Category: English

Joey, the guy I was chasing, called me. “My little brother’s back in the country. My family’s throwing a party for him. I’ll take you, introduce you to everyone.” I glanced down at the Alpha currently buried against my scent gland. He lifted his head, gave me a slow wink, and the corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Oh, we’ve already met.” His voice was a low murmur against my skin. “Stop chasing that scumbag brother of mine. Look at me instead.” “I might be younger than him, but I’m bigger in every other way that matters.” 1 Joey said he was craving Spicy Rabbit Skewers from that one place across town and told me to go get them for him. After waiting in line, I finally got back to the private room, only to hear the conversation drifting from inside. “Joey, man, you’ve been stringing Asher along for a year. You ever gonna actually say yes?” Joey’s voice was lazy, arrogant. “What do you know? I love watching him act like my personal lapdog.” “You think I’d actually get with a low-grade Omega like him? It’d be humiliating.” Someone else chimed in, “True. Who knows if he can even have kids.” Joey continued, “Besides, it’s fun keeping him on the hook.” “Every time he begs me for a temporary mark, he’s exactly like a dog.” Another voice asked, “So after all this time, have you slept with him or not?” “He’s got a temper, sure, but damn, he’s hot.” Joey shot that down. “Nah. A guy like Asher is too much trouble.” “Sleep with him once and I’d never get rid of him.” “But,” he added, a smirk in his voice, “it’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” The room erupted in laughter, followed by a stream of crude, disgusting jokes. I stood frozen, unable to move. This wasn’t the Joey I knew. The Joey I knew was… different. He’d told me, “I’ve had insecurity issues since I was a kid. I need you to chase me for a while, to make me feel safe.” So I did. For a whole year. When he gave me a temporary mark, he’d praise me. “Asher, you’re so sexy.” He’d accept my gifts, let me dote on him like it was his birthright. The flirting, the suggestive touches—they were constant. I thought we were already a couple in all but name. All that was missing was a formal confession. I never imagined that in his eyes, I was just a dog he could summon and dismiss at will. That he’d never even considered being with me. What a two-faced bastard. I tossed the Spicy Rabbit Skewers I’d waited half an hour for into the nearest trash can and kicked the door to the room wide open. 2 Everyone inside jumped, startled. “Asher? What the hell? Use the handle, don’t kick the door.” Joey looked at my empty hands, his brow furrowed. “Where are my skewers?” I grabbed the nearest wine bottle and smashed it on the floor. Then I strode forward and slapped Joey hard across the face. “Skewers my ass!” I spat. “You’re the goddamn dog, Joey.” “Remember when your rut was so bad you begged me to release my pheromones? How is that any different from a bitch in heat?” “I’m done playing your games!” Joey’s face turned ashen, the public humiliation stinging him. I turned and walked out. Behind me, their disgusting conversation followed me into the hall. “Dude, you not gonna go after him?” Joey just laughed. “Even a cornered dog will bite back. He’s just blowing off steam.” “Let him. He’ll come crawling back tomorrow, apologizing.” Someone else piped up, “Alright then! Let’s drink.” “Assholes.” I muttered. Like hell I would. Fucking scumbag. I wandered the streets aimlessly. I’m a low-grade Omega with a pheromone disorder. When my heat hits, suppressants don’t work. I need the mark and soothing pheromones of a highly compatible Alpha. Joey and I had a 90% pheromone compatibility. I thought it was fate’s way of making up for all the other shit it had put me through. Joey had even shown interest in me so many times. He’d given me a temporary mark once. I hadn’t even asked; he’d offered. And now, to hear him talk about me like that… Fuck! This wasn’t a blessing. It was a pile of shit. An Omega with my looks could have any top-tier Alpha he wanted. And speak of the devil, one just appeared in front of me. Tall, handsome, wearing a dark gray overcoat and a striped scarf. Straight out of a K-drama. “Hey there,” he said with a charming smile. “Maybe you should consider me instead?” 3 I was already pissed off. “Who are you talking to?” I snapped. “Who are you calling ‘hey there’?” “You, of course,” he said, his tone teasingly intimate. “My name is Liam. I’m Joey’s younger brother.” I scoffed. “Get lost. The sight of anyone with your family name makes me sick.” He put on a wounded expression. “My brother’s a scumbag, but I’m not.” “Is it too late for me to change my last name?” Such a smooth talker. I ignored him and was about to call a cab when a strange heat flared at the back of my neck. Fuck. Of all the damn times. My heat was here. 4 My pheromones flooded the air, uncontrollable. Liam’s expression changed instantly. He whipped off his overcoat and draped it over my shoulders. “I’ll take you home.” I shoved his hand away. “I don’t need your help.” I fumbled for the emergency suppressants and pills I always carried, but I knew they were useless against my disorder. Liam pulled a wallet from his pocket, showing me his IDs. “Asher, I’m really Joey’s brother. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to you. The most important thing right now is to get you somewhere private.” He was right. The street was crowded. An Omega in heat could cause mass panic. Liam led me to his car. In the enclosed space, the sweet scent of osmanthus bloomed around me, thick and overwhelming. Veins pulsed on Liam’s forehead. I tried to inject another dose of suppressant. “Get out of the car,” I ordered him. He snatched the injector from my hand. “It’s not working. Stop. You’re only going to cause permanent damage to your body. And don’t take the pills either, they’ll ruin your glands.” How did he know so much? As my frustration mounted, another scent entered the air. Pine. Clean and fresh. The ache in my glands instantly subsided. It was working. Liam spoke carefully, “I released a little of my pheromones. Is that helping?” I nodded. It was. But it wasn’t nearly enough. The brief moment of calm gave way to an even more desperate craving. My eyes fixed on Liam’s lips. A primal urge, a raw desire, shattered my reason. I bit my tongue, hard, the coppery taste of blood a fleeting anchor to sanity. It held for a few seconds before the tidal wave of instinct crashed over me again. I must have been out of my mind. I met Liam’s eyes. “Give me a temporary mark.” 5 Turns out, Liam was all talk. He had to confirm with me three times before he dared to lean in. The scents of osmanthus and pine collided, tangling together in the small space of the car. My body went limp. Through a hazy blur, I felt Liam gently wipe a tear from my cheek. When had I started crying? My phone buzzed insistently against my leg. A series of texts from Joey. 【Alright, that’s enough. You really embarrassed me today.】 【Your heat is coming soon, isn’t it? Apologize to me, and I’ll give you a mark.】 I let out a bitter laugh and blocked his number without a second thought. A moment later, his call came through. “My little brother’s back in the country. My family’s throwing a party for him in a few days.” “You should come. I’ll introduce you.” I glanced at the Alpha currently nuzzling my scent gland. He lifted his head, gave me a slow wink, and smirked. “Oh, we’ve already met.” “Stop chasing that scumbag brother of mine. Look at me instead.” “I might be younger than him, but I’m bigger in every other way that matters.” “Oh, and by the way, our pheromone compatibility is one hundred percent.” Joey’s voice crackled from the phone. “Hello? Asher? Who’s that talking to you?” I ignored him and quickly hung up. I looked at Liam with renewed interest. “Is that so? Why don’t you strip and let me see for myself?” Liam’s ears instantly turned bright red. He glanced around nervously. “Here? I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Asher… maybe we should get a hotel room?” I just stared at him. “You said we have one hundred percent compatibility?” It sounded like a complete lie. But remembering how I’d lost control just moments ago, a seed of doubt was planted. My self-control had never been that weak. I dragged Liam to the hospital. It was the same doctor as before. He held up the report, his eyes wide with amazement. “One hundred percent compatibility! This is a one-in-a-century match! You two are a match made in heaven, soulmates!” I felt nothing. Doctor, if I remember correctly, you said the same thing about my ninety percent match with Joey. Liam, however, beamed, praising the doctor. “You have a way with words, sir.” It was late by the time we left the hospital. “See? I didn’t lie, did I? One hundred percent,” Liam said proudly. “How did you know?” He gave me a mysterious smile. “That’s a secret.” “A man over 25 is basically 60, and my brother is already 24.” “I’m only 20.” “Ninety percent and one hundred percent aren’t even in the same league. You should be with me. I’ll be your medicine, free of charge.” He was rambling, a chaotic mix of boasting and pleading. I was confused. “What’s in it for you?” “I like you. Give me a chance to pursue you.” My eyes darted away, my heart suddenly beating in a strange, erratic rhythm. How could I refuse a cure that had literally fallen from the sky? Liam was taller than Joey, and handsomer. And a one hundred percent match. It would be a crime against nature not to say yes. Fate had slapped me, then offered me a piece of candy. “Okay,” I said. Liam’s face lit up. “Asher, I’ll be your dog from now on.” The word “dog” made my blood boil. “Don’t be disgusting. What’s with all this dog talk? Your brother is the dog.” “Okay, okay!” Liam said quickly. “Then from now on, I’m your cat.” I was speechless. 6 A heat lasts for several days. Since he was my “medicine,” I took him home with me. Liam’s scent filled every corner of my apartment. Looking back, it was the calmest, most comfortable heat I had ever experienced. Once it was over, I kicked him out. As he was leaving, he said, “Asher, even though we’ve already met… I still hope you’ll come to the party.” He looked at me with wide, pleading eyes, as if he’d burst into tears if I said no. In the end, I agreed. The party was held in the garden of his family’s estate. The moment I arrived, I saw Joey and his pack of cronies. When Joey spotted me, he smirked. “See? What did I tell you? He came crawling right back.” I pretended not to hear and let my gaze find Liam, who was dressed in a sharp suit. He started walking towards me, but Joey grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. Joey looked over at me. “Asher, come here. Let me introduce you to my little brother.” “He was studying abroad for the last couple of years. Just got back, he’s a junior now. At our alma mater, actually.” Liam and I shared a small smile. I spoke slowly, “Nice to meet you. You’re much more handsome than your brother.” A grin tugged at Liam’s lips. Joey looked awkward. “Asher, stop being difficult.” He turned back to Liam to introduce me. “Bro, this is a classmate of mine from university. He’s also the one pursuing me.” I immediately corrected him. “Let’s be precise. Formerly pursuing you.” Joey’s arm snaked around my shoulder. “Don’t mind him, he’s been in a mood lately.” I shrugged his arm off. Joey studied me for a moment, then said, “Why do I smell osmanthus on you? Hey, Liam, isn’t your scent osmanthus?” I gave him a half-smile. “Maybe it’s my new cologne.” Joey seemed to relax. I didn’t linger. I was wandering around, bored, when someone pulled me into an empty room. Liam buried his nose in my neck. “You have my brother’s scent on you.” “Yeah? So what?” I asked. “I don’t like it. Let me cover it up.” Before I could react, Liam released his pheromones. As if that wasn’t enough, he wrapped his arms tightly around me. Damn, maybe he really was a dog after all. So territorial. 7 When Liam said he would pursue me, he wasn’t kidding. He sent food, flowers, and expensive gifts every few days. “You don’t have to send me gifts,” I told him. “Where does a college student get this kind of money?” He puffed out his chest. “My dad is rich, and I know how to make money too.” …As a hardworking Omega, I had no comeback for that. With Liam as my personal medicine, my pheromone disorder was no longer an issue. I was more focused and energetic at work than ever. One Friday night, I was curled up at home watching a movie when someone knocked on the door. I opened it to find a drowned little puppy on my doorstep. No, a drowned little kitten. Liam was soaked to the bone. He looked at me with pathetic, pleading eyes. “Asher, can I please stay with you for a bit?” According to his story, he’d gotten into a fight with his roommate. Then he’d had a blowout with his parents at home. Basically, he had nowhere else to go. I was skeptical. Fearing I would say no, he added, “I’m very clean, and quiet. I won’t bother you. Oh, and I can do chores. And cook.” And just like that, I let him stay. I had to admit, the kid could really cook. “How does a rich young master like you know how to cook?” I asked him over dinner. “It’s one of my hobbies.” He peeled a shrimp and placed it in my bowl. Fair enough. After Liam moved in, my life didn’t just remain undisrupted; it actually improved. He had no bad habits and was emotionally stable. The only downside was his tendency to walk around the apartment shirtless, showing off his well-defined muscles. One evening, he came out of the shower, bare-chested as usual. I was about to scold him when I noticed something was off about him. He quickly shut himself in his room. I knocked on the door. “Liam? What’s wrong?” His voice came out strained and broken. “My… rut is here.” I was speechless. Liam took a few days off from school, took suppressants, and locked himself in his room. I went to work as usual. When I got home, I noticed my pillow and a set of my pajamas were missing from my room. I pushed open Liam’s door. All my missing things were piled on his bed. The kid was nesting. A weak-looking Liam lifted his head from my pajamas and pleaded, “Asher… can I have just a little of your scent?” Before I could answer, a loud knocking came from the front door. It was Joey’s voice. “Asher, you home? Open up.”

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A secondary explosion tore through the chemical plant. While others fled, I charged back into the inferno for evidence—and never emerged. Afterward, my own captain, Cole Sullivan, claimed I’d abandoned my team to die a coward. My name was stripped from the honor wall; my family shamed. My fiancée Maya called me a coward, then married Cole with my death benefits. They didn’t know Cole had watched me run back—then deliberately misreported my location. I was buried alive under molten wreckage, my body lost. Five years later, excavators found a skeleton in my turnout gear, frozen mid-charge. In its hand: a fireproof evidence box. Cole. Maya. Hell is empty. I have returned. 1 At the ruins of the chemical plant, the iron claw of the excavator slowly lifted, revealing a human skeleton to the assembled crew. Five years. I had been trapped here for five long years. “Look at that posture…” a young firefighter named Leo stared, wide-eyed. “He was still charging forward when he died.” “Charging toward what?” Lieutenant Miller, a grizzled veteran, sneered. “Just some deserter who abandoned his team to save his own skin. If he hadn’t run, our losses wouldn’t have been so devastating that day.” My soul trembled in the air. A deserter? Me? I ran back into the core of that explosion to get the evidence proving the plant was illegally dumping toxic waste. A familiar figure in the crowd caught my eye. Maya. She was the battalion chief now, her posture as proud and straight as ever, but her eyes held a new, chilling coldness. The man standing beside her was Cole Sullivan. My brother-in-arms. Her husband. Cole gently draped his coat over Maya’s shoulders, his eyes soft with affection. “Don’t catch a chill.” Maya nodded, her gaze falling on my skeleton, her expression unreadable. After a moment, her face hardened. “Treat it as an unidentified body. Have it cremated as soon as possible.” “Yes, Chief,” Leo answered, though he couldn’t help but glance at my remains again. “Chief, what’s that thing clutched in its hand?” Maya’s pupils contracted slightly. But it was Cole who spoke first. “Just some junk from the rubble. Get rid of it with the rest.” He walked toward my skeleton, intending to pry my fingers open. But my bones had fused with the box in the intense heat; they wouldn’t budge. “Forget it,” Cole said, stepping back, feigning indifference. “Chief, where should we transport the remains?” Again, Cole answered for her. “Take them to the unmarked cemetery on the outskirts of town. Cremation is tomorrow. And keep this quiet.” “Understood.” Maya gave a slight nod. I watched them turn and walk away, a storm of hatred churning within me. My soul followed them, drawn back to a place that was once supposed to be mine. The moment they walked through the door, my spirit recoiled. On the wall hung a wedding portrait of Maya and Cole, their smiles radiating pure joy. This was the home Maya and I had chosen together. This was where we had planned our future. She’d said she wanted our wedding photo to hang on this very wall. Now, someone else’s picture filled that space. Cole poured two glasses of red wine with practiced ease, handing one to Maya. “Don’t dwell on it. He’s a dead coward, Maya. Not worth another thought.” Coward? I stared at him, wanting to rip the word from his throat. Maya took the glass and walked to the window. “I just never thought… after five years… that he’d be dug up.” Her voice was quiet, devoid of emotion. Cole came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “You know, if it wasn’t for Ethan’s death benefits, we wouldn’t have been able to afford this place so quickly. In a way, we should be thanking him.” My death benefits? The money I had paid for with my life had become the seed money for their new beginning. I saw her body go rigid for a second, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t even push him off. “Cole, don’t say that.” “What? Still feel sorry for him?” Cole’s voice held a note of annoyance. “Maya, he’s been dead for five years. And besides, after what he did…” Maya turned in his arms and hugged him. “It’s all in the past. I’m so glad I have you, Cole.” 2 As I watched them embrace, the hatred inside me swelled anew. Maya was the one to speak first. “Cole, let’s go to the city records office tomorrow.” “The records office?” he asked, puzzled. “To take Ethan’s name off the deed and add yours. So this can truly be our home.” Cole froze for a moment, then pulled her into a tight hug. “Maya, are you sure?” “I’m sure,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “The dead are gone. We have to look forward. This house belongs to the living. It belongs to our future.” “Then we’ll go first thing tomorrow,” Cole murmured, kissing her forehead. “From now on, this will be our real home.” Hearing those words, my soul shuddered violently. I had bought this house with my life savings and every penny my parents had scraped together over a lifetime. Now, she was going to erase the last trace of my existence from it with her own hands. It was spring, eight years ago. I was on one knee, holding a diamond ring. “Maya Reed, will you marry me?” She nodded through her tears. “Ethan Ryder, yes.” We held each other in this very house, and she told me she wanted our wedding photo to hang on that wall. I told her it would be the most beautiful picture ever taken. My gaze shifted to Cole. My brother-in-arms. There was a high-rise fire. A slab of precast concrete was falling from the sky. Without a second thought, I shoved him out of the way. The concrete shattered across my back, a mess of blood and pulverized flesh. “Ethan!” Cole cradled me, his tears splashing onto my face. “Why did you do that? Why did you take that for me?” “Because you’re my brother,” I had coughed, blood staining my smile. The incident left a hideous, sprawling scar on my back. Every time Maya saw it in the shower, she would trace its edges with a feather-light touch. “Does it hurt?” “Not anymore. It was worth it for my brother.” Back then, Cole had been overwhelmed with gratitude. We drank straight from the bottle. “Ethan, you saved my life. I’m your brother for life!” “Don’t say that. We’d take a bullet for each other.” Drunk and emotional, we’d ended up weeping in each other’s arms. He said he would die for me. I said I would die for him. After that, he started showing up more and more. “Maya, I got you this new skin cream. I heard it’s really good.” “Maya, you work so hard. I made you some soup.” “Maya, I washed your car for you. Don’t wear yourself out.” More than once, Maya had complained to me. “Ethan, do you think Cole has feelings for me?” “He’s always buying me things. It feels inappropriate.” “Can you please talk to him? Ask him to stop?” And every time, I made excuses for him. “Maya, he’s just grateful I saved his life. He’s transferring that gratitude to you.” “He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just not good at expressing himself.” “We’re brothers. He would never do anything to hurt me.” Maya would frown. “But I just feel…” “Don’t overthink it,” I’d interrupt. “I know Cole. He would never betray me.” Thinking back on it now, I was a goddamn fool. All of his “concern” was just laying the groundwork for this hostile takeover. Every thoughtful word, every gift, every gentle look was a subtle chisel, chipping away at Maya’s defenses. And I, the idiot, was his biggest advocate. The man I trusted most stabbed me in the back. Well played, Cole. Well played. 3 My mind was pulled back to the inferno of five years ago. Three hours before the second explosion, a crowd of anxious family members had gathered outside the plant. “Please, you have to investigate! My husband was injured because of their safety violations!” A middle-aged woman clutched my sleeve, her eyes filled with tears. “The plant knew the equipment was faulty, but they made the workers use it anyway! Now my husband is in the hospital, and they’re blaming it on operator error!” I glanced over at the plant manager, who was in a quiet conversation with several men in suits. Noticing my stare, he sauntered over. “Captain, these people are emotional. Don’t take them too seriously. Our safety measures are all up to code. There are no violations.” His tone was breezy, as if the injured workers were nothing more than a statistic. “Is that so?” I looked at him coldly. “Then why did my team find so many safety hazards during our last inspection?” The manager’s expression faltered for a second before he recovered. “Those were minor issues, nothing that would affect operational safety. Besides, anything that was a problem has been taken care of.” I knew he was lying. Looking at the desperate faces of the families, I made a silent vow. If I got the chance, I would get justice for these innocent people. Three hours later, the alarms shrieked. A secondary explosion was imminent. I gave the order for a full retreat. “All units, evacuate immediately!” My team pulled back, their faces illuminated by the roaring flames. As we fell back, I caught sight of the safe in the plant manager’s office. The evidence of his criminal negligence was likely inside—the only thing that could bring justice for the men who had been sacrificed for profit. I stopped. If that evidence burned, those workers would have died for nothing. Their families would never see a dime of compensation, would never see justice done. I activated the recorder on my helmet, speaking directly to the lens. “Maya, if I don’t make it back, live for me. And please… forget me. I love you.” With that, I turned and ran back into the sea of fire. In my peripheral vision, I saw Cole standing at the edge of the safe zone. He saw me. Our eyes met. He was my brother. I thought he would understand my choice. The flames were devouring everything. I smashed the safe open and pulled out the fireproof evidence box. Just then, Cole’s voice came through my radio, sharp and clear. “Command, I have a visual on Ryder! He’s in the southeast warehouse sector!” I froze. The southeast sector? That was in the opposite direction of my position. It was the area that was about to be completely obliterated by the next blast. Why would he report the wrong location? “Copy that. Rescue teams, proceed to the southeast sector immediately!” Command’s response chilled me to the bone. Cole was lying. He was deliberately sending the rescue team the wrong way. BOOM! The world collapsed around me. Steel and concrete rained down. In the final moment before I was buried, I finally understood. This wasn’t an accident. It was murder. 4 My skeleton was supposed to go straight to the crematorium, to be turned into a pile of anonymous ash. But Leo didn’t follow Maya’s orders. The quiet young firefighter took my remains and filed a report that went above his chief’s head. His reasoning was simple: a firefighter, even a disgraced one, didn’t deserve to be disposed of like trash. I watched Leo write every word of that report, a strange mix of emotions stirring within my soul. After five years, someone was finally speaking up for me. My skeleton was sent to a specialized forensic institute. Technicians in white gloves carefully cleaned my bones. When they got to my hand, they all stopped. My fingers were locked in a death grip around the warped black box. Not even death had made me let go. “What is this thing?” a young examiner asked. Chief Davis, a veteran from the city’s main fire investigation unit, arrived on the scene. When he saw the special insignia on the box, his face changed instantly. It was the mark of a specially-made, fire-rated evidence container. He’d been in the service for over twenty years and had seen them before. They were designed to protect crucial evidence, capable of withstanding thousands of degrees of heat. “Would a deserter die protecting an evidence box?” Davis’s question hung in the silent room. It took the forensic team a great deal of effort to finally free the box from my rigid finger bones. When they opened it, everyone was stunned. The documents inside were perfectly preserved. Proof of the factory’s safety violations, the true records of worker casualties, and audio recordings of the plant manager. The evidence that should have come to light five years ago, I had protected with my life. Chief Davis’s hands were shaking. He finally understood. I wasn’t a deserter. I was a hero. “Keep cleaning!” he ordered. As a technician worked on my crushed helmet, he suddenly shouted, “Chief! The recorder’s memory card is still intact!” Though the helmet camera was smashed to pieces, the military-grade memory card had survived. It was the only hope of uncovering the full truth. Davis immediately ordered a media blackout and classified the memory card as top secret. He personally escorted it to the tech department, demanding a full data recovery. “I don’t care what it costs or how long it takes. I want every frame of data from that card.” I watched as that tiny chip was carried away with the utmost care. For the first time in five years, my silenced soul felt a glimmer of light. The truth was finally coming out.

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In my last life, my husband forced me into a sham divorce to welcome his childhood sweetheart back into the country. He needed to maintain his single image for her. When I refused, he had me committed to a private sanatorium, claiming I was suffering from a deep depression. All because he had made a pact with her years ago: they would wait for each other until they were thirty. I was tortured to death in that corrupt hospital. The last thing I ever expected was for his childhood sweetheart to be the one to find my emaciated corpse, cradling my bones and sobbing apologies over and over again. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day my husband tried to have me committed. 1. “Wait! I’ll agree to the divorce!” The words burst out of me the moment the shock of rebirth subsided. My husband, Alan, was in a frantic rush to get me to the hospital. He didn’t say a word, his eyes fixed on the road as if he hadn’t heard me. A cold dread settled in my stomach. I raised my voice, the words catching in my throat. “Alan, the divorce. We can do it. Just… please, not the hospital.” Only then did he lower his gaze, deigning to give me a look. “Too late for that now.” His voice was as gentle as it had always been, but the words plunged me into an abyss colder than any I had known before. Colder than the beatings, the shock therapy, the slow, agonizing descent into madness in my past life. I froze, struggling to find my voice, my words turning into a desperate plea. “Alan, I swear I’ll never go near her. I won’t let your… your friend… know we were ever married.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Married? What marriage?” he spat, the words like venom. “Get this through your head. You were a housekeeper I employed for three years. Nothing more. Yesterday, you were fired for making a mistake and thrown out of the Thorne estate.” A housekeeper? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. What kind of housekeeper has her boss drive through a storm in the middle of the night just to buy her a cheap bowl of noodles from a street vendor? What kind of housekeeper does a man defy his entire family to marry? “Do you really think Mia Vance will believe that?” I refused to believe he could be so heartless as to watch me die again. But the memories of my previous life were burned into my soul. I could not, under any circumstances, let him take me back to that place. My question seemed to give him pause. He fell silent. I pressed my advantage. “I can help you.” That clearly wasn’t what he was expecting. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it was replaced by a look of cynical understanding. “Don’t try to play games with me, Clara.” His tone was glacial, a world away from the warmth and affection he used to shower me with. I sniffled, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. My hands twisted the simple band on my finger. The ring. He’d bought it for me with the very first bonus he earned after starting his own company, after breaking away from his family’s fortune. He’d held me so tight that day, promising to make me the happiest woman in the world. Now, he was sending me to a living hell for another woman without a second thought. Love was a treacherous, incomprehensible thing. But if I didn’t understand love, I at least understood Alan Thorne. “Alan, Mia isn’t stupid. As long as we’re legally married, she’ll find out eventually, no matter where you hide me. The only real solution is a divorce. And after we divorce, I can stay in the house, pretend to be the housekeeper, and help you sell the lie. What do you say?” His head snapped up, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You’d really pretend to be a housekeeper?” I met his suspicious gaze and nodded firmly, twice. He didn’t believe me. The car continued on its grim path toward the sanatorium. Just as despair began to consume me, Alan, who had been silent with his eyes closed, spoke. “Turn around. Go to City Hall.” A wave of relief washed over me. I wiped the cold sweat from my brow and quickly pledged my loyalty. “Don’t worry. I’ll be the perfect housekeeper. I won’t let anything slip.” A faint smile touched his lips. He took my hand, his grip surprisingly gentle. “I’ll be taking this back for now,” he said, sliding the ring from my finger. “I’ll give it back to you after Mia leaves.” After three years, it was gone. A pale band of skin was all that remained. In that moment, I couldn’t remember why I had ever fought so hard to stay with this man, why I had been so unwilling to let him go. 2. As soon as the divorce papers were signed, he was in a hurry to get to the airport to pick up his precious Mia. He had the driver drop me on the side of the road. The post-holiday traffic was a nightmare. I couldn’t get a cab. It took me two hours to walk back to the villa, nestled high in the hills overlooking the city. I had barely sat down, my hand reaching for a glass of water, when Mrs. Gable, the cook, rushed over and snatched the glass away. “Good heavens, Clara, what are you doing lollygagging here?” she clucked, her face a mask of frantic energy. “Mr. Thorne gave explicit instructions. You’re to move all your things from the master bedroom to the storage room today. And Miss Vance’s luggage, which was just delivered, needs to be taken to the guest room with the best sunlight.” She then led me down three flights of stairs to a storage room in the sub-basement. In the three years I had lived in this magnificent villa, I never knew such a dark, cramped, and damp space existed within its walls. “Here. I packed up everything you left in the master bedroom.” Mrs. Gable stood in the doorway, blocking the only source of light, and tossed a heavy canvas bag at my feet. CRACK. The sound of something shattering echoed in the small room. A sickening premonition shot through me. Ignoring the sharp edges, I reached into the bag and carefully pulled out the fragmented remains of a small, porcelain figurine. It was the last thing my mother had left me. A strange numbness spread through me. My hand was bleeding freely from a deep cut, but I couldn’t feel a thing. Mrs. Gable saw the raw hatred in my eyes and took a step back, stammering, “It was Mr. Thorne. He told me to do it.” I forced myself to breathe, to calm the storm raging inside me. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “When you were caught skimming from the household accounts, I was the one who begged him not to fire you. When your grandson was sick and you needed money for his treatment, I was the one who gave it to you.” Her eyes darted away, unable to meet my gaze. When Alan came home that evening and heard what had happened, he flew into a rage. He fired Mrs. Gable on the spot. For a fleeting moment, my heart, which had turned to stone, felt a flicker of warmth. Maybe, I thought, despite everything, the bond we once shared wasn’t completely gone. In the next second, he shattered that naive fantasy. “Clara. Mia is coming over for dinner tomorrow.” “Remember your place. If you screw this up, you know what will happen.” I nodded numbly. He continued, his voice casual. “Oh, and by the way, Mia loves Sichuan food. Cook a couple of dishes tonight. I want to taste them, see if you can get the flavor right for her.” The chili paste stung the open wound on my hand, making it split open again. The water in the sink slowly turned pink. Alan saw it and frowned in annoyance. “Be careful. Don’t get blood on the food. I had those peppers flown in specially from Sichuan.” He had proposed to me in a kitchen just like this one. He’d sworn he would never let me cook, never let me lift a finger. He’d sworn he would protect me from any and all harm. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A tear fell, then another, creating ripples in the soapy water. Alan closed his eyes and sighed. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop the waterworks. I don’t need Mia showing up tomorrow and thinking I’m some kind of monster for a boss.” I obediently dried my tears and, with hands now pale and puffy from the cold water, returned to my dungeon. Before I slept, I clutched the broken pieces of my mother’s figurine to my chest. “Mom, I can do this,” I whispered into the darkness. “Once Mia Vance leaves, I can finally escape this devil.” 3. The next morning, I was woken by a sharp slap across the face. “Clara, what have you done behind my back?” My head swam, the room spinning. I couldn’t even make out his words, just a dull roar in my ears. I mumbled a denial, not even knowing what I was denying. Alan took my confusion for defiance. His anger flared, and he struck me again. “Still playing dumb? If you didn’t say anything, then why is Mia asking people about you? Why is she asking about your marital status?” I wanted to argue, but I had nothing to say. How was I supposed to know what Mia Vance was thinking? She had been a mystery in my past life, too. Showing up at the sanatorium out of nowhere, apologizing to my corpse, and then spending a fortune to expose the hospital’s horrific practices. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t say anything,” I gasped, his hand now tight around my throat, cutting off my air. “You’ve had me locked in this villa since the day you heard she was coming back. You took my phone. How could I have done anything?” He seemed to consider this. The pressure on my throat slowly eased. I collapsed onto the bed, gulping in air like a drowning dog. “Then why is she asking about you?” Alan muttered, adjusting his glasses as he paced the room. “Unless… you’ve crossed her somewhere before.” “Impossible. I’ve never even met her. How could I have offended her?” I said quickly, my body still trembling, terrified of provoking him further. He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “To be safe, you’ll stay in here today.” Panic seized me. I scrambled off the bed, grabbing at his sleeve. “Alan, no! Please. I have claustrophobia. I… I’ll die if I’m locked in here all day.” He was unmoved, convinced I was faking. He yanked his arm free and locked the door from the outside. “You’re really getting addicted to playing the victim, aren’t you?” As his footsteps faded, I closed my eyes in despair. He was right. The old me, the me before my first death, didn’t have this sickness. It was a parting gift from the sanatorium. I curled into a corner of the room. My breathing grew ragged, my head light. “Let me out! Let me out!” I screamed until my lips were cracked and dry. My fingernails left long, bloody scratches on the heavy wooden door, but no one came. I couldn’t get out. But from upstairs, I could hear the faint clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter. I could hear Alan’s deep, booming laugh. I could hear Mia’s clear, bright voice joining his. No. I would not die like this again. Not quietly. Not in the dark. With a final, desperate resolve, I pulled out the lighter I had once given him as a gift, the one he had tossed back at me like trash. I lit the corner of the bedsheet. The fire caught quickly, greedily. Within minutes, thick, black smoke was pouring out from under the door. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw a delicate, fiery figure kick the door down.

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I had a crush on my best friend’s cousin the moment I saw him. I sent her a message, half-joking: “Your cousin is so hot. Does he have a girlfriend? What do you think about me becoming your sister-in-law?” For the first time ever, she replied with just a single question mark. Followed by: “You want to be my cousin’s girlfriend? Then what does that make me?” I thought she was just being possessive and jealous, so I typed back without a second thought: “You’re my number one best friend in the whole world! My dearest, closest bestie!” Her reply stunned me: “Aren’t we dating?” Me: “Who told you we were dating?!” Her: “If we’re not dating, then why are you always kissing and hugging me?!” Isn’t that just… normal stuff best friends do??? 1. Staring at the messages from Audrey, I sat bolt upright in bed, my mind a complete blank. My brain kicked into overdrive, trying to figure out if she was joking or being serious. Before I could formulate a careful, probing question, my phone rang. It was her. The ringtone was the special one I’d set just for her. I jolted, and my thumb reacted on pure instinct, declining the call. The screen now showed “Call Ended.” A cold dread washed over me. Whether this was a joke or not, the fact was, I had hung up on her. If this was all a misunderstanding, I was so, so screwed. The last time I hung up on her was back in high school. Some girl in our class had claimed to be her best friend, and Audrey, convinced the girl was trying to invade our friendship, went into a jealous rage and started a fight. I got mad at her for being so reckless and gave her the cold shoulder. That night, she sent me a text. I didn’t reply. She called. I didn’t answer. At midnight, my doorbell rang. There she was, standing on my doorstep with a thunderous expression, asking if I really wanted to end our friendship. She looked like a ghost, her hair all wild and unkempt. Honestly, she scared the crap out of me. Of course, with my mom’s help, we made up and walked to school together the next day. I never hung up on her again. It always felt like if I did, she would swim across the Pacific Ocean just to materialize in front of me a second later. My phone buzzed with a new message. Babe: You dare hang up on me? I scrambled to reply. “It was an accident! I hit the wrong button! Were you calling to tell me it was all a joke?” I threw in a cute emoji to soften the awkwardness. Babe: No. Tears welled in my eyes. I tried one last time. “Audrey, stop scaring me. If you keep joking like this, I’m going to get mad.” Babe: Not joking. I’m coming over. Me: Don’t you dare!!! The words flew out before I could stop them. Today’s conversation had completely shattered my understanding of reality. I had never, ever had feelings for Audrey that were more than friendship. I had no idea when she started seeing me differently. I buried my face in my hands, a desperate thought occurring to me. Maybe she’d been misled by something she saw online, misinterpreting her own feelings for me. Neither of us had ever been in a real relationship before. The line between friendship and love can be blurry. It was entirely possible she was just confused. My hands trembled as I typed out a long, rambling explanation, deleting and rewriting it over and over. She must have seen the “typing…” indicator flickering on her end for ages without receiving anything. Another message from her arrived. “I’m not kidding, Chloe. I really like you. I always thought we were dating.” “I thought you felt the same way about me. Otherwise, why didn’t you ever stop me when I kissed you?” I groaned, the memory of how we gave each other our first kiss flashing through my mind. It really was an accident the first time. We were fooling around on my bed, and our lips just… brushed against each other. I felt awkward, but Audrey didn’t seem to mind. She even licked her lips, as if savoring the moment. Noticing my discomfort, she’d said breezily, “What’s the big deal? Neither of us has a boyfriend. What’s wrong with a little kiss?” She’d added, “Besides, that doesn’t even count as a real kiss. Real kisses involve tongue.” But by the summer after we graduated high school, her tune had changed completely. 2. After our final exams, our class threw one last big party. High school sweethearts were popping up everywhere, finally able to be open about their relationships right under the teachers’ noses. As Audrey and I left the classroom, we even saw a couple making out in a corner, just for the thrill of it. It was like a dam of repressed hormones had burst. Audrey scoffed, calling the guys horny animals just trying to get one last grope in before we all went our separate ways. “Look at that guy. Remember him? The one who confessed to you in sophomore year.” Audrey made a gagging motion, then quickly covered my eyes before I could look. “Don’t look at the filth.” All I could do was listen to her description of the make-out session. “After you rejected him, he immediately got with another girl. This is, like, his nth girlfriend now. Ugh, what a ‘devoted’ man he is~” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She’d been bad-mouthing that guy for nearly two years, all because he’d had the nerve to confess to me once. She even nicknamed him “Mr. Deeply-In-Love” because he always pretended to be completely smitten in every relationship before seamlessly moving on to the next girl. I covered my ears, just hoping we wouldn’t run into anyone else we knew. “Hey, why are you covering your ears?” Audrey whined. “Are you sick of me?” At the party, buoyed by the atmosphere and our own curiosity, we both had a little to drink. A couple next to us started kissing amidst the cheers of the crowd. Even though we tried not to stare, we couldn’t help but catch the details—the stringy saliva, the tangled tongues, the wet sounds… That night, Audrey stayed over at my place. We were lying on my bed, talking about everything and nothing, from our future college lives to the events of the day. Suddenly, she asked, “Is kissing really that good?” I didn’t have an answer. In the twelve years before I met Audrey, my world consisted of books and studying. After I met her, my world consisted of books, studying, and Audrey. The books never mentioned whether kissing was enjoyable or not. It was a topic two romance-clueless girls couldn’t possibly figure out. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Go get a boyfriend and find out.” A look of disgust crossed Audrey’s face at the thought of those guys. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, she blurted out, “Hey, why don’t we try kissing?” That woke me up instantly. I stared at her, my expression clearly asking, Are you serious? The more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. She looked at me defiantly. “Neither of us has a boyfriend. And a kiss between friends doesn’t count as a real kiss, right?” I instinctively propped myself up, backing away slightly. But she scooted closer. “People in other countries kiss as a greeting. We’re this close. What’s the big deal?” I wanted to tell her that was completely different, that she was talking nonsense. But she just pounced, pinning me down. “Just one kiss.” She must have been drunker than I thought. When she leaned down, she misjudged the distance and bumped her lips hard against mine. It hurt. But she didn’t let up, holding my hands down firmly. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, as if tasting something. “Sweet,” she declared. “Again.” I squirmed. “No, no, no! Audrey, get off me! Stop being a drunk idiot!” “I didn’t even use my tongue,” she argued. “It’s perfectly normal for best friends to kiss.” But the second time, she tentatively slipped her tongue into my mouth. I guess she liked the taste, because she explored deeper, our tongues tangling together. My struggles weakened under her assault. Flashes of the couples from the party came to mind. We were just like them now, lips pressed together, tongues intertwined. Audrey bit my lips until they were sore, kissing me until I was breathless. My whole body went limp, like water, my brain slow and fuzzy from lack of oxygen. The new, strange sensation was so intoxicating we both got lost in it. After the kiss ended, the effects of the alcohol had mostly worn off. We just stared at each other, our faces flushed. Audrey mumbled an apology. The second I said it was okay—after all, I had enjoyed it too—she was back to her old self. “See? I told you it was good, right?” “Want to go again? Don’t you think it’s kind of addictive?” I grabbed a pillow and covered my face, muttering a muffled, “No.” I think a part of me felt that doing this with Audrey wasn’t right. In my mind, kissing was for partners, not for friends. Audrey, sensing my hesitation, tried to comfort me. “It’s totally normal for friends to kiss. Look at guys, they jerk each other off all the time. Isn’t that way weirder?” “We’re just kissing.” I pressed the pillow harder against my ears. Where did she learn to say things like that? I couldn’t handle it anymore. Either I’d have to explain myself, or I’d have to pretend this never happened. But Audrey wasn’t letting it go. She was relentless, and I was cracking under the pressure. The fight, the confusion, her sudden confession—it was all too much. I needed to understand what was happening, what I was feeling, before I could face her again. This wasn’t just some silly argument; it felt like our entire world was shifting on its axis, and I was terrified of where we would land. 3. Honestly, everything Audrey said was bullshit. First, she brainwashed me with the “it’s normal for friends to kiss” line, and before I knew it, I had accepted it as our new normal. She would kiss me whenever the mood struck, and sometimes we would find a private place for a more intense make-out session. I had other friends besides Audrey, but none as close. She would get upset if I got too close to anyone else. My interactions with other people were, naturally, different from how I was with her. We were best friends, after all. But even so, I had a nagging feeling that kissing every day wasn’t normal, but I didn’t want to change it. First, kissing Audrey was nice. She was a really good kisser. Second, if I said no, she would be unhappy, and when she was unhappy, I was unhappy. So, ignoring that little nagging feeling and continuing to kiss her seemed like the best option. But now everything was different. Audrey had laid her cards on the table. She wanted to define our relationship. This wasn’t the mutually supportive friendship I had envisioned. All those memories of kissing were now tinged with a new, romantic intimacy that made my face flush and my heart race just thinking about them. That had never happened before. Audrey sent me several more messages, all asking to meet up. I either refused or pretended I hadn’t seen them. So, of course, she showed up at my house unannounced. Babe: Open the door. My heart sank. I was starting to develop a phobia of my phone’s notification sound. Every time it went off, I just assumed it was her—and eighty percent of the time, I was right. I saw the message and died a little inside. I quickly flipped my phone face down, grabbed a book, and pretended I had been too absorbed in reading to see her text. Babe: I know you’re home. A thud from the balcony, followed by a soft rustling sound, was impossible to ignore. I turned my head and saw a scene straight out of a horror movie—Audrey was climbing the tree outside my window, trying to jump onto my balcony. My eyes widened, my heart leaped into my throat. I didn’t know whether to be panicked or worried. I slid open the glass door. “Are you insane? Get down from there!” She clung stubbornly to the tree trunk, glaring at me before sizing up the distance between the branch and my balcony. “Not unless you open the front door,” she said. I gritted my teeth. “No. Go home.” She scoffed, testing her weight on the branch. “Then watch me climb up.” “You’ll fall and kill yourself!” I yelled. “This is the second floor! You’ll probably just break a leg, so I’m not going to bother saving you!” I grabbed the railing, trying to create an obstacle to convince her the jump was impossible. But Audrey has always been fearless. She never thinks about the consequences. I underestimated her audacity. Before I was ready, she took a running start on the branch and leaped. The words died in my throat. My mind was screaming— Oh god, she’s going to be crippled. Oh god, it happened on my balcony, my parents are going to kill me. They’ll probably make me her 24/7 caretaker. But she landed on the balcony. Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, she lost her footing and started to teeter backward. I reacted instinctively, lunging forward and grabbing her, pulling her toward me with all my strength. She grabbed my hand, swung herself over the railing, and landed squarely in front of me. Her crisis was over. But as I looked at her set jaw, I realized… My crisis was just beginning. I had personally pulled a wolf who wanted to devour me into my den. The next second, the wolf lunged. I turned and ran, trying to slide the glass door shut and trap her on the balcony. But she was too fast, sticking her foot in the way. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, afraid of hurting her, and that was all the opening she needed. She yanked the door open. “Audrey, wait, let’s just talk about this calmly.” Her eyes were terrifying. “You want to talk calmly now?” she roared. “Who was it that was ignoring all my messages?” “You’re the one who was talking crazy,” I muttered. “Was I wrong?” “About what? Everything you said was a lie! I am not dating you!” She stared at me in silence. Or rather, she was staring at my lips. Alarm bells went off in my head. I knew that look. We’d kissed so many times that I could tell what she wanted from a single glance. There were times we’d be watching TV on the couch, and she’d suddenly go quiet. When I’d look over, her attention would no longer be on the screen, but on my lips as I spoke. She’d grab my hand, pull me into my room, and kiss me where my parents couldn’t see. I swallowed hard and took a step back. “My mom’s home,” I warned in a small voice. “Don’t try anything.” She tore her gaze away from my mouth. “So, you’re saying everything I said was a lie? We never hugged? We never kissed?” “We did that as friends!” “What kind of friends hug and kiss with tongue?” My face was on fire. “You… you were the one who said those guys…” I stammered. I couldn’t bring myself to repeat her crude words. She had used those examples to trick me into kissing her, and now she was just watching me, a smug look on her face, as if to say, Let’s see you talk your way out of this. And she was right. It was a pathetic explanation. Now that I thought about it, her examples were completely insane. But at the time, I was so caught up in the moment I couldn’t think straight. And our daily life was so… normal. Or rather, it was the normal we had created since we were kids. I never saw anything wrong with it. But the truth was, no normal best friends acted like we did. Before I could sort out my jumbled thoughts, she hit me with another question. “You didn’t enjoy it when we kissed?” I couldn’t argue with that. “No, I didn’t,” I lied. She launched another surprise attack. In the instant I was distracted, she closed the distance and kissed me. I came to my senses and pushed her away. “Don’t kiss me!” She grabbed my hands, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “You said you didn’t enjoy it. Then why did you just use your tongue?” It was a reflex from kissing her so many times! I shoved her away, humiliated and furious. “If you come near me again, I’m telling my mom!” As if on cue, there was a knock on my door. “Chloe, honey?” my mom called out. “What’s all the commotion in there? Can I come in?” I looked at Audrey, who was still practically on top of me, and pushed her off. “You can, Mom.” My mom saw Audrey and paused. “Audrey? When did you get here? I didn’t see you come in.” That’s because she didn’t use the door, I thought. “I just got here, Mrs. Evans,” Audrey lied smoothly. “Chloe let me in. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.” I kept my mouth shut, refusing to look at her. My mom looked from her to me, sensing the strange tension in the room and probably connecting it to the loud noises she’d heard. “Did you two have another fight?” she asked with a weary sigh. “Do you need me to mediate?” The memory of Audrey showing up on our doorstep in the middle of the night was still fresh in my mom’s mind. She always tried to intervene when we argued. But you can’t fix this one, Mom. If you did, you’d be the one having a breakdown. “Yes, please, Mrs. Evans,” Audrey said shamelessly. “Chloe’s mad at me. She won’t talk to me or answer my messages. I’m trying to talk to her, but she’s ignoring me.” I whipped my head around to stare at her, my jaw dropping. She tattled on me. She actually tattled on me to my mom.

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Seven years. We’d been together for seven years, and my staunchly anti-marriage girlfriend was pregnant. I stared at the positive test in my hand, the world grinding to a halt around me. It couldn’t be mine. She hadn’t let me touch her in a month. Every time she cheated, she’d buy me a supercar. Our driveway and garage looked like a showroom for exotic machines, a glistening monument to her infidelity. For seven years, I’d swallowed my pride, again and again. But this time was different. I couldn’t swallow this. I packed my bags, ready to end it. When I told her, she just scoffed. “So I’ve been a little distant for a few days. Are you really going to throw a tantrum over that?” It wasn’t a tantrum. It was the sound of my heart finally giving up. 1 “Vivian isn’t against marriage,” her new flame sneered, standing over me with an air of smug superiority. “She’s just against marrying you. You’re nothing but a lap dog she keeps.” In that single, brutal moment, the full, stupid weight of the last seven years crashed down on me. Yesterday was our seventh anniversary. I’d orchestrated a perfect evening—a romantic, candlelit dinner overlooking the city, a song I’d written just for her, a celebration of what I thought was our epic love story. But Vivian never showed up. I called her endlessly, each ring unanswered until she finally texted back a curt, dismissive reply: Busy. Stop bothering me. Now I knew what she was so busy with. She was with him, Julian, her business partner. He showed me the photos, of course. Vivian, draped in a stunning evening gown, gazing at him with an adoration I hadn’t seen in years. And then, the final, crushing realization: Julian was the one who had been anonymously sending me these pictures all along. Seeing my silence, he gave my shoulder a condescending shove. “If I were you, I’d have tucked my tail between my legs and run a long time ago. The only reason you stick around is for the cars, right? You’re just that pathetic.” He let out a dry, contemptuous laugh. Then he told me. Every single supercar she’d ever given me after one of her “indiscretions”—he was the one who helped her pick them out. It was a game to them, a sick bet. They’d wager on whether another expensive car would be enough to make the fool stay, to make me forgive her one more time. My tolerance, my willingness to believe her lies, had become a source of amusement for them. A joke shared between lovers. Faced with the ugly, shattered pieces of my reality, I didn’t throw a punch. I didn’t scream. I just went home and started packing. Seven years of this had left me hollowed out, exhausted down to my very soul. It was time to leave. Just as I pulled out my suitcase, Vivian walked in. In her hand, she dangled another key fob, holding it out to me like a peace offering. “Leo, I’m so sorry. Work has been insane. I can’t believe I missed our big day.” She pressed the key into my palm, then melted into my arms, her voice a soft, practiced purr. “We’ll make it up, I promise. As soon as this deal closes, we’ll have a proper celebration.” “Look,” she cooed, “this one’s a global limited edition. Worth a fortune. See how good I am to you? You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” I gently pushed her away, studying her perfectly made-up face. How could she stand there, her body and soul already given to another man, and lie to me so flawlessly? I didn’t know whether to be impressed by her audacity or disgusted by my own gullibility. A bitter smile touched my lips. I held the key back out to her. “An anniversary only happens once. You can’t ‘make up’ for it.” My voice was steady, a calm facade over the churning vortex in my gut. I was about to say the words—we’re over—when she pressed her body against mine, her lips finding my neck. “Then let me… make it up to you tonight?” The thought of her hands on me, the same hands that had been all over Julian just last night, sent a wave of nausea through me. How did she do it? How did she switch from whispering sweet nothings to him to trying to seduce me without missing a beat? This time, I didn’t have to push her away. A sharp, distinct ringtone cut through the air—Julian’s ringtone. Without a second’s hesitation, Vivian pulled back, snatching her phone and ducking into the bedroom to answer it. Through the crack in the door, I could see the brilliant, unrestrained smile spreading across her face. There was a time when I was the one who made her smile like that. When her family, her friends, the whole world, it seemed, was against us, she knelt before her parents and swore she would have no other man but me. She’d nearly been disinherited for me. Her fierce loyalty made me believe we were inevitable, that I was her one and only. Even when she told me she was anti-marriage, that she just wanted to be with me forever without a piece of paper defining it, I accepted it. For her, I would have accepted anything. And now, this woman who once loved me to the bone, emerged from the bedroom after a call with her lover and offered me a placid apology. “Leo, that was work. An emergency negotiation. I have to go.” Her tone was final. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you. Get some sleep, okay?” I reached out, my fingers brushing her arm. “Do you really have to go? There’s something important I need to tell you.” Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “What could possibly be so important? Leo, don’t be childish. Don’t waste my time.” And with that, she slipped into a sleek power suit and walked out the door without a backward glance. The last flicker of warmth in my heart turned to ice. I had thought a simple “we’re done” would be enough. That our financial ties could be untangled by lawyers. But seeing her so comfortably enjoying her double life, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. So I did the only thing I could. I finished packing my bags, walked out of that house, and moved out. I sent her a single text message: It’s over. She never responded. My departure, it seemed, wasn’t even worth a reply. Three days later, my phone rang. It was her number, but the voice on the other end was Julian’s, dripping with arrogance. “Vivian just had a miscarriage. She’s weak. If you have something to say, say it to me. I’ll pass it on.” A miscarriage? The words struck me like lightning, rooting me to the spot. Because of her “no marriage” stance, I had been obsessively careful for seven years, terrified of an accident, of causing her any harm. The woman who preached about the evils of commitment… had been pregnant with another man’s child? The betrayal was a physical thing, a crushing weight on my chest that made it impossible to breathe. The ground seemed to drop out from under me. It all made sense now—her recent aversion to my touch, her distance. I’d chalked it up to work stress. The truth was so much uglier. She wasn’t stressed; she was hiding a pregnancy. I fought to keep my voice even, a cold calm settling over my rage. “When she’s better, tell her our relationship is over.” Julian chuckled on the other end. “You should have been gone a long time ago, you broke loser.” The click of the phone hanging up echoed in the silence. The fury I’d suppressed for years finally erupted. I collapsed, my head in my hands, and I sobbed, not for her, but for the seven years of my life I had utterly wasted. After the storm passed, clarity began to return. In a twisted way, I was grateful for her supposed anti-marriage principles. It meant a clean break, no messy divorce or battles over assets. For years, I’d let my own ambitions wither to keep her happy. I was once a top graduate from a prestigious art academy, but I’d settled for a dead-end job that gave me more time for her. My old mentor had reached out last year, offering to hold a spot for me in a master’s program abroad. On a whim, I called him. “That specific spot is gone,” he told me, “but with your portfolio and my connections, getting you into a new program will be no problem at all!” True to his word, within weeks, I had an acceptance letter. With everything settled, I stood at the airport with a single suitcase and a one-way ticket. I had just checked my bag when my phone buzzed. It was Vivian. Her voice was raw, raspy. “Leo, why did you just move out? What is this silent treatment all about? Why are you being like this?” So, she’d finally been home. She’d have found my empty closets, and the fleet of supercars left gleaming in the garage and driveway, untouched. The rage had cooled into a dull, quiet ache. “We broke up, Vivian. Naturally, I moved out. I’m not taking a single one of the cars.” “As for the house and everything else,” I continued, “my lawyer will be in touch. Just wire the money when he tells you to.” She sounded completely bewildered, as if I were speaking another language. “Honey, what are you talking about? Broke up? I don’t understand.” I didn’t know if Julian had kept his mouth shut or if she was just playing dumb. Frankly, I was past caring. My patience was gone. “Stop pretending, Vivian,” I snapped. “You were pregnant with Julian’s child. How can you still stand there and act like you’re the victim, like you’re devoted to me? For seven years, you ran to him behind my back. As a man, I have put up with more than enough. I am done. Now, I’m settling the score with you two cheating, backstabbing liars!”

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I was the fake daughter of a wealthy family. I had taken the real son’s place. On the day the real son came home, he coldly demanded my parents throw me out. But the moment he saw me, he dropped to his knees. He looked up at me, tears streaming down his face, wailing like a teakettle. “Baby, I’ve finally found you!” My entire family exchanged baffled glances. My body went rigid. This real son… why did he look exactly like the ex-boyfriend I’d dumped? 1. I was in the middle of purchasing a $600,000 diamond brooch, planning to show it off to my parents, when my grandfather called to tell me I wasn’t their biological child. The news hit me like a ton of bricks. My brain shut down. “So… the real son is already at the house?” Grandpa sighed, his voice laced with pity. “I’ve met the boy. He’s a cunning, manipulative little snake. With your simple mind, you won’t be able to win against him.” Leave it to Grandpa to be so brutally honest. I hung up and floored it, racing home. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, opened the door, her expression hesitant as she tried to block my way. “Miss, why are you back so early?” I could hear the cheerful chatter from the living room, punctuated by my mother’s delighted laughter. A cold knot formed in my stomach. As a family of old money and political influence, bloodlines were everything. For the past twenty years, as the family’s only daughter, I’d been groomed to be the heir. They had even arranged a marriage for me to further solidify our family’s standing. But now… Ding! A text message popped up on my phone. [Sloane, let’s meet tomorrow. We need to talk about calling off the engagement.] It was from my fiancé, Bryan Croft, a man I barely ever spoke to. I sighed and typed back a quick “Okay.” I hadn’t even stepped through the door, and the engagement was already being called off. Just as I was about to go inside, I heard the real son’s voice. 2. “Blood is thicker than water, after all,” he said, his voice low and steady, with an undercurrent of cold indifference that was somehow familiar. “It’s only right that she returns to her biological parents. Don’t you agree, Mom, Dad?” My parents hesitated. “But Sloane… she’s been with us for over twenty years…” The real son spoke again. “You’ll get used to it. She has to leave sooner or later, doesn’t she? Or would you rather keep her in the dark and have her resent you in the end?” Grandpa was right. He was a silver-tongued devil, cutting them down with soft words. In just a few sentences, he had completely dismantled my parents’ defenses. “As for her room,” he continued, “we could turn it into a storage room. Out of sight, out of mind.” That was it. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I pushed past the housekeeper and stormed in, my jaw clenched. “Mom, Dad. Do we have a guest?” They saw me and instinctively avoided my gaze, guilt written all over their faces. Finally, my mother steeled herself and took my hand. “Sloane, darling… there’s something we have to tell you. You’re not our biological daughter.” My father quickly pulled the real son to his feet. “This is your brother, Rhys. Why don’t you two get to know each other?” Rhys? My eyelid twitched. A terrible premonition washed over me. The young man slowly turned around, revealing a face so handsome it was etched into my memory forever. I froze, feeling as if I’d been struck by lightning. Wasn’t this the billionaire ex-boyfriend from my study abroad program? The one who had desperately wanted to marry me, the one I had mercilessly dumped? The moment he saw me, Rhys’s aggressive demeanor vanished. His eyes, at first filled with surprise, now shone with an ecstatic joy. They seemed to be glowing with an almost predatory green light. 3. My relationship with Rhys had started with a simple case of lust at first sight. I was on a research program abroad. He was a rising star in the city’s business world, known for his complete disinterest in women. To get his attention, I got a job at his company as his personal assistant. That’s when I realized it wasn’t that Rhys wasn’t interested in women. He was a cold, robotic workaholic with no life outside the office. I tried everything. I wore my sexiest, tightest skirts, used every trick in the book, but his eyes remained glued to his complex financial reports. Finally, one night as I was driving him home, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Boss,” I asked, “don’t you ever want a life outside of work? A nightlife?” Rhys finally deigned to look at me. “For example?” My heart leaped. “Street racing! There’s a race on the west side of the city. Want to go?” Before the “no” could even leave his lips, I slammed my foot on the gas and we were flying. At the track, cars zipped past, a blur of color and sound. Everyone was high on the adrenaline. I stepped out of the car in my pink mini-skirt and impossibly high heels and met Rhys’s gaze. “So, boss? What do you think?” He got out of the car with his usual reserve and draped his jacket over my shoulders. “Not bad.” His words were cool, but his eyes were blazing. The rest happened naturally. We spent our weekends at the races, kissing in fields of roses. Everything was perfect. Until he got down on one knee with a ring and a contract transferring his entire company to my name. That’s when I realized I’d played my hand too well. This ridiculously handsome man was a hopeless romantic. It was just a bit of fun, why did he have to get so serious? Panicked, I told him I was “bored of him,” bought a plane ticket, and flew back home that very night. Back in the present, I stared at Rhys, a storm of complicated emotions swirling inside me. If I had known he was my parents’ biological son, I would have never, ever messed with him. 4. Rhys’s gaze was fixed on me, intense and unwavering. My lip twitched, and I took an involuntary step back. Honestly, I’d rather deal with a stranger than my ex-boyfriend. I decided to play the part of the understanding, mature adult. “Mom, Dad, my brother is right,” I said. “I should probably move out for a while. It’ll give you all a chance to bond.” My mother and Rhys spoke at the same time. “No!” Rhys’s voice was urgent as he rushed forward and grabbed my hand. “Baby, hotels are so dirty these days, and it’s not safe out there. You have so many allergies! What would I do if something happened to you?” He rattled on, leaving my parents completely bewildered. I shot him a furious glare, and he finally calmed down. He cleared his throat with a practiced composure and gestured for my mother to speak. She opened her mouth, only to find that Rhys had already said everything she wanted to say. After a long pause, she managed, “Yes! It’s much more comfortable at home.” I couldn’t resist a sarcastic jab. “Oh, really? I can’t exactly sleep in the storage room, can I?” Rhys’s eyes widened. He looked utterly devastated, as if he might shatter into a million pieces. “Baby, that’s not what I meant, I…” He quickly changed his tune. “I’m the one who wants to sleep in the storage room! It’s small and cozy, and it makes me feel safe. I love it.” My parents were speechless. Was he delirious? As the awkward silence stretched on, Mrs. Gable, ever the pragmatist, grabbed Rhys’s luggage and started up the stairs. “I’ll go get the storage room ready for the young master right now!” I sighed and called after her. “Mrs. Gable, just prepare the third bedroom upstairs.” It was the sunniest, most spacious room in the house. The one Rhys would have always preferred. 5. Sure enough, the moment Rhys heard it was my suggestion, his face lit up. He snatched his bags from Mrs. Gable and practically skipped up the stairs. My parents both let out a sigh of relief. They sat me down on the sofa. My mother explained that she and my biological mother had given birth on the same day and had been placed in the same recovery room. A nurse had mixed up the babies. She also mentioned that my biological parents were not well-off. “Sloane,” she said, “Rhys has had a difficult life. He’s seen very little of the world. Please, be patient with him.” I was stunned. Wait, who was poor? His net worth overseas was in the billions! Then it hit me. Rhys, with his perpetual poker face, was a master manipulator in the world of high finance. He knew how to play people, how to say the right things to get what he wanted. I used to call him the “ice prince snake” behind his back. He was playing the part of the poor, long-lost son to win my parents’ sympathy and get rid of the fake daughter as quickly as possible. He just never imagined that I was that fake daughter. 6. That night, I lay in bed, Rhys’s face haunting my thoughts. Suddenly, my door creaked open. Rhys tiptoed in, holding a washboard, and knelt on it in front of me with a thud. My eye twitched. I got up to pull him to his feet. “What are you doing?” The once cool and composed man was now sobbing like a child. “Baby, I was wrong. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t leave me again. I don’t want the inheritance. I’d do anything for you!” I sighed in exasperation. A year had passed, and he was still the same dramatic mess. I covered his mouth to muffle the sound. “Are you really my parents’ son?” He took the opportunity to clasp my hand. “Yes.” But when I asked about my biological parents, his eyes darted away. All he would say was, “Baby, your parents are street vendors, but they’re not as simple as they seem.” He refused to elaborate further. Annoyed, I pushed him out of the room. A man and a woman alone in a bedroom late at night? It was improper. Rhys left reluctantly, looking back every few steps. He was gone, but I couldn’t sleep a wink. 7. The next day, I drove to the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Bryan. The first thing out of his mouth was that he wanted to cancel the engagement. I agreed without hesitation. It was just a business arrangement; there were no feelings involved. My easy agreement seemed to wound his pride. He looked at me with pity. “Sloane, there’s no need to be heartbroken. Given my status, you’re simply not in my league anymore.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I stood up to leave. “However,” Bryan added, “my mother said she wouldn’t mind if you were my mistress.” What the—! I stumbled, banging my knee on the table. “Your mother… your mother… she’s quite… open-minded, isn’t she?” Bryan ran a hand through his hair, a greasy, self-satisfied smirk on his face. Before he could continue, a glass of water was thrown in his face. Rhys stood beside me, his face a mask of cold fury. “Get lost,” he snarled. Then, he turned to me, his expression softening as he gently rubbed my knee, murmuring “baby, baby” under his breath. Bryan completely lost it. “Sloane, you cheating bitch! You’re engaged to me, and you have a lover on the side! Just you wait, I’ll tell your parents! I heard the real son wants you out of the house anyway!” Rhys’s eyes widened. He grabbed the pitcher of water from the table and dumped the entire contents on Bryan’s head. “You’re talking nonsense!” he roared. He then looked at me, his eyes wide with panic. “I’m not! I don’t! He’s lying!” Bryan’s face was green with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at us. “Lover… just you wait!” 8. “Baby, your fiancé is an idiot. You should choose me instead.” On the drive home, Rhys wouldn’t stop comparing himself to Bryan. I leaned back in my seat, my eyes closed, occasionally offering a noncommittal “mm-hmm.” My phone had been blowing up with dozens of messages. [Miss Prescott, what’s it like being a fake heiress?] [Wow, the fake heiress has a lover on the side? Classy.] It was obvious Bryan was spreading malicious rumors. The Prescott and Croft families moved in the same circles. A little bit of gossip could spread like wildfire. Exasperated, I turned off my phone and asked Rhys, “Your official welcoming ceremony is this Friday, right?” Rhys nodded, winking at me. “I’m planning a surprise for you at the party, baby.” A surprise? Knowing him, it was more likely to be a disaster. My parents were taking Rhys’s welcoming ceremony very seriously. They had invited all the big names from the city’s elite, determined to pave the way for his success. At the party, I was dressed in a beautiful evening gown, trying to be inconspicuous as I ate my cake. Now that my status as the “fake” daughter was known, people were politely avoiding me. Rhys, however, stuck by my side, dutifully fetching me food. Bryan walked over, a sneer on his face when he saw us together. “Sloane, it’s the Prescott heir’s welcoming party. Aren’t you ashamed to bring your lover here?” His voice was loud, drawing the attention of the surrounding guests. Rhys calmly wiped a bit of cake from the corner of my mouth. “He’s not my lover. He’s my perfectly legitimate husband.” A collective gasp went through the crowd. Bryan’s face turned a deep shade of red. “You’re engaged to me, and you’re cheating on me in public! Just you wait! When the real Prescott heir comes out, I’ll have him throw both of you out!” Rhys just gave him a polite nod, then muttered “idiot” under his breath. Suddenly, there was a stir in the crowd. My parents were making their way towards us. “Rhys, Sloane, come over here!” We walked over to them. The onlookers were starting to look confused. My father beamed, gesturing to Rhys. “This is my son, Rhys Prescott! And this is my daughter, Sloane Prescott!” The crowd was stunned. Bryan looked like he was about to have a stroke. He pointed at us, his face a mask of disbelief. After his announcement, my father handed the microphone to Rhys. Rhys introduced himself with his usual cool demeanor, then his expression softened. “In front of everyone here, I’d like to announce a decision I’ve made. I am giving up my position as the heir to the Prescott family.” The hall fell silent. The only son was renouncing his claim? Who would inherit the family fortune now? All eyes turned to me. My parents were stunned. I was stunned. I tugged on his sleeve and whispered, “Are you crazy? The Prescott name is crucial for your business expansion here.” Rhys just shrugged. “I was only planning to expand my business here to find you anyway.” I was speechless. My parents, ever the optimists, were already tearing up, gushing about how strong the bond between us siblings was. The crowd, however, just thought we were flirting. My father’s expression was complicated, but he quickly accepted the situation. He clapped Rhys on the shoulder and turned to me. “From now on, the future of the Prescott family is in your hands, Sloane!” I cursed Rhys a thousand times in my head. I had finally managed to unload all that responsibility onto him so I could be free, and now it was all back on my plate. And in the crowd, my ex-fiancé, Bryan, had lost all his arrogance. He was looking at me with a new, calculating glint in his eyes.

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My mother hated me, but she treated my cousin like she was a precious gem. My childhood was a blur of chores and punishments for the slightest mistake, while my cousin wore princess dresses, played the piano, and was doted on by my aunt and uncle. Then came the night of my cousin’s birthday. My mother, drunk on wine and bitterness, confessed the truth: she had switched us at birth. I wasn’t her daughter. I belonged to my aunt. Ecstatic, my heart soaring with hope, I ran to my aunt with the news. But she just met my story with an icy smile. “You think I didn’t know?” she said. “But I don’t want you. You will never be my daughter.” It was like a bucket of ice water being poured over my soul. I couldn’t understand why I was the child no one wanted. From that day forward, I stopped begging for scraps of love. Years later, when I earned my acceptance to Yale and slapped two DNA reports down on the table in front of them, they both finally panicked. 1 “Leah, where the hell are you? Did you forget your cousin’s birthday?” The voice on the phone was a lit match. I flinched, snapping my textbook shut and hiding it in the kitchen cabinet where I slept. A second later, the sliding door to the back patio rattled open and my mother, Sharon, filled the frame. Seeing me standing there, small and silent, a look of pure disgust soured her face. “Look at you, pathetic. Nothing like your cousin. What are you doing hiding in here? Let’s go. Now.” I scurried to follow her. When I wasn’t fast enough, she grabbed my arm and yanked, so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet. My mother didn’t love me. I’d known this my whole life. My aunt, Carol, once explained it was because my father had been a deadbeat who’d walked out on us. That was the story, anyway. A ghost I was being punished for. So I tried to be perfect. I tiptoed through the house. I got straight A’s, once holding up a test with a perfect 100 printed in red at the top. She’d ripped it in half and thrown the pieces at my face. “You could study for a thousand years,” she’d snarled, “and you’d still never be half the girl your cousin is.” I’d choked back tears and just studied harder, determined to prove her wrong. I wasn’t worse. I wasn’t less than Chloe. But then she took my pencils and notebooks and replaced them with a broom and a bottle of Windex. “If you have so much free time, you can make yourself useful. This house better be spotless from now on. And you’re going to learn to cook. I’m not feeding a freeloader.” And just like that, the one path I had to prove myself was barricaded. Maybe she was right. Maybe a child born unloved can never compete with one who is cherished. Arriving at my aunt’s house drove the point home. Chloe was holding court in a beautiful pink dress and a little rhinestone tiara, surrounded by a crowd of equally well-dressed friends, ready to cut into a massive cake. I hesitated at the door, scared to even take off my shoes. My socks had holes in them. The sole of my left sneaker was loose; one wrong move and it might flap open like a mouth. Seeing me linger, my mother’s patience snapped. She muttered something about me being an embarrassment and shoved a pair of men’s oversized flip-flops at my feet before plastering a brilliant smile on her face and presenting her gift to Chloe. “For you, sweetie. I know you wanted this one.” It was a delicate crystal necklace, the pendant shaped like a swan. On Chloe, it looked magnificent. She looked like a real princess. A pang of envy, sharp and bitter, shot through me. We shared a birthday, Chloe and I, but I’d never gotten a gift, let alone something so beautiful. “Thank you, Aunt Sharon!” Chloe chirped, and my mother’s face lit up. “Anything for my brilliant, wonderful girl,” she said, then shot a look in my direction. “Not like that one. Barely speaks. Might as well be a ghost.” I stared at my reflection in the polished hardwood floor, a skinny, hunched-over shadow. A rat spying on a feast. Some of Chloe’s friends were looking at me, whispering. One asked Chloe how old I was, if I was in elementary school. We were in the same grade at the same middle school. But I was invisible there, too. I sat in the last seat of a 49-student classroom. No one talked to me. I was the girl in the ill-fitting hand-me-downs who smelled like mothballs and sadness. They said I was like an orphan. Chloe glanced at me. “No, we’re the same age,” she said quickly. “Anyway, let’s do the candles!” My Aunt Carol, seeing me stranded by the door, walked over. Her voice was always gentle. “Leah, come on. You can help Chloe blow out her candles.” But standing next to my cousin, under the bright lights of the dining room, the feeling of being less-than only intensified. Someone wrinkled their nose. “Ugh, what’s that smell?” I flinched, a Pavlovian response to any criticism. Others started sniffing the air. Chloe frowned, her eyes landing on me. “Leah, is that you? Maybe… maybe you should go take a shower or something.” I instinctively sniffed the collar of my worn t-shirt. I’d showered right before we left. It couldn’t be me. “It’s not…” My eyes fell to the giant flip-flops on my feet. “Maybe it’s the shoes?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Chloe snapped, her voice sharp. “Those are my dad’s. They’re brand new. It’s you. Do you have athlete’s foot or something?” Panic seized me. I didn’t know whether to take them off or argue. My mother, already half-drunk on celebratory wine, heard the commotion and stormed over. Without a word, she slapped me across the face. The crack echoed in the suddenly silent room. “You’re old enough to know how to keep yourself clean! Get outside and wait for me. Now!” The other kids stared, their mouths hanging open. My face was on fire, a hot, spreading shame that felt worse than the sting. A tiny, nascent bud of self-respect had just tried to bloom inside me, and my mother had crushed it under her heel. Aunt Carol finally stepped in. “Sharon, what are you doing? It’s not her fault. Mark’s feet stink. It has nothing to do with the kid.” I looked at her with a rush of gratitude. I often wished she were my mother. She would speak to me gently. She wouldn’t hit me. I’d get a cake on my birthday and I wouldn’t have to spend my life scrubbing floors. But my mother just shot me a glare before turning to Chloe, her face melting into a mask of apology. “Chloe, honey, I am so, so sorry. This little brat ruined your party. I promise you, I will deal with her when we get home.” A cold dread washed over me. I knew what “dealing with her” meant. She dragged me out of the house. The second the door closed behind us, she shoved me, hard. I lost my footing at the top of the porch stairs and tumbled down, landing in a heap on the concrete. It wasn’t enough. She was on me in a second, grabbing my hair and slapping me again, twice. “You bitch,” she hissed, her breath thick with wine. “You useless little bitch. Why didn’t you just die when you were born?” My head swam. For a second, I didn’t know if the insults were for me or for herself. Inside the house, my cousin was celebrating. Out here, I was being beaten. Something snapped. A dam of years of swallowed resentment and silent grief burst inside me. I found a strength I didn’t know I had and shoved her away. “If you hate me so much,” I screamed, my voice raw, “why did you even have me?” She froze, stunned by my defiance. “You think I wanted you? If it wasn’t for…” She stopped herself, her eyes wide as if she’d almost let a secret slip. Back at our apartment, she cracked open a bottle of cheap vodka and sat drinking in the dark living room, muttering about how I’d ruined everything. I hid in the kitchen, where my small mattress was shoved into a corner. It was my bedroom. Through the window, moonlight spilled onto the floor. I wiped my tears, pulled my textbook from its hiding place, and started to read. I was slow. I had to work twice as hard to keep up with Chloe, to have any hope of getting into a good high school. Hours later, the kitchen light flickered on. My mother stood there, swaying. I shoved my book under the thin blanket, my heart hammering. She staggered over and stood looking down at me. I braced myself. But then, she smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile. The kind she only ever gave Chloe. “Mom loves you so much,” she slurred, her voice thick. “You won’t hate me, will you?” I stared, frozen. The world stopped spinning. Did she just say she loved me? But then she collapsed onto the edge of my mattress, her head lolling onto my shoulder. Her next words were a woozy whisper. “Chloe… my sweet Chloe. When you get into college, you’ll come back to Mom, right? We’ll be a family. They don’t deserve you. That bitch and her husband… they don’t deserve my perfect girl.” Her voice dropped even lower, a conspiratorial murmur against my ear. “If Mom wasn’t so broke back then… no job, no money… I never would have swapped you with that little brat. I love you so, so much, my Chloe…” Boom. A hammer crashed down inside my skull. Could it be true? I wasn’t her daughter? I was Aunt Carol’s? I thought of my aunt’s gentle voice, her kind eyes. The way she always seemed to look at Chloe with so much love. Could that love, that tenderness, be meant for me? Could I really have a mother like that? I barely slept. The next day, I had a plan. After school, I saw Aunt Carol’s car pull up to get Chloe. I waited, hiding behind a tree until they were at their front door, and then I called out her name. She looked surprised but told Chloe to go inside, then walked back to the sidewalk to meet me. “What is it, Leah? Is something wrong?” My hands twisted the hem of my shirt. I forced myself to repeat my mother’s drunken words, every last detail. My voice shook. “Aunt Carol,” I finished, my heart in my throat. “Am I… am I really your daughter?” The warmth in her face vanished. The smile disappeared. She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw my mother in her eyes. A chilling coldness. “You think I’m your mother?” she asked, her voice flat. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I regretted everything. I’d made a mistake. Now she would hate me, too. “I… I want you to be,” I whispered. She laughed, a short, ugly sound. All the gentleness I’d ever imagined was gone, replaced by pure mockery. “You think I don’t know?” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “Of course I know. But what does it matter? It doesn’t matter if you’re my child or not. I don’t want you. You will never, ever be my daughter.” She turned and walked away without a backward glance. I stood there on the sidewalk for a long time, long after her door had shut, long after the sun had set. It didn’t matter who gave birth to me. My mother didn’t love me. My aunt didn’t want me. I was nobody’s child. After that day, I stopped asking questions. I stopped hoping for love. I still didn’t know the whole truth, but I knew one thing for sure: the only person who could change my life was me. And the only way to do that was to study. I became a machine. I studied during class, between classes, during lunch. At home, after scrubbing the floors and making dinner, I studied in my kitchen corner by the light of the moon. I would get into the best high school. And then I would get into the best college. It didn’t matter if they loved me. I would love myself. It paid off. On the midterm exams, I ranked first in our grade. Chloe was second. She cried when she saw the results. She’d never been second to anyone, especially not to me. Aunt Carol rushed to her side, wrapping her in a hug, murmuring comforts. “It doesn’t matter what you score, honey. Mommy will always love you.” My mother came, too. When she saw Chloe’s tear-streaked face, she walked straight over to me and kicked my shin so hard I buckled. “You useless piece of trash,” she hissed for all to hear. “What did you do to make your cousin cry? Apologize to her. Right now.” I was on my knees on the cold linoleum floor of the school hallway. This time, Aunt Carol didn’t even look at me. She just steered Chloe away. My mother kicked me again. “Are you deaf? I said apologize!” But what had I done wrong? My homeroom teacher, Ms. Albright, intervened, pulling my mother away. As she left, my mother spat on the floor near my feet. “Goddamn mute. You should’ve just died.” Then she hurried off, no doubt to find Chloe. Ms. Albright helped me up and took me back to her empty classroom. She made me a cup of hot chocolate from a packet she kept in her desk. “Leah,” she started, then sighed. “It’s cold out. Drink this. It’ll warm you up.” She looked at me, her expression full of a pained kindness I wasn’t used to. “You know, you’ve earned something special. From now on, in this class, the number one student gets a title. We’ll call it the ‘Solo’ spot. Because being at the top means you’re in a class all by yourself. And this time, that title belongs to you.” The classroom was empty, but her words felt like a standing ovation. Tears pricked my eyes. She had found a way to give me a name that meant something other than unwanted. For the name Solo, I would work even harder. Ms. Albright moved my desk from the forgotten back corner to the front row, right by her podium. For the first time, I had a deskmate. Her name was Maya. She was a cheerful, chubby girl who always had snacks and would sometimes slide a bag of chips or a cookie onto my desk. “Solo, you’re so skinny. Don’t you ever eat?” I was in charge of cooking at home, but when my mother wasn’t there, the pantry was empty. I often went hungry. She didn’t give me money for the school cafeteria; my existence was an afterthought. When Maya figured this out, she started packing extra food, claiming she couldn’t possibly finish it all and begging me to help her out. Under her care, I gained a little weight. My cheeks filled out. In return, I helped her with her homework, and slowly, I started to talk more, my voice growing stronger. The high school entrance exams were a month away. I was ready. But on the morning of the first test, my mother locked me in the kitchen. I screamed, I banged on the door, but she wouldn’t open it. Through the glass pane, I saw her take the exam admission letter and all the books I’d hidden in the cabinet and rip them to shreds. I sank to the floor amidst the confetti of my future. Her voice came from the other side of the door. “What’s the point of all that studying? Even if you got in, I wouldn’t pay for it. You’re not Chloe. Just accept your fate.” My heart felt like it had turned to stone. “Mom,” I asked, my voice flat and dead, “is Chloe your real daughter?” I saw her shadow freeze. “What nonsense are you talking about? I’m your mother. If you were half as well-behaved as your cousin, I wouldn’t have to do this!” I didn’t know what I had ever done that was so wrong. One by one, I picked up the torn pieces of my admission letter and put them in my pocket. Her voice droned on. “I’m telling you, your future is in a factory or married off to some loser! I raised you all these years, it’s time you paid me back. Stop trying to compete with your cousin. You can’t.” I didn’t hear her. I was looking at the window. An idea, wild and terrifying, took root. We lived on the third floor. Below the kitchen window was the building’s shared carport, covered by a corrugated plastic awning. If I was lucky, I’d land on the awning. If I wasn’t… I closed my eyes. A broken arm, a broken leg. It was a price I was willing to pay. I had to fight for myself, just this once.

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I was transported into the school-themed level of a horror game. My designated role? The ditzy damsel. When the jock collapsed from heatstroke, I revived him with a mouth-to-mouth transfer of water until he woke up, flushed and flustered. When the class president was haunted by a succubus, I was the one who blocked its escape, my hands held firm. Afterwards, he led me to the sink and washed my hands for me, his gaze intense and silent. When my quiet, introverted deskmate was being bullied, I was the one who stood up for him, hiding him in a locker and comforting him until the danger passed. But when the final countdown began and the monsters started their massacre, the other players scattered in terror. I sought out the most ruthless player in the game. “H-hello,” I stammered, holding out the key. “Can… can you take me with you?” His expression was cold, arrogant, but his words were shockingly crude. “Sure. But you have to sleep with me.” 1 A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my ears. [Level loading… SSS-Rank Level: Redwood Boys’ Academy. Time limit: five days. Players must find the key to the school gate and escape to win.] [Friendly reminder: Players must adhere to all school rules. Violators will be eliminated by the level. The current rules are as follows…] [One: No tardiness or leaving early without a valid reason.] [Two: Strictly maintain classroom discipline.] [Three: No staying out late or overnight.] [Additionally, there are hidden rules within the level that players must discover for themselves. We wish all players a successful run.] The voice faded, and my eyes snapped open. The air was thick with the buzz of hushed whispers. Our homeroom teacher stood at the front, his face ashen, his lips tinged with blue. He brandished his pointer. “Quiet!” The classroom fell instantly, eerily silent. He scanned the room, a satisfied smirk twisting his lips. With new transfer students, he felt the need to re-emphasize the importance of the rules. I kept my head down, listening silently. The reason was simple: the room was filled with monsters. I could feel several pairs of excited, predatory eyes fixed on me. I pressed my lips together, terrified of making eye contact. When the bell finally rang, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. In my peripheral vision, I saw my introverted deskmate slumped over his desk, radiating an aura of complete detachment. My plan to gather clues from him was dead in the water. Before I could come up with a new strategy, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. My eyes flew open. I turned to see a male student I didn’t recognize draping his arm around me, his fingers tracing my collarbone. “Hey, pretty new thing,” he purred. “Help me out and turn in my homework for me.” I vaguely remembered him. He was the teacher’s pet, the class representative. I was about to refuse, but a thick stack of notebooks was thrust into my hands. After a moment of hesitation, I took them and left. As I stepped out of the classroom, I overheard a group of cocky NPC students in the corner, openly objectifying me. “Ha, he looks so dumb. Bet he’s easy.” “His skin is so pale and soft. He’d probably be fun to break.” I bit my lip and pretended not to hear. One line from the level’s description stood out in my mind: In a boys’ school overflowing with testosterone, the combination of young flesh and raw desire is tragically common. I took a deep breath, steeling my resolve to escape this place as quickly as possible. The next second, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the end of the hall. “Murder! He’s killing people!” 2 Pus-filled tentacles burst through a tweed suit jacket. The mild-mannered teacher had shed his disguise, his face contorted into a grotesque, monstrous grin. For some unknown reason, he was attacking the players. Each thrust of a tentacle claimed a life. I watched in horror as one player sprinted toward me. A moment later, a sharp tentacle pierced through his chest. Warm blood splattered across my face. I stood frozen as the monster slithered closer. A drop of foul-smelling ichor landed between my eyebrows. The air whistled as a tentacle swung down. My heart seized, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. Suddenly, a scream erupted from behind me. “Run!” Desperate cries echoed through the hallway. After what felt like an eternity, the corridor fell silent. My hands suddenly felt light. The class president, Cole, had taken the homework from me. He looked down at me, his voice laced with mockery. “Congratulations. You survived by being too stupid to run.” Before I could react, he walked away, the notebooks tucked under his arm. With the monster gone, players from other classes poked their heads out, whispering amongst themselves. I soon learned the reason for the creature’s rampage. A player from the next class had tried to cozy up to the NPC teacher, offering to be his new class representative. The monster agreed and told the player to come to his office after class. But the moment the player stepped inside, the teacher’s lips peeled back to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. “You’re late, student.” By the time the player realized they had never set a specific time, it was too late. Suddenly, an alarm blared from the system. [Warning! Warning! Do not make casual agreements with NPCs!] [Do not be late! Do not be late!] [Congratulations to player “Zane” for triggering a hidden rule…] [Rule Four: No running or roughhousing in the hallways between classes.] A wave of relief washed over me. No wonder the monster had been slaughtering all the players who had been sprinting down the hall. I looked down, chastising myself. Cole was right. Only a fool too stunned to even think of running could have survived that. I turned to go back to my classroom. Just then, the system’s voice announced in my mind: [Initial players: 30. Remaining players: 22.] 3 The curriculum at Redwood Boys’ Academy wasn’t exactly demanding. We had gym class on the very first afternoon. I changed into shorts and a t-shirt and warmed up in a corner by myself. As soon as the teacher announced free time, I made a beeline for the tuck shop, sticking close to the other players. While I was stretching, I had felt several pairs of eyes on me, and I’d overheard some disgusting comments. “His legs are so white and smooth. You think he’s a girl?” “Fuck, that’d be even better…” “We should go have some fun with him later.” I didn’t dare ask the other players for help directly, so I just tried to stay near them for safety. Suddenly, someone on the field shouted. “Help! The sports rep passed out from the heat!” I turned, my eyes wide with disbelief. A super-strong monster had fainted? Worried it might be related to the level’s objective, I reluctantly made my way to the center of the field. A circle of students had formed around the sports representative, a well-built boy with tan skin, who was lying unconscious on the ground. Several other players were there, but they were hesitant to act. I didn’t want to be the one to stick my neck out either, but I noticed the NPCs were starting to give us increasingly cold stares. Suddenly, a system notification popped up. [Congratulations, host. As the first to trigger a hidden rule, you have been awarded a small clue.] After a moment of hesitation, I asked, “What happens if we don’t save him?” [At midnight, the deceased sports representative will return as a vengeful spirit,] the system replied matter-of-factly. [All players who witnessed his plight and did nothing will suffer a gruesome fate.] My face paled. As the seconds ticked by, I clutched the half-empty water bottle in my hand, grit my teeth, and pushed my way through the crowd. It was a choice between death and social suicide. I knew which one to pick. I took a large gulp of water, held it in my mouth, and, steeling myself, pressed my lips to his. The moment our lips met, the crowd of students seemed to surge forward, forming a tight, impenetrable wall around us. The sound of the water transferring between our mouths was amplified, disgustingly loud. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but I could hear whispers from above. “He smells so good.” “So soft and pink. Look, there’s a string of saliva.” He still wasn’t waking up. In a panic, I started blowing in his ear and tried to unbutton his shirt to cool him down. Suddenly, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. The jock’s eyes fluttered open, his face and ears beet red. He cursed under his breath. “Idiot. Is that any way to save someone?” 4 I stood there, completely flustered, as he dragged me to a secluded corner of the field. “I know you. The new transfer student.” “You have a crush on me, don’t you?” I was stunned. “N-no,” I stammered. “I’d help anyone who fainted.” He paused, then said with utter conviction, “I don’t believe you. If it was a 300-pound guy with a face full of pimples, would you have done the same?” His question made me hesitate. “See?” he said triumphantly. “You like me.” After a moment, I managed a weak rebuttal. “I don’t even know your name.” He nodded. “So it’s my face you like.” I was speechless. He was handsome, with his sharp eyebrows and striking eyes, but his confidence was off the charts. He took my silence as an admission. “My name is Axel,” he said. “I can be your boyfriend.” Before I could refuse, he cupped my face in his hands. “Don’t get too close to any other guys, you hear me?” I pressed my lips together, at a complete loss for words. Axel leaned in, his gaze fixed on my lips, his ears bright red. “Babe, let’s kiss a little longer.” My eyes widened in shock, but his grip was like iron. A wave of raw, masculine energy washed over me as he pressed his lips to mine. He kept me hidden in that corner of the field and kissed me until the sun began to set. He kissed me until tears started to well up in my eyes. He held me close, whispering sweet nothings until I calmed down. When he finally walked me back to the dorms, he was reluctant to let me go. “Get some sleep tonight, babe,” he murmured. “And don’t go wandering around.” Remembering the third school rule, I lowered my eyes and mumbled my agreement. 5 After escaping back to my dorm, the last person I expected to see was my roommate, Cole. He glanced at me, his eyes lingering on my swollen lips. “Some people work fast,” he sneered. “Barely here a day and you’ve already hooked up with some brute.” I didn’t say anything. I kicked off my shoes and climbed into my bunk. The moment I pulled the covers over my head, a wave of self-pity washed over me. It was all Axel’s fault. I had missed dinner. I was starving. Tears started to stream down my face. Cole must have heard me sniffling, because he yanked my covers off. He froze for a second. “What’s wrong with you?” At that point, I just let it all out. “I’m hungry,” I sobbed. The atmosphere turned awkward. “I’ll go make you some instant noodles,” he said stiffly. The door opened and closed. A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl. The familiar aroma made my eyes well up again. “Cole,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, “you’re a really good person.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Don’t mention it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just stay away from certain… bad influences.” I slurped my noodles and nodded enthusiastically. He had a point. I needed to stay away from any man who made me miss a meal. 6 I slept soundly that night. The next morning, Cole woke me up. “Time for class.” Remembering the school rules, I shot out of bed. As I was leaving, I thanked him, but I noticed he looked pale. “Are you not feeling well?” I asked. He was silent for a moment, then said nonchalantly, “I’m fine. Just had a bit of sleep paralysis.” The hairs on my arms stood on end. As a native of this horror level, wasn’t Cole technically a monster himself? He could get sleep paralysis? Something was wrong. I made a mental note to keep an eye on him tonight. When I got to the classroom, all the other players were already there. They had spent the previous day trying to trigger all the hidden rules to avoid any unknown dangers while searching for the key. So far, no one had succeeded. The bell rang, and the teacher walked in, a sinister smile on his face. “Good morning, class. A new day has begun. The early bird gets the worm. Now, let’s check yesterday’s homework.” The players’ faces fell. The teacher hadn’t assigned any homework yesterday. But all the other students were pulling out their notebooks. The new players exchanged panicked glances. I sat by the door, which meant I would be the first to face the teacher’s wrath. My palms started to sweat. As if sensing my anxiety, the teacher pushed up his glasses and smiled. “Good students always do their homework. Let’s see yours.” 7 My heart pounded in my chest. Just as I was about to stammer out an explanation, the classroom door was kicked open. “Permission to enter!” Axel stood in the doorway, a cocky grin on his face. “Sir, the head of department asked me to pick up some books.” After a quick glance at the stamped permission slip, the teacher’s foul mood seemed to ease slightly. “Next time, manage your time better.” Axel strolled into the classroom. As he passed my desk, he subtly bumped into me. A notebook landed in my lap, along with a piece of paper folded into a heart. I quickly hid the note. The teacher was now standing in front of me, his presence suffocating. “Your homework, student?” The other players gave me looks of pity. I swallowed hard and pretended to search my desk. “Here it is, sir.” The teacher seemed surprised. He took the notebook and examined it closely. After a moment, he set it down, a hint of anger in his voice. “Very good. Since the new student has completed the assignment so well, we’ll just check his homework today to save time.” With that, he teleported to another player’s desk. “And yours?” he asked, his voice dripping with menace. The other players were going to hate me for this. But if it weren’t for Axel, I would have been done for. I secretly unfolded the note. I was hoping for a clue, but it was just an apology from Axel. [Babe must have been starving yesterday… I was worried you wouldn’t have the energy to do your homework, so I stayed up and did it for you. No need to thank me. See you on the roof at lunch. xoxo] I ignored the last sentence. My guilt vanished. This was just compensation, after all.

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1 On the day of what was meant to be my eighteenth birthday party—but was really Chloe’s—my father came home with a dress box from a Fifth Avenue boutique. Inside was a cascade of silk and seed pearls. Chloe, my adopted sister, rushed to him, linking her arm through his with the easy ownership she’d cultivated over a decade. “Daddy, you shouldn’t have,” she purred. “But I’m so glad you did.” My brother, Ethan, followed her, a warm smile gracing his lips. “Good choice, Dad. It’ll look stunning on her.” I instinctively took a step back, my fingers smoothing over the faded fabric of my worn-out blouse. A thing of such beauty was never meant for me. In this house, I was a ghost, a reminder of a tragedy they had all decided was my fault. But this time, my father’s eyes found mine. He gestured for me to come forward and placed the heavy, luxurious box into my hands. “It’s for Elara.” The air in the grand foyer crackled with a sudden, sharp tension. Chloe’s smile froze, cracking at the edges. Ethan’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he stepped forward, ready to champion her cause. “Dad, it’s Chloe’s birthday too!” he protested, snatching the box from my grasp. He glared at me, his voice laced with the familiar contempt I’d grown up with. “Someone like her has no right to wear something this beautiful.” The fragile flicker of hope that had ignited in my chest was instantly extinguished. But my father, for the first time in ten years, ignored them. He took the box back from Ethan and pressed it firmly into my hands again, his gaze unreadable. “We have guests arriving soon. Go get ready. I want you to look presentable.” Ethan let out a sound of disgust, a short, sharp tsk. He turned his back on me, wrapping a comforting arm around Chloe’s shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, loud enough for me to hear. “He just bought you that sapphire necklace, remember? Put it on. Let everyone see who the real Sterling family daughter is.” He shot me one last, cold look before leading Chloe away. Ethan was my brother. We’d shared a womb, a childhood, a mother. He knew better than anyone who the real daughter was. But the day the ocean took our mother, it took my family, too. In their eyes, I was no longer a daughter or a sister. I was the sin they couldn’t wash away. I took a deep breath and, against my better judgment, I put on the dress. When I emerged, the house was already filled with people. They were Chloe’s friends, mostly—a flock of girls who knew which way the social winds blew. Whenever they visited, Chloe would introduce me with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, that’s just Elara. She helps around the house.” My father and brother had given her the confidence to transform from the timid orphan she once was into the reigning princess of our home. One of the girls, a blonde named Tiffany, spotted me and smirked. “Chloe, you’re a saint. Dressing the help better than some of the guests.” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll outshine you?” another chimed in. Chloe’s eyes narrowed as she looked me over. Before she could speak, Ethan stepped in, his voice dripping with condescension. “Putting a designer dress on a nobody doesn’t change who she is. It takes more than that to have class.” The group laughed. Tiffany, sensing an opportunity for sport, sauntered over and nudged my foot with the pointed toe of her designer heel. “Hey, you. Get me a glass of champagne.” For ten years, since I lost my mother, I had lost the will to fight. I’d absorbed their cruelty, their neglect, their endless slights, believing it was my penance. But the weight of the silk, the shimmer of the pearls… it had woken something in me. A foolish, dangerous spark of defiance. I shook my head. “I’m not the maid. You can get it yourself.” A flash of anger crossed her face. She spun around to Chloe. “Can you believe the nerve? If she worked for my family, she’d be fired on the spot!” Before Chloe could reply, my father called her over. They spoke in hushed tones for a moment, and when she returned, her expression had shifted into one of magnanimous pity. “I’ve always thought of Elara as a sister,” she announced to her friends. “Please, don’t tease her.” A short while later, my father stood on the makeshift stage in the ballroom, a microphone in his hand. He began his speech with a tribute to my mother, his voice thick with practiced grief. Then, he turned his attention to Chloe. “We have cherished Chloe, my son and I, raised her as our own precious girl,” he said, his voice resonating through the speakers. “Today she turns eighteen. I wish her a life filled with joy and peace.” An ache bloomed in my chest. Since Mom was gone, no one had wished me joy. My life had become an endless act of atonement. Then, my father’s gaze fell on me. His eyes held a strange mixture of hesitation and something else… something I couldn’t decipher. My heart hammered against my ribs. I clutched the silk of the dress, my knuckles white. He raised his hand, pointing directly at me. The spotlight operator, following his gesture, swung a bright, searing beam onto me, blinding me for a second. And then he spoke, his voice cold and clear, for everyone to hear. “The maid. Who gave you permission to steal my daughter’s dress?” The world stopped. A wave of whispers washed over the room. Tiffany let out a snort of laughter, clapping Chloe on the shoulder. “I knew it! No wonder she had such an attitude. A common thief.” A chill, colder than any ocean wave, seeped into my bones. This wasn’t a peace offering. It was a public execution. Ethan appeared at my side, his breath a cold whisper in my ear. “This is for Mom,” he hissed. “You don’t deserve to live, let alone be loved.” 2 My mind snapped back a decade. The sun, the sand, the salt-laced air. Our first and only family trip to the coast. My father, Richard, had Ethan perched on his shoulders. My mother, Eleanor, held my hand, her grip warm and firm. “Stay out of the water, my love,” she’d warned gently. “The tide is strong today.” I’d nodded obediently, content to build a sandcastle at the edge of the surf. But as a wave rushed in, I felt it—a sharp, deliberate shove from behind. I tumbled into the churning water, swallowing a mouthful of saltwater, crying out in panic. My mother heard me. She ran into the waves without a second’s thought, her only goal to reach me. She pushed my small, sputtering body towards the shore, into Ethan’s waiting arms. Then the big one came. A wall of green and white that rose up and crashed down, swallowing her whole. My father searched for her like a madman, screaming her name until his voice was raw, until the sun had sunk below the horizon and the sky was bruised with twilight. The lifeguards who finally arrived told him what he already knew. Just beyond the breakers was a treacherous rocky cliff face. She was gone. He cried all night. The next day, he was a different man. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a permanent winter. He forbade me from calling him “Dad.” Ethan, traumatized, fell into a fever that lasted three days. He called for Mom in his delirium, and my father sat by his bed, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. When he looked at me, standing in the doorway chewing on my fingernails, his grief curdled into rage. “Your mother told you to stay out of the water! Why didn’t you listen?” he roared. “You killed the only person I ever loved. You are not my daughter anymore!” I sobbed, clinging to his legs, trying to explain that I was pushed. But when he demanded to know who, the words died in my throat. I hadn’t seen them. I didn’t know. That was the day my father gave up on me completely. He never held me again. When Ethan recovered, the first thing he did was convince our father to take him to an orphanage. He personally selected a girl who shared our birthday. He brought Chloe home. They poured all their broken, misdirected love into her. And I, who had once been the center of their world, became the family servant. I woke before dawn to make breakfast, meticulously preparing the seafood risotto Chloe favored. My father drove her to her private academy in his Mercedes. I walked the three miles to the public school, rain or shine. Whenever tears threatened to fall, I would pull out the worn photograph of my mother I kept hidden in my pocket. Her last words to me, screamed over the roar of the ocean, were, “Live, Elara. Just live.” For her, I had endured. I had made it to eighteen. I was almost free. But my father’s words now were a blade twisting in my heart. Mom, I don’t think I can keep my promise much longer. Ethan grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and yanked me to the floor. “Stop playing dead. That dress costs a fortune. How do you plan on paying for it?” Chloe drifted over, her expression a perfect mask of sorrow. “Elara, I thought of you as family. How could you disappoint me like this?” It took a moment for my voice to work. “It’s not your dress, Chloe,” I whispered, my gaze fixed on the man on the stage. “He… my father… he gave it to me.” A murmur rippled through the guests at my use of the word “father.” “I didn’t know Richard Sterling had another daughter.” “Look at her… she has Eleanor’s eyes. A spitting image of his late wife.” The whispers grew louder. My father descended the stairs, his face a thundercloud. He stalked towards me, grabbed my chin, and forced me to look at him. “I told you never to call me that,” he snarled. “You are not worthy.” The crowd gasped. He straightened up, addressing the room. “She was my daughter,” he announced, his voice booming with authority. “But the day her carelessness killed my wife, I swore I would never acknowledge her again.” Chloe’s friends stared at me with newfound disgust. “You’re the reason Mrs. Sterling is dead?” one of them whispered. “You’re a monster.” Looking at the cold stranger who was once my father, the tears I had held back for a decade finally broke free. “She wasn’t killed by me! I was pushed—!” The sharp crack of his hand across my face silenced me. The world tilted, my cheek screaming in pain. “You do not speak her name!” he bellowed, his carefully constructed facade of a grieving, gentle widower shattered. It was the first time he had ever hit me in front of anyone. He turned away from my crumpled form on the floor, his voice regaining its composure. “From now on, she is simply the help. Anyone here… feel free to make use of her.” 3 He returned to the stage and announced, “Let the party begin.” Chloe, surrounded by her court, glided to the head table, pausing to look down at me. “Well, you heard him, Elara,” she said sweetly. “My friends are thirsty.” The eyes on me were no longer just curious; they were predatory. Hands beckoned, voices called out orders for wine, for appetizers. Tiffany swaggered over, a triumphant smirk on her face. She leaned down, tapping my stinging cheek. “Now,” she said, “about that champagne?” Numbly, I retrieved a glass and handed it to her. She took it, and with a deliberate flick of her wrist, she emptied its contents all over her own dress. Chloe and her friends rushed over at Tiffany’s shriek. “I just asked her for a drink!” Tiffany wailed, clutching at her stained gown. “She’s so arrogant, she just threw it at me! This is haute couture! Can she even afford to have it cleaned?” Chloe looked at me, her eyes brimming with false disappointment. “Elara, why must you always make things so difficult for everyone?” A blond boy I recognized as Julian Vance, whose family was notoriously wealthy and equally notorious for their scandals, stepped forward. “Chloe, darling, don’t let this trash ruin your night. I’ll handle it.” His eyes roamed over me like I was something on a menu. He picked up a full glass of red wine from a passing tray and poured it slowly over my head, drenching the bodice of the pearl dress. The silk clung to me, outlining everything beneath. The room erupted in laughter. I crossed my arms over my chest, humiliated, desperate to escape. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I’ll pay for the dress. I’ll work to pay for it.” “Pay with what?” Julian sneered, his gaze lingering. He licked his lips. “You know, you’re not bad looking under all that misery. Why don’t you come with me? My family has a little money. You behave, and I’ll treat you better than they ever did here.” A cold sweat broke out on my back. I shook my head frantically. “No, I have money, I can pay…” He ignored me, scooping me up and throwing me over his shoulder with practiced ease. “Chloe,” he called out, “is there an empty room I can borrow?” I tried to scream, but Chloe was already there, stuffing a silk napkin into my mouth. She leaned close, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “The Vances are powerful people in this city. Make him happy, Elara. He can give you things my father and brother never would.” She patted my cheek, a gesture that was anything but kind, and pointed towards a guest room down the hall. “Have fun.” I struggled, but Julian’s grip was like iron. My gaze fell upon my brother, Ethan, standing just a few feet away, his expression conflicted. Chloe noticed him, too. She simply walked over, said something with a pretty pout, and he turned his back on me. Decisively. Completely. Tears of utter despair streamed down my face. How could they be so cruel? A voice cut through the haze of my panic. “What’s going on here?” It was my father. He looked at Chloe, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “This is your party, for God’s sake. If they want to do this, I’ll get them a hotel room.” He then looked at me, slung over Julian’s shoulder, with chilling indifference. He turned back to Chloe. “I left your real gift in your room. Go on up.” Then, he faced Julian, a placid, businesslike smile on his face. “To be chosen by you, Julian, is the girl’s good fortune.” Julian looked surprised, then chuckled, his breath hot against my ear. “You see that? Your own father is giving you to me. Who am I to refuse? I never thought a Sterling girl would be so easy to get.” My father grunted. “This is the price she pays.” His voice was devoid of all emotion. “I’ve raised her for eighteen years. It’s time she started repaying the debt.” I closed my eyes, my body trembling uncontrollably. Mom, forgive me. I can’t live like you asked me to. As I prepared to bite down on my own tongue, to end it all, a shimmering image appeared in the darkness of my mind. It was my mother, her face a mask of horror, reaching for me. “Elara!”

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After the ninety-ninth proposal, Liam finally agreed to marry me. I spent all morning on my hair and makeup, choosing a simple white dress that felt both hopeful and appropriate for the City Clerk’s office. I sat on a cold stone bench across from the grand, columned entrance from nine a.m. until the sun began to dip, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple. Then, my phone buzzed with a text from him. “Getting a license for Daisy’s dog. We’ll have to reschedule.” A moment later, a new post from Daisy popped up on my Instagram feed. A picture of her chihuahua, held in Liam’s arms, both of them beaming. The caption read: “Someone still comes running the second I call. Makes you wonder… if I called out on his wedding day, would he leave her at the altar for me? ” Beneath it, a single comment from Liam’s account appeared. “I would.” I stared at that two-word death sentence for a long time, the ambient noise of the city fading to a dull hum. And then, a strange sense of calm washed over me. It was over. The fight had gone out of me, leaving behind a hollow sort of peace. I scrolled through my contacts, found a number I’d saved but never planned to use, and dialed. “You wanted an alliance between our families, right? The City Clerk’s office closes in thirty minutes.” 1. “Are you serious?” The man on the other end of the line sounded so genuinely shocked that he stumbled over his words. “You… you mean it?” “Yes or no?” “Yes! Yes, absolutely. Don’t move. I’m on my way.” Caleb Sterling hung up so fast it was as if he was afraid I’d vanish if he stayed on the line a second longer. Less than twenty minutes later, a black Maybach screeched to a halt at the curb in front of me. The driver’s door flew open and Caleb emerged, looking nothing like the perpetually relaxed, borderline-lazy heir I’d always known him to be. It was the first time I’d ever seen him in a suit. It fit him perfectly. When I didn’t move, he leaned in close, his handsome face a mask of playful menace. “Ava Sinclair, you better not be yanking my chain. You back out now, and all bets are off…” “I’m not backing out,” I said, rising. “Let’s go.” Once we had the marriage certificate in hand, he treated it like a sacred artifact, carefully tucking it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Watching him, you’d think he was genuinely in love with me, not just with the strategic advantage our union would give his family’s business empire. As we parted ways on the steps of the courthouse, Caleb gave me a jaunty tip of his chin. “I’ll see you in a week. To pick up my bride.” I nodded. I’d just walked through the front door of my family’s estate when Liam came in behind me. He shot me a single, unreadable glance before hurrying past me into the house. He moved like a man escaping a fire. In the grand living room, my parents were sitting with a few of my uncles, all close family friends. My mother’s face lit up when she saw me, and she beckoned me over with a smile. “Darling, do you have the certificate? We asked Liam, but he said he didn’t have it.” My eyes instinctively flickered toward Liam. One of my uncles chuckled. “Well, of course she has it. Everyone knows our Ava has been desperate to lock Liam down since they were kids. She’ll guard that piece of paper with her life.” At his words, a shadow passed over Liam’s face. He stared directly at me, his eyes filled with a familiar, weary disgust and a clear warning. It was a look I knew well—a silent command to smooth things over, to explain, to manage everyone’s expectations so he wouldn’t have to. For a split second, I almost did it. The old habit was strong. But then, as the words formed on my tongue, they dissolved. Why should I? We were nothing to each other now. Let him feel the burn of uncertainty for once. Let him wait. I clutched my handbag a little tighter and smiled. “Yes, it’s with me. But you can’t see it just yet.” I let the statement hang in the air before adding, “Oh, and we set a date for the wedding. It’s one week from today.” With that, I excused myself and went upstairs, leaving a fresh wave of good-natured teasing in my wake, all of it centered on how deeply I must love Liam. They weren’t wrong about the history. Liam came to live with us when he was ten years old. We grew up like siblings, then something more—at least for me. He was the classic boy from the wrong side of the tracks, taken in by my father, and I fell for him. But he never saw it that way. He saw my affection as a gilded cage, an insult to his pride. He hated the special treatment he received because of me, the whispers that he was the Sinclair family’s charity case. All his patience, all his kindness, he saved for another girl. No matter how devoted I was, how many times I humbled myself to propose, he met it with disdain. He had no idea how many lucrative alliances my family, the Sinclairs, had to politely refuse because I insisted I would marry no one but him. He didn’t know about the quiet snubs, the closed doors, the business deals that mysteriously fell through. In our world, if you aren’t at the very top, rejection is a sign of weakness. Isolation is an invitation for predators. My love for him had become a liability my family could no longer afford. But now, they wouldn’t have to. And I didn’t need him anymore. As I was about to close my bedroom door, a figure pushed past me into the room. “Ava. We need to talk.” 2 Liam shut the door behind him, his face tight with anger. “We didn’t get a license! Why would you lie to them? And how dare you set a wedding date without talking to me.” I looked at his clenched fists and offered a placid smile. “Who says the wedding is with you?” His brow furrowed in irritation. “I don’t have time for your games. Just go back down there and clear this up. Don’t let it turn into a bigger mess than it already is.” I swallowed the familiar bitterness and walked to the window, looking out over the manicured lawns. “Don’t worry, Liam. There won’t be a mess. In fact, it’s a win-win for everyone. You’ll be… free.” His frown deepened. “What is that supposed to mean?” I sighed, about to tell him everything, when the door burst open with a bang. A tiny chihuahua shot into the room and immediately began nipping and tearing at my ankle. Daisy rushed in after it, scooping the dog into her arms with a frantic apology. “Oh my God, Ava, I’m so, so sorry! It was an accident! Please don’t be mad at Tinkerbell!” The puppy was so small its bites felt more like playful nibbles. Hardly a reason for Daisy’s theatrical panic. I looked at her, confused. She was the daughter of our head housekeeper, a girl who was all smiles and sunshine to everyone else, but who always adopted a posture of meek fragility around me. It was a performance that always made Liam think I was secretly bullying her. Seeing Daisy’s eyes well up with tears, Liam’s face softened with protective concern. “It’s okay, Daisy, don’t worry. He barely even nipped her. Nothing happened.” Then his gaze shifted to me, his eyes as cold and hard as river stones. “It’s just a dog, Ava. Do you have to make a big deal out of everything?” A humorless laugh escaped my lips. I hadn’t said a single word, yet I was already the villain. Before I could respond, a voice called up from the foyer. Someone had arrived with wedding gifts. Downstairs, Liam’s face grew even darker as he saw the mountain of lavishly wrapped boxes. Daisy’s eyes, however, widened with naked greed. She immediately reached into an open crate and pulled out a framed sketch. “Wow! Ava, did Liam get all of this for you?” I frowned. How could Liam possibly afford any of this? He was a boy my family had sponsored, nothing more. I was about to correct her when Liam grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside, his voice a furious whisper. “Do you have to humiliate me like this? I don’t need you to buy me a reputation! I’m telling you right now, I am not marrying you. End this ridiculous charade.” So that’s what he thought. “You’re mistaken,” I began. “These are from Cale—” “Ah! Tinkerbell, no! You can’t chew on that!” Daisy’s shriek cut me off. I turned to see the sketch on the floor, torn into several pieces by the dog. A genuine surge of anger shot through me. Forget the value for a moment; this was a gift for my wedding. “Daisy,” I said, my voice sharp. “Do you have any idea what that was? Are you really incapable of controlling a three-month-old puppy, or was this deliberate?” At my tone, tears began streaming down her face. “I’m sorry, Ava, I’m so, so sorry.” I stepped forward to pick up the ruined pieces, but Liam, thinking I was going to attack Daisy, forgot all about his wounded pride and shoved my hand away. “Ava, she’s already apologized! What more do you want? It’s just a drawing! Are you actually going to hit her? You’re becoming more and more unreasonable.” I’m unreasonable? I was the one who had lost something, yet I was the one being irrational. Fine. If he wanted unreasonable, I’d show him some cold, hard reason. I fixed my gaze on Daisy. “That sketch was a Hockney. It’s valued at one hundred thousand dollars. Since your dog destroyed it, as his owner, you’ll be responsible for the cost.” Daisy’s tears stopped instantly. She stared at me, stunned, for a few seconds before her crying intensified, her body language suggesting she was about to drop to her knees and beg. Liam caught her, glaring at me with outrage. “Ava, that’s enough!” I swatted his hand away. “Of course, you’re welcome to pay for it on her behalf.” The words struck him like a physical blow. His face went pale with fury, his whole body rigid with insulted pride. He clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “Stop acting like a spoiled princess. I’ll pay you back. Every last cent.” With that, he wrapped a protective arm around Daisy and stormed out. Watching him go, I couldn’t help but think of the boy who had first arrived at our house all those years ago. 3 He was ten years old when my father found him, a shy, quiet child. As an only child, I was thrilled to have a companion, and for years, he was the protective older brother I’d always wanted. Everything changed on his eighteenth birthday. Someone at his party joked that he was my future kept man, that marrying into the family was a clever career move. From that day on, he began to pull away, to resent me. All my years of devotion couldn’t stand up to a few careless words from strangers. I shook my head, a bitter smile on my lips. From every practical standpoint, Caleb Sterling was a perfect match. He had a reputation for being a bit of a playboy, but he was undeniably handsome, charming, and most importantly, his family’s wealth was endless. The day before the wedding, I went to the bridal boutique I had told Liam about a hundred times, each time being met with an impatient dismissal. I never imagined I’d run into him there, standing beside Daisy. He was in a tailored suit, she in a wedding gown. They looked perfect together. Suppressing the familiar ache in my chest, I walked into the shop. The manager greeted me warmly. “Ms. Sinclair! The custom gown you designed is ready. Shall I have it brought out for you?” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I had spent three months pouring my heart into that design. I wasn’t going to abandon it because of him. “Yes, please, thank you…” “Ava?” A voice cut me off. I turned to see Liam and Daisy walking toward me. Daisy, lifting the hem of her own dress, hurried over. Her eyes lit up when she saw the gown my assistant was carefully carrying. “Wow! Is this the one you designed? It’s beautiful.” Liam’s brow furrowed as he looked at it, his expression one of distaste, as if he were looking at something contaminated. Daisy reached out and touched the delicate lace. “Can I try it on?” Before I could answer, she turned to Liam, her voice a sweet plea. “Liam, can you wait for me to try this one on, too? Please?” Liam was silent for a beat, then gave a small, indulgent nod. “No,” I said, my voice firm. I was willing to let them have each other, but I drew the line at letting her wear my wedding dress. My refusal made Liam’s expression turn cold. “Ava, I’ve told you, I am not marrying you. You’re never going to wear this dress. What’s the harm in letting Daisy try it on?” I met his gaze, my own voice unyielding. “The harm is that it’s mine. So, no.” Liam looked taken aback, clearly not expecting such direct opposition from me. I had always been the one to back down. “But Liam, I really want to,” Daisy whined, clinging to his arm, her lower lip trembling. The next thing I knew, Liam had snatched the gown from my assistant’s hands. “It’s just a dress. She’ll give it back when she’s done.” Daisy took it with a triumphant smile. As she turned to go to the dressing room, the long train of the gown caught on a nearby metal clothing rack. There was a terrible screech of metal as the entire rack, weighed down with heavy garments and a mannequin, tipped over and came crashing down. For a split second, Liam’s hand instinctively shot out toward me. But then Daisy let out a sharp cry. “Ah!” His arm changed direction. He lunged for Daisy, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her out of the path of the falling debris. I was buried underneath it all. The sharp edge of the metal rack pressed into my back, sending a bolt of agony through me with every breath. When they finally pulled me out, I looked at Liam, and all I felt was a profound, chilling emptiness. Fifteen years of my life, my love, my loyalty—all of it meant less to him than a girl he’d known for three months. On the floor in front of me lay my wedding dress. A dirty high-heel print was stamped onto the pure white silk. It had been deliberately trampled. I raised my eyes to Daisy, who was nestled safely in Liam’s arms. She offered me a small, triumphant smirk. That was it. I’d had enough. I moved toward her, intending to pull her away from him, but Liam stepped in front of her, his face a mask of anger. “I know you’re upset I didn’t get to you first, Ava, but you can’t take it out on Daisy. She was almost hurt, too.” I pointed a trembling finger at the ruined gown on the floor. “And how do you explain that?” Liam’s jaw tightened. After a moment, he said, “She didn’t do it on purpose. It was a chaotic moment, she was scared, she dropped the dress. As for the footprint, we can have it cleaned.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Besides, I’m not going to be at the altar tomorrow. It’s not like you’ll be getting married anyway. Stop making a big deal out of nothing.” With that, he led Daisy out of the store. Just as their figures disappeared through the door, the manager hurried over, a phone pressed to her ear. “Ms. Sinclair? Mr. Sterling has asked me to escort you to the third floor.”

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