAP’ logo on his chest doesn’t mean he’s poor. You wouldn’t know real wealth if it bit you.” The group turned red. The insult hit home. Tyler, desperate to regain his footing, pointed a finger at my chest. “I don’t care about his sweater. When the paperwork gets here and proves I’m the owner, you’re both getting on your knees and begging for my forgiveness. If you don’t, you aren’t leaving this hangar in one piece.” “We’ll see,” I said, my voice a whisper of dry ice. “We’ll see who’s kneeling.” Just then, a representative from the airline’s legal department hurried up the stairs, clutching a tablet. “You have the ownership file?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. The man nodded solemnly. “I do.” I looked at Tyler and gave him a predatory smile. “Since it’s settled, get these trespassers off my jet.” I gestured toward Tyler and his entourage. But the official didn’t move. He looked at me with a strange, pitying expression. Then he spoke the words that shattered my world. “Mr. Beaumont, I’m going to have to ask you and your assistant to leave the aircraft immediately. The legal owner of this jet is, in fact, Mr. Tyler Corey.” The air left my lungs. “What? No. That’s impossible. I paid for it! I have the bank statements!” I grabbed the man by his lapels. “Look again! How could it be his?” The official stayed professional, though he winced. “Sir, our records are ironclad. There was a title transfer thirty days ago. The previous owner, Mrs. Isabella Beaumont, gifted the aircraft in its entirety to Mr. Corey.” Isabella. The name echoed in my head like a death knell. I remembered last year—our anniversary. I had put the jet in her name as a grand, romantic gesture, a symbol of my absolute trust. And she had handed the keys to her lover. The room spun. My knees buckled. If Felix and the official hadn’t caught me, I would have hit the floor. Tyler walked over, his face twisted into a mask of triumph. “Well, well. Looks like it’s my plane after all. Now… get on your knees and apologize.” “Apologize!” his friends chanted. “Down on your knees!” The thought of this man—this pathetic, drunken boy—touching my wife, living off my hard-earned fortune, made something snap inside me. The blood rushed to my head, hot and blinding. I wrenched myself free from Felix’s grip and lunged. My palm connected with Tyler’s face in a crack that echoed through the cabin. “Apologize to who? You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” His friends swarmed me. Fists and boots rained down. Felix tried to pull them off, but he was outnumbered and quickly beaten to the ground beside me. Tyler stepped over me, spitting blood. He kicked me hard in the ribs. “Stealing my plane and then hitting me? I’m going to enjoy breaking you.” He raised his foot for another strike when his phone rang. He paused, checking the screen. A sleazy grin spread across his face. “Hold up, boys. The lady of the house is calling.” He hit the speakerphone, preening for his audience. “Hey, baby,” a familiar, breathy voice came through the line. Isabella. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting. I’m lonely.” Tyler winked at his friends, who gave him silent thumbs-ups. “I’m on my way, babe. Just had to deal with a cockroach who thought he could steal your gift to me. He even tried to swing at me. I’m teaching him a lesson right now.” “Oh, my god! Who would dare touch you? Honey, hurt him. Make sure he never forgets it. But don’t be too long… I’m already at the hotel in Manhattan. I’ve got the champagne on ice and I’m waiting for you.” Tyler hung up, looking like he’d just won the lottery. His friends cheered. I lay on the floor, my body thrumming with a pain that went far deeper than broken ribs. My heart felt like it had been shredded. My wife. My Isabella. They dragged Felix and me to the door and literally threw us down the air-stairs. “Stay in the dirt where you belong, loser!” Tyler shouted from the top of the stairs as the door began to hiss shut. “If my wife wasn’t waiting for me, I’d spend all night kicking the life out of you!” I watched the jet—my jet—taxi away into the dusk. I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers and dialed my head of security. “I want you to buy up every available flight path between here and New York,” I croaked. “Now. I want a total lockdown. Do not let tail number N9527B land at any airport on the East Coast. If they try to touch down, I want them diverted. Clear the sky.”

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The darkness and the scent of aged pine. That is the last thing I remember of this world. That night, I woke up shivering from a nightmare, crying out for my mother. Instead of a hug, she ushered me into the velvet-lined darkness of her cello case and latched the lid. The signs had been there for a while, I suppose. It started on my fourth birthday. That was the first time she snapped—all because of the clatter of a stray toy hitting the hardwood floor. My mother was a celebrated musician. Her fingers could coax the most divine melodies from the strings, but that genius came with a price: she was hyper-sensitive to noise. Any sound that didn’t belong to her music was an intruder. There was no warning that night. No explanation. Outside the door, I heard my father’s voice, a low, hesitant plea. “Don’t scare her, honey. She’s just a child.” That was the tripwire. My mother spun around, her eyes locking onto mine. The softness I used to see there—the warmth of the woman who used to tuck me in—was gone. In its place was a cold, sharp-edged resentment. I was too young to understand. I sat there, small and trembling, thinking she was just having a bad day. I thought if I stayed very still, the “real” Mommy would come back. … The air inside the case grew heavy and hot. Every breath felt like trying to swallow wool. Through the thick wood, I could hear the muffled, haunting strains of her playing. She was practicing. I tried to scream for her, to tell her I couldn’t breathe, but the sound died in my throat, becoming nothing more than a pathetic whimper. Slowly, the roar of the blood in my ears drowned out the music. My heartbeat sounded like a drum, rhythmic and terrifyingly loud. And then, the panic began to fade. I didn’t feel like I was suffocating anymore; I felt light, like a balloon unmoored from its string. The piece she was playing… I recognized it. A lullaby. So gentle. So sweet. I felt sleepy. As my consciousness drifted, I looked down and saw my own body becoming translucent, a shimmer of mist against the velvet. I think… I’m actually dead. My mother’s voice finally drifted in, sharp enough to pierce the wood. “Finally! Some goddamn peace. All she does is cry—it’s like a drill in my skull.” “How many times do I have to tell her? No noise. She has zero discipline!” I heard the violent zip of a bow across strings, a harsh, discordant screech. My father’s voice sounded further away, laced with a weak, crumbling hesitation. “Evelyn, enough. You’ve made your point. Don’t let her suffocate in there.” “Suffocate?” Her voice spiked, dripping with disdain. “Don’t you dare play the ‘good cop’ now, David.” “A child this bratty needs to learn. One night in there won’t kill her. She needs to remember who runs this house. She needs to learn the value of silence.” My father went quiet. After a long beat, I heard the heavy, defeated sigh of a man who had long ago given up his soul. “Fine. Whatever you say. Leave her be. She’ll be begging for forgiveness by morning.” Even though I was dead, my soul remained anchored to that cramped, silent box. Narrow. Cold. I pressed my spectral cheek against my own cold face, pretending I was just deep in a dream. I stayed like that all night. Finally, when the gray morning light began to bleed through the cracks, my father came for me. “It’s morning,” he muttered, his voice gravelly. “Time to let the kid out.” “She’s probably terrified,” he added, almost to himself. “Bet she won’t be waking us up in the middle of the night again.” He rapped his knuckles against the lid, his tone shifting to that forced, ‘everything is fine’ cheerfulness. “Luna? You learned your lesson? Come on out, sweetheart. Daddy’s making hot chocolate.” A wave of grief washed over me. I screamed at him, thrashing my ghostly arms, desperate for him to see me. But he heard nothing. “Luna? Stop pouting. Get out here!” Still nothing. My mother walked past the door, a glass of water in her hand. She didn’t even look at the case. “Let her rot in there if she wants to play games. If she wants to stay in there forever, let her.” My father frowned, the first flicker of real unease crossing his face. He flipped the latches and swung the lid open. He reached in to grab my arm, but his hand recoiled when he felt the rigidity of my skin. He let out a sharp, annoyed huff. “Really? Still acting? You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that. Fine, stay stiff as a board. See who makes you breakfast.” I stood beside him, watching his impatience turn to a cold sort of boredom. I tried to sniffle, tried to wipe away tears that wouldn’t fall. I told myself he was just trying not to upset Mom. I told myself he still loved me. But for some reason, I really, really wanted that hot chocolate. I drifted toward the kitchen table, reaching for the steaming mug David had set down. SMASH. The mug hit the floor, shattered by my mother’s hand. White liquid splattered across the tile, mingling with jagged porcelain shards. My mother stared at the mess, her chest heaving with a sudden, inexplicable rage. “Hot chocolate? You’re actually pampering her? After what she did?” Her voice turned into a hiss. “A little stray you brought home from god-knows-where, and you treat her like royalty!” My father’s face went bone-white. He flicked a panicked look toward the hallway where my body lay, then lunged forward, grabbing her arm. His voice was a panicked whisper. “Shut up! Not so loud! We agreed—we never talk about that in front of her!” “What child? She’s a parasite! A mistake! If you hadn’t been so weak-willed as to adopt that…” She was screaming now, her eyes filled with a darkness I couldn’t name. But I knew she was angry. I floated toward her, reaching for her hand, wanting to soothe her, but my fingers passed through her like smoke. “Enough!” My father’s shout made me jump. The veins in his neck were bulging. “She is… she is our daughter! Not a mistake! Calm down, Evelyn!” “Our daughter?” A jagged, hysterical laugh broke from her throat as tears began to stream down her face. “What difference does it make? She isn’t mine! She isn’t my Luna! If my Luna were still here…” She suddenly collapsed, clutching her head and sobbing into her knees. My father exhaled, his body sagging with exhaustion. He knelt beside her, pulling her into a weary embrace, shushing her. “Okay, okay. We won’t talk about it. I know you miss her… I know…” I stood there, frozen in the center of the kitchen. I wasn’t their daughter? Why did she call me a mistake? Was there… was there another Luna? I looked at the milk spreading across the floor. I remembered yesterday morning, the way the mug felt warm in my palms when Dad handed it to me. Now, that warmth was gone. Everything was cold. My father carried my body from the hallway and laid me on the living room sofa. “Luna, stop this,” he said quietly, his voice pleading now. “Don’t fight your mother. You know she’s… she’s not well.” He waited for a response. He waited for a blink, a breath, a twitch. When nothing happened, he let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. “Fine. Just keep making things difficult. God, can I have just one day of peace in this house?” I watched him lead my mother back to the bedroom. My heart—or whatever was left of it—ached. It hadn’t always been like this. I remembered a time when Dad didn’t frown at me. He used to spin me around in the air, laughing, calling me his “little shadow.” And Mom… Mom used to sit me on her lap and guide my tiny fingers over the strings. When I managed to scratch out a few coherent notes, she would beam with pride. “That’s my girl,” she’d whisper. “A natural. Just like her mother.” When did the music turn into noise? The silence didn’t last. A few minutes later, the bright, fluttering notes of Chopin’s Minute Waltz drifted from the music room. In the past, whenever she played that, I would run into the room barefoot, dancing and twirling until I was dizzy. Dad would always pick me up and laugh. “Look, the music called our little puppy home.” I floated into the music room now. I sat at her feet, just like I used to, resting my head against her knee as she played. My father appeared in the doorway. He lit a cigarette, his gaze drifting toward the sofa in the other room. “Hmph. Usually, she’s up and dancing by the second bar. She’s really committed to this tantrum today.” The song ended. On the sofa, my small, pale body remained curled in that awkward, unnatural position. My father crushed his cigarette and walked over. “Luna, your favorite show is on. If you don’t get up now, you’re going to miss the magical pony marathon.” Usually, that was his secret weapon. Even when I was pouting, I’d crack one eye open. I remembered when I had that fever—I couldn’t eat, couldn’t move—but he had sat with me in front of the TV for hours, letting me sleep against his chest. But now, the girl on the sofa didn’t stir. Not even a flicker of an eyelid. I crouched beside my body, frantic, trying to scream, trying to push myself back into my own skin. But I was just air. A shadow fell over me. My mother. She looked down at the body with a curled lip. She reached out and shoved my shoulder. “Enough with the drama. You’ve had your fun. Get up.” When I didn’t move, she grabbed my arm, trying to force it straight. But the rigor mortis had set in; I was as stiff as the wood of her cello. She hissed a curse under her breath. “Fine! Stay like that then. See who cares!” As she turned and walked away without a second glance, a memory hit me. I remembered learning to walk. I was always falling, skinning my knees. I’d sit on the floor and wait for her to come get me. She wouldn’t do it immediately—she’d stand a few feet away, encouraging me, telling me I was strong. But the moment I really started to cry, she’d scoop me up. She’d rock me and whisper, “Mommy’s here. Don’t be scared, Luna.” I tried to blink away the dryness in my ghostly eyes. I felt myself becoming thinner, more transparent, as if a stiff breeze could blow me away. Mom, I’m so cold. Why won’t you just hold me and tell me not to be scared? Then, the cat—a fat ginger tabby named Marmalade—crept out from under the sideboard. He usually loved sleeping on my lap, purring like a little engine. He trotted over to the sofa, heading for my dangling hand. But the moment his nose brushed my icy, rigid fingertips, his back arched into a terrified peak. He let out a low, guttural hiss and bolted under the sofa, his fur standing on end. My father called for him, but Marmalade wouldn’t budge. Mother came back into the room for more water. Seeing the cat’s reaction, she slammed her glass onto the table. “Even the damn cat is losing its mind! This house is a madhouse!” She threw a disgusted look at me. “Look at her, sitting there like a corpse. I must have been a monster in a past life to deserve a child like this.” My father opened his mouth to say something—maybe to defend me, maybe to agree—but he just rubbed his face and lit another cigarette. The smoke swirled, obscuring his features. He stopped looking at me altogether, staring out the window at the bright afternoon sun. The light was beautiful, but it couldn’t reach the girl on the sofa. The rest of the day passed in a blur of neglect. Neither of them looked at me again. By nightfall, my father’s patience snapped. He marched over, scooped my rigid body up, and tucked me under his arm like a piece of lumber. I floated beside him, watching. His arms used to be my sanctuary. When it thundered, I’d hide in his lap, and he’d hum off-key songs until I fell asleep to the steady thrum of his heart. His hug was the warmest thing in the world. Now, I felt nothing. He walked fast, fueled by a simmering, repressed rage. He kicked open my bedroom door and tossed me onto the small bed. The mattress jolted, then went still. He stood over me, his chest heaving. “Luna! This is enough! You hear me? You’ve gone too far!” “I guess we spoiled you too much. Fine. You want to play dead? Stay in here. Let’s see who breaks first!” I reached for his hand, but he turned away, slamming the door. Bang. The room went pitch black. Dad, how could you forget? I’m afraid of the dark. He used to leave the door cracked just an inch, a sliver of warm hallway light acting as a nightlight. “Don’t be scared,” he’d say. “I’m right outside.” But now, I was terrifyingly alone. I curled into a ball at the head of the bed, my ghostly form shivering. The moonlight was a sickly pale color, casting a ghoulish glow over the blue-white skin of the girl on the bed. A long time later, I heard light footsteps. Soft. Hesitant. It was Mom. She stopped at the door but didn’t come in. I floated over and saw her hand trembling as she pushed the door open just a crack to peek inside. In the moonlight, she saw it—the unnatural angle of my limbs, the hollow stillness of my chest, the lifeless pallor of my face. She gasped, her eyes wide with a sudden, sharp terror. She slammed the door shut and ran back to her bedroom. I heard my father ask, “Well? Is she done pouting?” I waited for her to tell him. I waited for her to realize. But she just forced a cold, brittle laugh. “Pouting? She’s just waiting for us to cave. She knows exactly how to manipulate us. It’s a game, David.” “Go to sleep,” she snapped when he tried to argue. “By morning, she’ll be so hungry she’ll come crawling out.” The house fell silent again. I drifted back to my bedside. I looked at the girl who would never wake up. The moonlight caught a small bruise on my temple—a souvenir from when Mom had shoved me into the case the night before. Mom, Dad… I wish I could tell you. I’m not playing this time. I won’t be hungry anymore. I won’t be noisy. I won’t ever make you angry again. You can finally have your peace. At the first light of dawn, my father threw the door open. His voice was sharp, impatient. “Luna! Enough! Get up and get dressed for school!” Silence. Only the heavy, oppressive stillness of the room greeted him. He strode to the bed and shoved my shoulder. “Did you hear me?” His palm hit my skin. No warmth. Only the terrifying, unyielding cold of stone. His hand froze. Slowly, his fingers moved to my nose. There was no breath. Not even a whisper of air. “No… no, that’s not…” He scrambled, his fingers fumbling for a pulse at my neck, pressing into my chest. Nothing. Just a hollow, frozen silence. A strangled, horrific cry escaped his throat as he collapsed onto the floor. My mother, startled by the noise, ran in wearing her silk robe. “What is it now? What kind of stunt is she pulling?” Her eyes followed his gaze to the bed. The words died in her throat. “…She’s… she’s dead…” My mother froze. Her pupils shrunk to pinpricks. “What are you talking about? Who’s dead?” My father looked at her, his lips trembling, his eyes filled with a raw, soul-shattering horror. “Luna… Luna is gone.”

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