Category: English

Three years ago, on a night that reconfigured the map of my life, I walked into a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city and witnessed the most jagged, ugly scene imaginable. My fiancé and my best friend were a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. The dark, flushed marks on their skin felt like physical stings against my eyes. One second, Tia was arched beneath him in a trance of pleasure; the next, she was wrapped in a thin, grimy sheet, kneeling at my feet. Through a deluge of theatrical tears, she choked out excuses—she’d gotten him drunk, it was her fault, I shouldn’t blame him. Looking at the two of them, I felt a wave of nausea so violent it nearly doubled me over. I didn’t scream. I just dropped a cold, dead sentence: “The wedding is off. Get out.” Then, I turned my back on them and walked into the night. After that, Tia vanished. She was a ghost, a stain scrubbed from my social circle. But Alexander? Alexander became a man possessed by the idea of penance. He turned down ten different family-arranged setups, spending his nights parked outside my building like a sentinel. He even went on a national financial news program, his eyes rimmed with red, and swore to the world that he’d never marry anyone else. He claimed he’d rather die alone than live without me. Even my mother, Diane, was eventually worn down by his three-year siege. She’d started whispering in my ear that “to err is human,” that he’d suffered enough for Tia’s mistake. That day at the mall, I was staring blankly at a shelf of organic baby lotions, ignoring my mother’s latest sermon on forgiveness. Then, a voice I hadn’t heard in three years—warm, helpful, and sickeningly familiar—reached out to me. She was recommending a gentle talc-free powder, saying her three-year-old son swore by it. I froze. The world turned to ice. That voice belonged to Tia. … “Look at her! Everyone, look at the homewrecker who stole her best friend’s man!” My mother’s voice went shrill and feral. The shelf of baby products groaned and collapsed under the force of her rage. The same woman who, seconds ago, had been preaching “saints and sinners” was now clawing at Tia’s sleeve. Tia tumbled into the spilled white powder on the floor. She looked up at me, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. “Jade, I didn’t mean for you to see me,” she whispered. “I only came back to the city because Elias brought me—” Before she could finish, a small, dark shadow lunged from the crowd. He sank his teeth into my mother’s wrist with animal ferocity. “Don’t touch my mommy!” The boy planted himself in front of Tia, his small arms spread wide, screaming at me: “You can’t bully her! My daddy is the head of the Vance Group—” Tia let out a strangled gasp and clamped her hand over the boy’s mouth. But it was too late. I looked at the boy’s face, and the air left my lungs. The heavy, linear brow. The slight, stubborn downturn of the lips. Even the way his jaw tightened in a defensive clench—it was a carbon copy of Alexander. My mother stood paralyzed, her bitten arm hanging limp. Her lips trembled. “My god…” she breathed. “What have we done?” The murmurs of the crowd turned into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. Three years of repressed agony curdled into bile in my throat. “Our wedding is next week,” I said, my voice sounding like it was coming from a great distance. “And you show up back in the city with his three-year-old son.” “Tia, you’re just as pathetic as you were three years ago.” Tia’s thin frame shuddered. When she looked up, her eyes were swimming. “Jade, we grew up together. I made a mistake three years ago, but you’re about to marry him anyway. Why can’t you just forgive me?” She fumbled in her pocket for a tissue, and as she did, a black card with gold trim slipped out and landed on the floor. The world went quiet. It was an American Express Centurion—the kind with no limit. A month ago, under a sky full of celebratory fireworks, Alexander had pressed that very card into my hand with trembling fingers. “Jade, you’ve finally forgiven me,” he’d said, his eyes shining. “Take this. It’s the symbol of your place as my wife.” I hadn’t taken it then. I told him I’d wait until we actually signed the papers. Now, that same card mocked me from the floor. Apparently, there was more than one “Mrs. Vance” in his budget. I looked at the card and started to laugh. It was an absurd, hollow sound. Then, the crowd was shoved aside. Alexander stormed in. When he saw Tia and the boy huddled on the floor, the raw, unfiltered agony in his eyes was impossible to hide. He turned to bark a question, but then his gaze hit mine. He went rigid. “Jade… it’s not what it looks like. I can explain.” He reached for my hand, his fingers twitching. I recoiled as if his touch were a brand. “He’s three years old, Alexander,” I said. “What is there left to say?” The whispers around us grew louder. Seeing my coldness, the panic in Alexander’s eyes began to ferment into something else—a weary, cornered defensiveness. He stepped past me and shielded Tia and the boy behind his back. “Jade, haven’t I done enough over the last three years?” he snapped. “We’re days away from the wedding. Coming here to harass a single mother and a child—is this who you are?” “Daddy! These people were mean to Mommy! They called her a bad name!” The boy’s shrill cry shattered the remaining silence. He clung to Alexander’s leg, pointing an accusatory finger at me and my mother. Tia ducked further behind Alexander’s shoulder. “We could have handled it…” she whimpered. “You shouldn’t have come. Don’t let Jade be mad at you because of me.” With that one sentence, Alexander’s guilt was incinerated by a protective fire. He stood like a wall in front of them. When he looked at me now, the three years of devotion were gone. There was only a cold, sharp resentment. I stood there, the ringing in my ears growing to a roar. The details I’d ignored for years began to click into place like a series of locks. A year ago, his company had bought a luxury penthouse in the best school district “as an investment.” All those nights he’d spent begging outside my door? I remembered seeing his phone screen light up with searches for “managing postpartum depression.” I’d thought it was just stress. I’d wanted to believe in us. I didn’t realize the knife had been in my back for years. I was only seeing the blood today. Watching the man I was supposed to grow old with protect the woman who had gutted our friendship, the fire finally rose in me. “You two,” I whispered, “are truly disgusting.” Alexander’s throat moved as he swallowed. He avoided my mother’s pale, stricken face. When he looked at me, his expression darkened. “Tia and I have spent three years tiptoeing around your temper, Jade. But you only ever care about your own victimhood. Have you ever considered how exhausting it is to be on the receiving end of your coldness for three years?” My mother, hearing this twisted logic, began to shake. She stared at the boy who called Alexander “Daddy” and began to cry—thick, heavy sobs. For three years, she’d pampered Alexander. She’d made him soup, encouraged me to forgive him, even suggested we adopt if I wasn’t ready to conceive, just so he’d have an heir. And what had Alexander said back then, kneeling on our kitchen floor? “Mom, I don’t want anyone’s child but Jade’s.” The irony was a physical weight. She had treated him like a son while he was treating her daughter like a placeholder. “You’re a monster,” my mother choked out. “An absolute monster.” She collapsed, her legs giving out from the sheer weight of the humiliation. I caught her, struggling to hold her upright. Alexander’s face flickered with a brief moment of hesitation. But then, Tia let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as she slumped against him. Alexander’s face transformed. Any trace of remorse vanished, replaced by panic. He scooped her into his arms, grabbed the boy’s hand, and shoved through the crowd. He didn’t give my mother a second glance as she hovered on the verge of a heart attack. The moment they were gone, the vultures descended. Paparazzi and “citizen journalists” appeared from nowhere, their flashes blinding. Microphones were shoved into my face. “Who was that woman Mr. Vance just carried out? Is the engagement over?” “Ms. Harris! Is the wedding still on for next week?” My mother tried to lunge at them, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but I held her back. I looked down at the engagement ring Alexander had slid back onto my finger only weeks ago. I was too tired to cry. I slid the ring off. It felt lighter than it should have. I let it drop; the sound of the diamond hitting the floor was a tiny, sharp clink. “Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “Let’s go home.” “I’m done with this.” The next three days were a masterclass in public humiliation. High-definition videos of me being abandoned at the mall trended everywhere. I looked like the stereotypical “scorned woman,” frantic and messy under the fluorescent lights. But in every shot of Tia and the child? They were blurred. Carefully, professionally pixelated. Reporters camped outside my door. My mother couldn’t take the shame; her heart gave out that night, and she was rushed into the ICU. Sitting in that sterile waiting room, watching the jagged line of her heart monitor, the warmth left my body. Everyone in our circles knew that kind of high-level PR cleanup—protecting the mistress while leaving the fiancée to the wolves—didn’t happen without Alexander’s personal sign-off. I stayed awake until my eyes were raw, then drove to the Vance Group headquarters. I reached his office door and heard Tia’s soft, honeyed voice coming through the crack. “Alexander, the PR team only blurred me and the boy. Jade’s face is everywhere. If she’s really angry, what if she refuses to marry you next week?” There was a pause. Then, Alexander’s voice, filled with an arrogant certainty: “Nico needs to start school soon. Protecting his identity is the priority. As for Jade… she loves me. She’ll make a scene, but she won’t leave.” Tia gave a playful, jealous little huff. “Of course. Everyone loves you.” I pushed the door open. Inside, Alexander had Tia leaned back against his mahogany desk, his arms caging her in. When he saw me, the smugness on his face turned to stone. “Jade. What are you doing here?” I looked at them, and my stomach turned. “Don’t use my name. It feels dirty coming from you.” “You threw me and my mother to the lions just to protect your little secret.” I turned my gaze to Tia, whose face had gone ghostly pale. “Even a dog gets a collar so people know who it belongs to. You can live without dignity, Tia. But are you really going to let your son grow up only calling him ‘Daddy’ in the dark?” Tia’s eyes welled up. she started toward me. “No, Jade, let me explain—” I felt a surge of pure revulsion. I lifted my hand, a reflex to keep her away from me. CRACK. A stinging slap landed across my face. The force of it sent me stumbling back, my spine hitting the cold wall. The world went silent. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. Alexander had stepped in front of Tia, his hand still hanging in the air, his eyes dark with a terrifying intensity. “Jade! Have you lost your mind?” he roared. “I don’t care how angry you are, you don’t lay a hand on her!” Tia whimpered behind him, clutching his sleeve. They looked like a portrait of a devoted couple, and I was the villain trying to tear them apart. My cheek was numb. I leaned against the wall and swallowed the blood. Three years ago, in that motel, he had knelt in the dirt and begged me not to leave. Now, he was hitting me to protect the woman he’d cheated with. I didn’t cry. Not a single tear. I looked him straight in the eye. “The wedding is off. Both of you—get the hell out of my life.” Those were the same words I’d used three years ago, but this time, they snapped something in him. His face twisted into a mask of cold fury. “You want to talk about dignity? You want us to ‘get out’?” he yelled. “I brought Tia back so I could finally marry you and have a ‘clean’ life. But clearly, that was a mistake.” He grabbed Tia and pulled her into his side. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth! Tia and I have been legally married for two years. We are a family in the eyes of the law.” “The person who has no standing here, the person who’s been living a lie for three years… is you.” The wedding that had been the talk of the town never happened. I saw Alexander one last time, two weeks later. We sat across from each other in a quiet corner of a hotel bar. He pushed a set of divorce papers across the table. “Marrying Tia was a necessity,” he said, his voice lacking its usual bravado. “She was sick, the boy needed a legal name for school… I did what I had to do.” I didn’t touch the papers. I just looked at him. I used to think I understood him. Now, looking at the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, I realized I’d been in love with a ghost. “You thought about Tia’s health,” I said quietly. “You thought about the boy’s school. Did you ever once think about me?” “Alexander, what was I? What were these last eight years?” He looked away. The man who could negotiate billion-dollar mergers couldn’t meet my eyes. “I won’t deny I had feelings for Tia,” he muttered. “But all these years… you know you were the only one I truly wanted.” He leaned forward, trying to catch my hand. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll take you to the courthouse tomorrow morning. We’ll get married. I’ll take care of them, but you’ll be my wife. Tia gave me a son, I can’t just abandon them, but—” I stared at him. I saw the hollowness, the desperate way he tried to have everything without losing anything. “Married?” I asked. “Mrs. Vance?” I started to laugh. It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. “Alexander, I’m dying to know. When you’re lying to both of us, who do you actually love?” The insults I wanted to scream died in my throat, leaving only a bitter aftertaste. I was done. “Fine,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “I’ll wait for you.” Alexander’s shoulders slumped with relief. He let out a long breath, clearly thinking I had folded, just like I had for the last three years. “I knew it, Jade. You were always the sensible one.” He reached out to pat my head, a habit of his. I flinched away. He didn’t seem to notice. He stood up, smiling. “Get some rest. I’ll be downstairs to pick you up first thing in the morning.” He walked out of the room without looking back. I watched him go until the door clicked shut. I took a long, shaky breath. He was decisive, I’ll give him that. When he wanted something, he took it. When he wanted to leave, he left. So, goodbye, Alexander. … The next morning. Alexander was outside my apartment before the sun was fully up. He knocked for ten minutes. The hallway echoed with the sound of his persistence. Eventually, a cold, sharp dread began to seep into his chest. He pulled out his phone and dialed my number. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service…” His hand shook. Then, he noticed a white envelope tucked under the door. No seal. No name. He ripped it open. As he read the contents, the color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse.

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SOS! This is So Creepy! My Cat Keeps Bringing Home Men’s Underwear!Various colors, various fabrics, various styles… but they are all the exact same size. Even the scent of the laundry detergent is identical! I strongly suspect they all belong to the same guy. But what am I supposed to do with them? Please help! 1 My cat is a wanted fugitive. His mugshot is plastered right on our apartment complex’s community bulletin board. I was walking back from the corner store this afternoon when I accidentally caught a glimpse of this “Wanted Poster.” In the photo, my cat, Bruce, was being pinned to the floor by a very long, attractive masculine hand, forced to take a head-on mugshot. Above it was a line of small text: “Excuse me, which neighbor does this little kitty belong to? He keeps breaking into my apartment to steal things. I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on him and stop him from running around. Much obliged~” Wait, is there writing bleeding through from the back of the paper? I flipped it over. Sure enough, there was a warning with a completely different tone: “If this idiot cat comes back to steal my boxers again, I’m going to chop off his balls! Then I’ll throw him into a pack of feral alley cats! I’ll show him what living hell looks like!” So terrifying! So vicious! I shivered, and while no one was looking, I quickly ripped the wanted poster down, shoved it into my jacket, and sprinted home. 2 When I walked through the door, Bruce was lying on the couch grooming himself. Hearing me come in, he spared me a single glance before burying his face back into his fur. Looks like he just got back too. I picked up his latest loot for the day, spreading the tiny piece of fabric between my hands to inspect the front and back. This was the seventh pair. Today’s pair was as obnoxious as ever, covered in a banana print. The bright, neon yellow was incredibly blinding. Just thinking about that wanted poster made my face flush red. It’s not that I don’t try to keep an eye on him. My cat just isn’t something an ordinary person can handle. Actually, ever since he brought back the first pair of underwear half a month ago, I sealed all the doors and windows to stop him from going out. But Bruce used to be a stray. I’ve always let him roam a bit, and he’s insanely smart and resourceful. So I literally can’t keep him contained. The second I let my guard down, he slips out. But this time, I finally put my foot down. I locked him inside his heavy-duty pet crate. 3 I was extra careful this time, and Bruce never got the chance to go out and commit his crimes again. The next day, my 6:30 PM alarm went off right on time. I practically did a backflip out of bed, happily changing my clothes and blow-drying my hair. Right before leaving, I made sure to check on Bruce. He was lying listlessly in his crate, his tail giving an occasional, lazy flick. His little eyes even shot me a sneaky glare. I looked at the heavy-duty latch securely bolted on the cage, nodded in satisfaction, and shut the front door behind me. 4 At 6:30 PM on a weekday, people were getting off work or out of school. The early summer sun was softening, and the strip of shops outside the apartment complex was much livelier than during the day. With the familiar electronic “Ding-dong—Welcome!” chime, I stepped into the corner store right on schedule. The cashier girl and I were already on familiar terms. She smiled at me. “What’s on the menu today?” I always felt like she could see right through my little secret. I just gave her a sheepish smile and quickly made my way toward the microwavable meals section in the back. I dawdled, eventually picking out a three-cheese chicken mac and cheese. When I came out to the register, I immediately spotted that tall figure in the dark gray hoodie. My heart leaped into my throat and just stayed there. He hadn’t noticed me yet. The guy with him spotted me first, rested a hand on his shoulder, and nodded in my direction. And then, he turned his head and looked right at me. Oh, God, save me… How could a guy have such gorgeous eyes? The shape was perfect, they were naturally alluring, and his eyelashes were so thick and long! I ducked my head slightly, internally panicking. This was the seventh time I’d run into him. But my heart still felt so, so sweet! But the next second, I saw what he was putting on the counter, and I froze. Why is he buying underwear again? 5 He glanced at me, casually looked away, and pulled up Apple Pay on his phone. Suddenly, he let out a soft “Ah,” and said to the cashier, “Sorry, my phone’s not getting any service in here.” His friend, instead of helping him out, just patted him on the back and walked outside to wait for him. Was that a smirk on his face as he left? Perfect! My moment had arrived! I stepped up and said in a tiny voice, “Um… I can cover it for you.” Without waiting for an answer, I put my microwave dinner on the counter to ring up together and tapped my phone to the reader. He didn’t act overly polite or awkward; he just courteously thanked me. The cashier girl smiled, her eyes crinkling, and quickly bagged our stuff. 6 Walking out of the store, my face was still burning. We had crossed paths a few times before. But this time, we were standing so close! He was incredibly handsome. Not just his eyes—his skin was clear, almost poreless. His friend had actually ditched him. Since we lived in the same apartment complex, it was only natural that we walked back together. “I’ll Venmo you when I get up to my place,” he said. I reflexively waved my hands. “It’s okay, it wasn’t much. Don’t worry about it.” The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted to bite my tongue off. What a perfect excuse to get his number! Why did I have to say something so stupid? He paused for a second, then said, “What’s your number? Let me shoot you a text so I can add you and send the money.” “Oh! Yeah, sure!” I hurriedly dug my phone out of my purse. On the outside, I was cool as a cucumber. On the inside, fireworks were going off. I’d had a crush on him from afar for so long, and my patience was finally paying off. We were making progress. I was so happy I could cry. 7 I need to check my horoscope when I get home. My luck with romance is off the charts today! This is amazing. We kept talking the whole way! Him: “Which building are you in?” I pointed ahead. “Building 12.” Then I quickly asked: “What about you?” He smiled slightly. “Building 10.” Oh my God, there was only one building between us. But the harsh reality I should have picked up on was that our paths were about to split. I felt a little wave of disappointment. “Watch out!” I looked up at him blankly, not registering what was happening. Before I knew it, his palm was cupping the back of my head, his other hand gripping my shoulder, and he spun me around. At the exact same time, a baseball whizzed past us at top speed and crashed into the bushes. A thirteen-year-old kid ran over, apologizing profusely. I told the kid it was fine, then looked back at the guy beside me. My eyes involuntarily dropped to the neckline of his hoodie. Just a second ago, my eyes were less than an inch away from there. I hadn’t even paid attention to the near-miss with the baseball, because my entire focus had been hijacked by that sexy little red mole on his collarbone. I almost had a nosebleed. Incredible! How does every single thing about him hit all my weak spots? 8 After we parted ways, every step I took felt like I was walking on clouds. The second I stepped out of the elevator, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. I saved the contact instantly. His text considerately included his name: “Ethan Hayes.” I clutched my phone to my chest. Ethan Hayes. Ethan Hayes. Ethan Hayes. The more I said it, the better it sounded! Once I was done fangirling, I quickly texted my name back so he could save it: “Chloe Bennett.” Then, he Venmoed me the $28 for the boxers. Probably afraid I’d reject the payment, he even added a note: “Make sure you accept it.” So gentle. And so considerate. I’m doomed. I think I like him even more now. 9 I was completely lost in my own pink, bubbly fantasy when a black shadow suddenly flashed across the windowsill. Bruce, with a clump of socks in his mouth, had returned from the outside world. Caught red-handed, he froze on the windowsill, too scared to jump down. He looked absolutely ridiculous with socks dangling from his jaws. And the pet crate I had locked so securely before I left? The door was wide open. “Where have you been running wild now?!” I snatched the socks out of his mouth. He was a pro. He even knew to steal a matching pair. Wait, what’s this? White tube socks? I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Who even wears these basic white tube socks anymore? And that guy, he liked those flashy, obnoxious boxers. Wild animal prints, tropical jungles, Fruit Ninja vibes—you name it. He clearly wasn’t a serious guy. Right now, my heart was completely occupied by the name “Ethan Hayes.” Compared to him, every other guy on earth was literal garbage. 10 Since we just officially met, I didn’t want to come off too strong, or I might scare him off. Because of that, Ethan and I didn’t text much after that. Two days later, I went to the complex’s front gate to pick up a fruit delivery. Walking past the spot where he saved me from the baseball, I looked at the massive boxes of fruit in my arms and decided to use it as an excuse to bring him some. Okay, I admit it. I really just wanted to see him. I sent him a text testing the waters. He replied quickly: “I’m at home, but I’m in the middle of something and can’t step away.” I instantly deflated. But then he sent another text: “If you have time, could you come to my door? I’m on the 3rd floor, Apt 302.” Oh man, the emotional roller coaster! I literally jumped for joy on the spot! 11 As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I saw a front door wide open, the apartment bustling with people. I checked the number above the door. Apt 302. Who were all these people inside? Some had microphones, others were carrying big camera rigs on their shoulders. Were they a TV crew? Curious, I peeked my head in. The moment I showed my face at the door, Ethan saw me. He was in the middle of being interviewed by a reporter. Seeing me, he paused, offered a subtle smile that only I would notice, and then went back to speaking seriously. I had terrible timing. Just as I was about to slip away, the guy who was with him at the convenience store that day walked out and said warmly, “Hey, just wait for him a sec, okay? They’re almost done.” I quickly nodded. “Oh, sure, sure.” Then I realized something was off and asked him, “Wait, how did you know I was looking for him?” The guy smiled meaningfully and dodged the question. “Hi, I’m Ethan’s roommate, Carter.”

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I never in a million years thought my best friend was capable of something like this. She snuck into my apartment, took my spare keys, and sold my custom, three-hundred-thousand-dollar Range Rover. For four thousand bucks. When I confronted her, she didn’t even flinch. She just stared at me with this sickeningly righteous look in her eyes. “You don’t even need the money,” she told me. “My two kids don’t even have a car to ride in.” I couldn’t stomach the sheer audacity of it. I called the police. When the cops showed up, her husband dropped to his knees right there on the pavement, begging me. Her mother-in-law stood to the side, hurling every curse word in the book at me, while my so-called best friend finally broke down in tears. Later, in the courtroom, the judge looked down at her from the bench, his expression made of stone. “Do you have any concept of what that vehicle was actually worth?” She crossed her arms, still clinging to her delusion. “It’s just some loud, obnoxious SUV.” The judge didn’t blink. “Five years. Minimum.” That was the exact moment the floor fell out from under her, and she completely, finally, shattered. 1 I was exhausted. I dragged my carry-on through the fluorescent-lit underground parking garage of my condo building, fresh off a four-day business trip. I turned the corner to my deeded spot and froze. Empty. My Range Rover was gone. It was a $250,000 SV Autobiography. I had put another $50,000 into custom modifications. Three hundred grand, vanished into the damp concrete air of the garage. My immediate, visceral reaction was panic. Stolen. Someone had bypassed the security gates. I reached for my phone, my thumb hovering over the keypad to dial 911, when a text notification slid across my lock screen. It was from Cassie. Hey babe! That Rover of yours is such a gas guzzler, I did you a favor and sold it. I’m just gonna use the $4k for now. It was followed by a little smiling emoji with sweat dropping down its forehead. I stared at the glowing pixels. The air in my lungs just stopped. I blinked hard, entirely convinced the exhaustion was playing tricks on my eyes. Excuse me? I typed back. It’s just way too flashy, honestly, the bubbles popped up instantly. A guy I know said he’d take it off our hands. I got four thousand for it! That’s pretty good for a used car! My fingers were trembling now. Not from fear, but from a sudden, blinding spike of adrenaline. Cassie. I paid 250k for that car. I put another 50k into the mods. Oh my god, relax, you’re not exactly hurting for cash. I have two kids and we don’t even have a reliable minivan. Who are you even trying to impress driving something like that anyway? I closed my eyes and took a long, jagged breath, inhaling the smell of exhaust and damp cement. Did you take my keys? I still had the spare from when you left it at my place last time. It’s not like you drive it every day. It was literally just sitting there gathering dust. Cassie. That is my property. I know! That’s why I’m telling you! Think of it this way, four grand will pay for your Ubers for years. A dark, sharp laugh clawed its way out of my throat. It echoed in the empty garage. Who did you sell it to? Just a scrap guy. He said it was getting old and wasn’t worth much anyway. He said the four grand was doing me a huge favor. Old? The car is barely a year old. Look, it’s done, okay? You can’t seriously expect me to pay you back. You know I don’t have that kind of money. I have two mouths to feed. Why are you being so corporate and petty about this? I didn’t reply. My screen lit up again. Besides, it was literally just sitting in the dark wasting away. I helped you liquidate an asset and you’re mad at me? God, Gemma, when did you become so obsessed with money? I stood there in the silence of the garage. It wasn’t about the car. Not really. It was the fact that I had called this woman my best friend for eight years. When she got married, I gifted them five thousand dollars to help with the catering. When she had her kids, I bought the cribs, the strollers. When her husband got laid off, I pulled strings to get his resume to the top of the pile. And at the end of it all, she stole my keys, sold a piece of my life for pennies, and truly, deeply believed she was the victim. I pressed her contact name and hit call. She picked up on the second ring. The background was chaos—a TV blaring cartoons, a toddler screaming. “Cassie. Where is the car?” My voice was terrifyingly calm. The kind of quiet that comes right before a hurricane. “I sold it, Gemma. Weren’t you reading my texts?” “To who?” “Some junk yard guy. Sal something. He came with a flatbed and towed it away.” “A junk yard guy.” “Yeah! He said it looked pretty beat up, honestly. You should be happy he even gave me the four grand.” I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. “Listen to me very carefully, Cassie. The custom body kit alone on that car was fifty thousand dollars. The total asset is worth three hundred thousand dollars. You selling it for four thousand is called malicious disposal of stolen property. It is a major felony.” “Oh, stop trying to scare me with your lawyer talk. I don’t know anything about cars. I just know it’s way too loud and every time you drive over here, it wakes my kids up from their naps.” “It’s my car. Whether it’s loud or not is none of your business.” “How is it none of my business? My kids don’t sleep, they go to school cranky the next day. Are you going to pay for their therapy when they fall behind?” “So you stole my car.” “It’s not stealing! I used the key you left at my house. You left it there.” “I left it there six months ago when your sedan broke down and I let you borrow mine so you could get groceries. I didn’t leave it there so you could pawn my belongings.” “Well, you never asked for it back! I figured you didn’t care!” “Cassie… do you honestly think I’m just going to roll over and take this?” The line went dead quiet for a second. The cartoons blared in the background. Then, she laughed. A bitter, ugly sound. “Don’t pull this high-and-mighty crap with me, Gemma. You just have a little bit of dirty money and think you’re better than everyone else. Flaunting that obnoxious tank around. Where were you when my kids and I were waiting for the bus in the rain? You’re a single woman driving a car the size of a house. Don’t you feel even a little bit guilty?” Hearing those words, the anger suddenly evaporated. It was replaced by a cold, crystalline clarity. “Cassie. Give me the scrap guy’s number. Right now.” “Why would I do that?” “Fine. Don’t.” “What are you gonna do?” “Just wait,” I said softly, and hung up. A second later, a text came through. What is that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me? I ignored it. I scrolled through my contacts and found the building manager. “Gary. I need you to pull the security feed for the underground garage. My spot. The last three days.” “Hey, Gemma. Is everything okay?” “My car was taken.” “Jesus. Stolen? Did you call the cops?” “Not yet. I need the footage first.” “I’m on it. Come down to the security office.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked out of the dim garage, the afternoon sun hitting my face like a slap. My phone vibrated three times in rapid succession. Cassie: Gemma, don’t try to scare me. I didn’t do anything wrong. Cassie: The scrap guy said it was a piece of junk anyway. Cassie: If you call the cops, I’ll just tell them you gave it to me. Cassie: It’s my word against yours, and I have the key. I didn’t reply. Cassie: Gemma, come on. My kids are little. Don’t do this. Cassie: Are you seriously going to call the cops? Cassie: Fine, I’ll send you another five hundred bucks when Kevin gets paid. $4,500. Happy? I looked at the screen, a hollow amusement settling in my chest. Eight years. Eight years, and I never saw the rot beneath the surface. 2 In the stuffy, monitor-lined security room, I watched the screens. There she was. Three days ago, 2:15 PM. Cassie walking into my garage with her two kids in tow. She had my sleek, black key fob in her hand. She put her seven-year-old son in the front seat—illegal and unsafe—and strapped her five-year-old daughter into the back. The brake lights flared red. She put it in gear and drove my life out of the building. Fast forward two hours on the tape. The car returns. But Cassie wasn’t driving. A heavyset, bald man in a faded t-shirt was behind the wheel. A flatbed tow truck followed him in. The man drove my Range Rover up the ramp onto the flatbed. Cassie was standing off to the side. She had a thin stack of bills in her hands. She was thumbing through them, smiling. A wide, genuine, victorious smile. I recorded the monitor with my phone, saving the video to my camera roll. Just as I turned to leave for the precinct, my phone rang. Incoming call: Kevin. Cassie’s husband. I accepted it. “Gemma, hey. Look, Cassie… she’s not thinking straight. Just, please don’t take this out on her.” “Kevin, do you know she sold my car?” “I know… she told me.” “Do you know how much that car was worth?” “She said it was an older model… she got what, four grand for it?” “Kevin. I bought that car for 250,000 dollars. I put 50,000 into it. Three hundred grand.” Dead silence on the line. I could hear him breathing. “You… what did you say?” “Three hundred thousand dollars, Kevin. Your wife sold a piece of property worth a quarter of a million dollars for four grand.” “No… no way. Cassie said it was only worth a few thousand…” “She doesn’t know cars. Do you?” Kevin went quiet again. The reality was crushing the air out of him. A few seconds later, the begging started. “Gemma, please. She’s just an idiot, okay? She doesn’t think about these things. She just saw you driving it and got jealous, it ate away at her. Please don’t call the cops.” “She stole my keys. She sold my car. And you want me to let it go?” “The kids can’t lose their mother, Gemma! If she catches a felony charge, what am I supposed to do? What happens to the kids?” “What happens to my car?” “You… you do so well for yourself. You’re loaded. You don’t even need that car, right? Cassie has zero money to pay you back. You know how we live. The mortgage, the car loan, the daycare bills…” “So I’m supposed to subsidize your life with my property?” “No, I didn’t mean that! I’m just asking—can you please be the bigger person here? Just this once? I’ll make her get on her hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness, I swear to God.” “Kevin, she didn’t steal a two-hundred-dollar handbag from Macy’s. She stole a house on wheels.” “But she didn’t know! She’s a stay-at-home mom, Gemma, how is she supposed to know what custom cars cost?” “She could have asked me. She didn’t. She took my property and sold it behind my back.” “She’s just so jealous of you… she talks about it all the time. How it isn’t fair that you have this amazing life, and why does a single woman need a car like that… I thought she was just venting! I didn’t think she’d actually do anything!” “Wait. You knew she hated me, and you still thought I gave her the car?” “I… I thought maybe you were just being generous…” “Generous? When have I ever said I was gifting her a Range Rover?” Panic was bleeding into his voice now. “Gemma, I’m begging you on my life. Don’t call the police. I’ll find it. I’ll get it back, okay?” “She sold it to a scrap dealer for four grand, Kevin. Do you really think you can just go ask for it back?” “I’ll make her track him down! We’ll get it back!” “It’s already gone. The guy in the video drove it onto a flatbed. Do you even know what state it’s in by now?” “I… no…” “Let me ask you something else. Where is the four thousand dollars she got for it?” “She… she said she used it to pay for the kids’ private preschool tuition…” “Preschool tuition? Four grand?” “And she bought some stuff… clothes for the kids, some toys…” “Listen to yourself, Kevin. Your wife sells my $300k car, takes the cash to go shopping for toys, and you’re asking me to just ‘be the bigger person’?” “That’s not what I meant…” “Then what did you mean?” He broke. I could hear the humiliating sound of a grown man sobbing into the receiver. “Gemma, please. I’m on my knees. I am literally on the floor right now. If you go to the cops, Cassie is ruined. Our entire family is ruined.” “You should have thought of that before you let her fester in her own entitlement.” “She’s my wife! She’s the mother of my children!” “She’s a thief.” “She didn’t mean to! She just had a momentary lapse in judgment!” “A lapse in judgment that takes hours to execute and involves a flatbed tow truck?” “Gemma…” “Don’t call me again. I’ve made my decision.” I hung up. He called right back. I let it ring. He sent a barrage of voice memos. I didn’t listen to a single one. Then, Cassie’s texts started rolling in again. Did you call the cops? Are you crazy? I swear to God, if you do, I’ll tell them you gifted it to me! You left the key at my house. The police won’t even know who to believe! You let me borrow it all the time. How are they going to prove you didn’t give it to me? I read the texts, a cold, dry smile pulling at my lips. Fine. Let a jury decide. 3 I set the thick manila folder down on the scarred metal desk at the precinct. Inside was the paper trail of my hard work. The original dealership contract. $250,000. The receipts from the mod shop. A bespoke Mansory body kit, forged carbon-fiber rims, and a custom ECU tune. Over $50,000 in upgrades. The customs declaration forms for the parts imported from Germany. Everything was there. Bulletproof. The officer taking my report looked young, maybe early thirties. His name tag read Martinez. He flipped open the dealership contract. His eyebrows shot up. He turned the page to the modification receipts. His frown deepened. He looked at the customs forms, then slowly looked up at me. “Ma’am. You’re saying this vehicle was sold?” “Yes.” “By who?” “Cassie. Someone I’ve considered a friend for eight years.” “How did she get the keys?” “I lent her the car six months ago to run errands when hers broke down. She never gave the spare back, and honestly, with my travel schedule, I forgot to ask for it.” “Were you aware of the sale?” “No. I was in Chicago on business.” “How did you find out?” “She texted me. Told me she got four thousand for it.” Martinez stared at me, dumbfounded. “She told you?” “Yes. She doesn’t think she did anything wrong.” Martinez looked back down at the paperwork, shaking his head slightly. “Are you absolutely certain of the valuation here?” “The contracts and wire transfers are all right there. Do the math.” He pulled a calculator toward him and tapped the keys. “Okay. Base model, two-fifty. Mods, fifty-two grand. Total value, three hundred and two thousand dollars.” “Correct.” “And she sold it for four thousand?” “Correct.” Martinez set the calculator down and glanced over at an older detective sitting at the next desk. Detective Henderson. Henderson had been listening. He rolled his chair over, eyeing the documents. “Are you absolutely sure there was no implied consent here?” Henderson asked, his voice gravelly. “I was halfway across the country. How could I consent?” “Did she ever mention wanting to sell it on your behalf?” “Never. She sold it, took the cash, and then texted me like she did me a favor.” “Is there any financial dispute between you two? Bad blood over a loan?” “No. I’ve given them money in the past, but as gifts. Never loans. My bank statements will prove it.” Henderson nodded slowly. “Do you have theft insurance on the vehicle?” “Yes. But this wasn’t a standard break-in. She used a key she had access to.” “Insurance companies handle those differently,” Henderson noted. “I know. That’s why I’m here filing a criminal report, not just calling Geico.” Martinez chimed back in. “You said you’ve known her for eight years. Why would she do this?” “She told me the car was too loud and woke her kids up. She also mentioned that I didn’t need the money, and it wasn’t fair that her kids didn’t have a nice car.” The two cops exchanged a loaded look. Martinez leaned forward. “Did you guys have a falling out?” “No. But if you want the psychological profile—I’m single, I have a successful company, and I drive a nice car. She’s drowning in debt with two kids. She resented me for it.” “Did she ever say that to you?” “In her texts today. She said it wasn’t fair that I was flaunting my wealth while she struggled.” Henderson picked up a pen and started jotting things down on a yellow legal pad. “You got any security footage?” I unlocked my phone, pulled up the video of the garage monitors, and slid it across the desk. In the video, Cassie struts into the garage with her two kids. She unlocks the Rover. She straps the kids in. She drives off. Two hours later, the car returns, driven by the scrap guy. It gets loaded onto the flatbed. Cassie stands by the concrete pillar, counting cash with a massive grin on her face. Martinez watched it, let out a low whistle, and ran a hand over his face. “She brought her kids to a grand theft?” “Yes.” “How old are they?” “Seven and five.” Martinez looked at Henderson. Henderson put his pen down. “Ma’am, a theft of property exceeding three hundred thousand dollars is a First-Degree Felony in this state.” “I am aware.” “We’re talking serious prison time. Five to ninety-nine years, depending on the DA.” “I am aware.” “You are absolutely certain you want to press charges?” “Absolutely.” “No interest in civil mediation?” “None.” Henderson looked at me for a long, quiet moment. He saw there was no bluff in my eyes. He nodded. “Alright. Let’s get your official statement.” He started typing. “Name.” “Gemma.” “Age.” “Twenty-eight.” “Occupation.” “CEO, tech consulting.” “Vehicle details.” “2024 Range Rover SV Autobiography. License plate…” We went through the motions. When we got to the text messages, I handed my phone over so they could photograph the screen. Henderson read Cassie’s texts out loud, his voice flat and monotone. ‘That Rover is a gas guzzler, I did you a favor.’ ‘You don’t even need the money.’ ‘If you call the cops, I’ll tell them you gave it to me.’ He handed the phone back. The air in the precinct felt heavy. “What on earth goes through a person’s head to think they can get away with this?” Martinez muttered, mostly to himself. Henderson sighed, the sound of a man who had seen thirty years of human stupidity. “Some people live in a reality entirely of their own making, kid.” He stood up, grabbing the file. “Martinez, get Major Crimes on the horn. This is way above our paygrade for a standard auto theft.” Martinez nodded and picked up the receiver. Henderson looked at me. “We’ll open the investigation immediately, Gemma. Go home. Keep your phone on loud.” “Is there any chance of recovering the car?” “We’ll try. But realistically? Prepare yourself for the fact that it’s already been chopped for parts or moved out of state.” “And restitution?” “If we nail her, the DA will push for a restitution order as part of sentencing. But you said she has no money.” Henderson gave me a grim look. “She shouldn’t have stolen something she couldn’t afford to replace.” I nodded. By the time I walked out of the precinct, the sky had bruised into a dark purple twilight. My phone buzzed. Cassie again. Gemma, what is your problem? Are you seriously doing this? Are you at the police station? You’re actually insane. Think about my babies! If you send me to jail, how are you going to live with yourself? I sat in the driver’s seat of the rental car I’d just picked up. I typed back one single message. Cassie, when you were counting that four thousand dollars in the garage, how were you living with yourself? I hit send. Then I blocked her number. A second later, a call came through from an unknown number. I answered it. It was Kevin. His voice was raw, shaking violently. “Gemma… the police are at our apartment. They… they’re putting handcuffs on Cassie…” “It’s what she earned, Kevin.” “The kids are screaming, Gemma! Are you happy now?!” “You should be asking your wife why she chose to traumatize her kids for four grand.” “She made a mistake!” “Tell it to the judge.” I hung up and blocked him too. I looked at the empty passenger seat of the rental car. I worked eighty-hour weeks for six years to buy that car. I had known Cassie for eight. In the span of twelve hours, both were completely gone. But I didn’t feel an ounce of regret. When you give people an inch, some of them won’t just take a mile—they’ll take the road, the car, and the title. This time it was my car. What would it be next time? I didn’t want to find out. As far as I was concerned, that friendship was dead. Honestly, looking back, I was never her friend. I was just her ATM with a pulse. 4 I hadn’t been home from the police station for more than an hour when the doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. It was Barbara, Cassie’s mother-in-law. Late sixties, tightly permed hair, clutching a heavy Pyrex dish of homemade pies.

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01 It was pouring rain tonight. I stood on the curb, holding my soundly sleeping son in my arms, waiting for the Uber I had booked. Soon, a car pulled up right in front of me. I didn’t know why, but the car looked vaguely familiar. But… it was black, and the license plate ended in 88. This had to be it! I dashed through the heavy rain, opening the door and sliding into the backseat in one fluid motion. Except… the moment I got inside, something felt off. The interior was absurdly luxurious. You absolutely couldn’t get a car like this for anything less than a couple hundred grand! Could it be… some bored rich guy driving an Uber just to experience the struggles of the working class? As the thought crossed my mind, I said, “Alright, sir, we’re good to go.” The car didn’t move. Confused, I asked, “Sir? Why aren’t we moving?” That’s when a cold, clear voice drifted from the driver’s seat. “Long time no see, Harper.” That deep, magnetic voice. Who else could it be but my ex-boyfriend from five years ago—the biological father of the child currently sleeping in my arms? What was he doing here?! I must have opened the car door in a parallel universe. But my survival instincts quickly kicked in, and I figured out the crux of the problem. “I—I got in the wrong car. I’ll get out right now.” It wasn’t that I was a genius; it was just plain logic. Unless the earth exploded, there was zero chance Carter Sterling would ever be poor enough to drive an Uber! Just as I reached for the handle to escape this pirate ship—I mean, car—I heard a sharp click. The doors locked. My heart hammered in my chest, a wave of intense anxiety washing over me. “Where are you going? I’ll drop you off.” His tone was completely flat, and he didn’t even glance in the rearview mirror. But my gut screamed that this was a disaster. I clutched my son tighter, feeling incredibly guilty. I absolutely could not let him see my son’s face. After all, the two of them looked like they were printed from the exact same mold! “No need, really. I just got the wrong car. My husband drives this exact same model.” I was dead set on saving face, especially in front of my ex. “Do you usually call your husband ‘sir’?” “Y-yes! It’s a pet name. Got a problem with that?” “Hmm. It’s just that there are only two of these cars in the entire city. One is mine, and the other belongs to the CEO of Apex Real Estate. And as far as I know, he’s over fifty, balding, and has a massive beer belly.” Me: “……” “Your tastes have gotten a bit extreme, haven’t they?” I gritted my teeth. “I don’t know anything about cars. They all look the same to me. I guess I remembered wrong.” “Harper, didn’t I tell you? Whenever you lie and feel incredibly nervous, you touch your nose, and then the back of your neck.” I immediately dropped the hand I was currently using to rub the back of my neck. How was it that five years had passed, and Carter still had me completely figured out? 02 Before I could figure out a way to sneak out, my phone rang. It was my actual Uber driver. “Hello? Hey, miss, I’m so sorry, but my car broke down! Could you go ahead and cancel the ride on your end?” His booming voice echoed out of my phone’s earpiece, giving the entire luxury car a surround-sound experience. And me? I was so embarrassed I wanted to dig a hole through the floorboards. To make it worse, Carter let out a deliberate, soft chuckle. “Guess your husband isn’t coming?” I took a deep breath. “…Maplewood Heights, please. Thank you.” Even though we broke up five years ago, I still trusted his character. I don’t know if it was because the car was too quiet, or if he was just bored. He finally asked the question I had been dreading. “How old is your son?” “…Three.” I deliberately shaved a year off Leo’s actual age. “He doesn’t look three.” “He’s special. He’s been bigger than other kids since the day he was born.” I glanced down at my sleeping son, sweating bullets. The topic ended there, and a terrifying silence fell over the car once again. 03 The car pulled to a smooth stop at the entrance of my apartment complex. The heart that had been in my throat the entire ride finally settled. “I’m here. Thanks for the ride.” Just as I was about to make a run for it, he handed me a business card. I stared at his hand. Pale, long-fingered, strong. Exactly as I remembered. Right as my thoughts were starting to wander… “If you ever need any help in the future, you can contact me.” “Since when did you become so helpful?” I asked sarcastically. Carter? Helpful? Incredibly kind? Loves helping others? That was absolutely the funniest joke I had heard all year. I let out a cold laugh. “No thanks!” I snapped out of my brief wave of nostalgia. I wanted nothing more than to throw the business card right in his face! He raised an eyebrow. “What, Harper? You dumped me, but you still aren’t over me?” He was using reverse psychology! It was the tactic I hated most in the world. Because it worked on me every single time! My hand moved faster than my brain. I snatched the card, clutching it tight, and said my goodbyes to Carter. “Carter Sterling, I forgot about you a long, long time ago!” The card in my palm was crumpled into a ball and tossed into its ultimate resting place—the nearest trash can. As for what was written on it, I didn’t even look. Help from an ex? I didn’t care. The greatest help that jerk could ever give me was to stay far away from me and my child for the rest of his life! 04 Despite my best efforts to prevent it, my son caught a fever. It happened right in the middle of flu season, and the pediatric ward was absolutely packed. Holding my lethargic son, I waited from the crack of dawn until high noon. And of course, right at that moment, my editor’s calls started blowing up my phone. Yes, I’m a journalist. As a reporter, missing a trending story is basically chronic unemployment. And if I lost my job, my son and I would have to survive on air. With no other choice, I carried my son and went to find a friend who worked in orthopedics. “Liam, I’m so sorry to bother you with the baby again.” “Don’t be so polite with me. I’m a doctor. Even if a regular patient needed help, I’d step in.” He spoke with gentle consideration. I thanked him endlessly and carefully handed my son, who was still hooked up to an IV drip, over to Liam to look after. A few hours later, my interview wrapped up, and I rushed back, burning with anxiety. Thank God, my son’s fever had broken. After a quick goodbye to Liam, I gathered my son and prepared to leave the hospital. But just as I stepped out of Liam’s office with the baby in my arms… Someone walked right toward us. Very familiar. It was Carter, whom I had just seen yesterday. I wanted to pretend I didn’t know him, but he spoke first. “Your son has a fever?” My heart skipped a beat, and I immediately lowered my head. Thankfully, the way I was holding my son meant only his forehead—covered by a cooling patch—was visible. I knew Carter was just asking out of politeness, but after a second of thought, I couldn’t resist dropping a reminder. “Yes, my son has a fever.” I put a heavy emphasis on the word my. He just gave a simple “Hmm.” Terrified he might say something else, I quickly changed the subject. “You got hurt?” Hahaha, what kind soul did society a favor and put him in the orthopedics ward? I really wanted to send that person a bouquet of flowers. Before I could laugh out loud, I heard him say, “Noah got into a little fender bender.” Noah Brooks. I knew him too. He was an old college classmate, and Carter’s best friend. He was also the primary witness to the entire crash-and-burn of my relationship with Carter. I didn’t care much for Noah, mostly because after the breakup, he had made several sarcastic, passive-aggressive remarks to me. Just last night, he somehow got my number and called to yell at me. —”Carter told me you have a son now? Heh, Harper, you sure moved on right away, didn’t you?” —”Harper, stay the hell away from Carter. You’ve already caused him enough damage.” I had literally laughed out loud at that. Carter was the one who moved to my city, and I was supposed to stay away from him? Besides, during everything that happened back then, I was the one who got hurt. Why was everyone acting like Carter was the victim? I fired right back at him: “All I can say is, Carter has done a phenomenal job playing the heartbroken martyr.” And then I hung up. I didn’t expect to run into both of them today. What awful luck. Seeing Noah limping his way over, I turned around, fully intending to leave. “I’ll give you a ride back,” Carter suddenly offered. “He’s done with his appointment. We’re going the same way.” “No thanks. I can’t afford to play along with your ‘deeply devoted ex’ persona,” I replied without hesitation, looking back. I watched Carter frown, but before he could speak, a voice rang out from behind me. “Harper, let’s go home!” It was Liam. 05 Carter’s face darkened instantly. Liam walked straight toward me, his eyes filled with total warmth. “Harper, I swapped shifts with a coworker. I’ll drive you and Leo back.” “You don’t have to do that! Please, get back to your patients. Your work is important.” I felt incredibly guilty. I already bothered Liam enough as it was. I was racking up an impossible debt of favors. Liam smiled shyly. “My work isn’t nearly as important as you and the baby.” Hearing those words coming out of Liam’s mouth… I laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. Just then, Carter’s voice cut through, freezing cold. “Are you Harper’s husband?” I don’t know why, but amidst the panic, I actually felt a tiny bit touched. I never thought I’d live to see the day Carter Sterling asked a question so politely. Because the old Carter would have definitely said: “What kind of stray dog are you? Get the hell out of my face!” It seemed five years really could change a playboy. “Hello, I’m Dr. Liam Hayes. Judging by your age, you must be Harper’s old classmates?” I was surprised. Liam didn’t deny it, but he didn’t confirm it either. I wanted to clarify, but looking at Carter and Noah—who had just hobbled over—I suddenly changed my mind. Why not… just let them keep misunderstanding? Since I didn’t say anything, Carter and Noah just stood there, staring dead at Liam. None of the four of us spoke… The tension was agonizingly awkward. I tugged on Liam’s sleeve, and he smoothly stepped in to rescue me. “Well, gentlemen, we’ll be going now.” Then he actively reached over and took Leo from my arms, looking every bit the perfect man, the perfect husband, and the perfect father. Carter: “Alright. Drive safe.” It was the most normal, polite farewell possible, yet it sent a chilling shiver straight down my spine. He was being way too polite. I comforted myself by thinking that as I got older, I was just overthinking things. But that very night, I woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare. In the dream, Carter had his hands wrapped around my throat, demanding to know why I had done this to him. Thinking back to Carter’s polite, boundaried behavior at the hospital, I felt ridiculous. Everything was deep in the past, and everyone had moved on with their lives. I was the only idiot still obsessing over what happened back then. 06 My son needed IV drips for three consecutive days for his fever. And for three consecutive days, I bumped into Carter and Noah at the hospital. I couldn’t help but wonder—since when did a minor fracture require daily check-ups? Shouldn’t he just be resting in bed for a couple of months? The first day was an accident. The second day was a coincidence. By the third day, it was just bizarre. I asked sympathetically, “Noah, is your leg going to need to be amputated or something?” Noah muttered under his breath, “I’m just a massive third wheel.” “What was that?” “Nothing. It’s just a sprain. Carter is just worried about me, so he brings me in for check-ups every day.” My mouth twitched. What was wrong with these two? Were they having some sort of intense bromance? Just then, Liam appeared, walking past a group of nurses with a coffee in hand. The nurses all turned to look at him, then covered their mouths, giggling. They whispered admiringly, “Dr. Hayes really is the hospital’s most eligible bachelor. Look at those proportions! Look at that face! He’s too perfect.” My heart dropped. If the nurses were calling him a bachelor… didn’t that completely ruin the illusion I had been trying to maintain all week? But to my utter shock… Carter acted like he didn’t hear a single word. He just shot Noah a subtle glance. And then, right before my eyes, Noah began dramatically wailing. “Ohhh, Doctor! My leg is in agonizing pain!” I couldn’t stop my mouth from twitching. That acting deserved a Golden Raspberry Award for Worst Actor of the Decade. He put on the performance of a lifetime in the morning, and I lost my job in the afternoon. Well, not exactly. But Liam clearly thought Noah’s acting was absurdly fake and hesitated to intervene. But as a doctor, he couldn’t exactly ignore a patient in “pain.” Once Noah aggressively dragged Liam away, the atmosphere instantly dropped below freezing. “Your son is cute. Doesn’t look much like you, though.” Me: “…If you don’t have anything nice to say, you are allowed to shut up.” No kidding he doesn’t look like me! He looks like you! But I never expected this man to be partially blind. He noticed the kid didn’t look like me, but somehow failed to realize the kid looked exactly like him. Even though it was the truth, I still hated hearing it. Before I could lose my temper… Carter casually added, “I have freedom of speech.” Then he crouched down to greet my son. “Hey there, buddy. I’m your mom’s friend.” “I’m Leo! Hi, Uncle.” This was the first time Carter had interacted with a fully awake, energized Leo. Seeing the two of them side-by-side, their eyes and brows were strikingly identical. The longer I looked, the more panicked I felt. And… maybe it was the blood connection, but the two of them hit it off instantly, chatting away like old pals. I was paralyzed. Just as I was about to tactfully interrupt and stop the conversation… My phone started ringing off the hook. It was my editor again. It was that damn job again. So annoying! But when it came down to choosing between getting my pay docked or answering the phone, I knew what I had to do. “Leo, Mommy has to take a call. Let me carry you to the orthopedic office to wait for a bit, okay?” Before Leo could answer, Carter stepped in. “I’ll watch him for you.” Leave these two alone in the same room? No. Absolutely not. “No—” I started to refuse. “Your phone is about to go to voicemail,” Carter pointed out helpfully. Seeing the words “Chief Editor” flashing on the screen, I hesitated for a split second. “Just two minutes. Thank you.” Two minutes. What kind of disaster could happen in two minutes? 07 Never leave things to chance!!! Help me… When I finished the call and rushed back to the IV room, I overheard a conversation that nearly gave me a heart attack. “Dr. Hayes is just Mommy’s friend, not my daddy! You misunderstood, Uncle~” What a fantastic son I had. Using his sweet, innocent little voice to completely sell me out. Carter paused, then asked, “Then who is your daddy?” I wanted to sprint over and stop it, but my son’s mouth was too fast. He said, “Mommy said my dad is a super bad guy, so I’ve never met him.” I didn’t know why, but I actually wanted to laugh. Kid, did it ever cross your mind that the man standing right in front of you… is your biological father? Biting back a laugh, I quickly interrupted them before Carter could ask his next question. And then I saw the look Carter was giving me… It went from total confusion, to intense urgency, and finally, to a look of profound pity—clearly suspecting I had been knocked up and abandoned by an irresponsible deadbeat. I couldn’t be bothered to correct him. I just took my son home that night and gave him a very strict lecture about stranger danger. The next day, Carter probed again. My son looked deeply conflicted and said, “Mommy said I’m not allowed to talk too much to Uncle Carter.” I could physically feel Carter choking on the rejection. I couldn’t help it. My wonderful son was perfect in every way, except he was a little too honest. “Harper, you really do overthink things.” What was that supposed to mean? Was he calling me a narcissist? I doubled down. “You misunderstood. I just want my son to have a strong sense of stranger danger.” Carter looked at me meaningfully and replied, “I hope that’s all it is.” I coughed guiltily. “Of course that’s all it is.” “So, who is this irresponsible deadbeat who hurt you?” “No comment.” Carter’s brow furrowed, his face turning cold. “Are you still not over him?” “What does it matter if I tell you? Are you going to go get revenge on him for me?” Taking revenge on himself? That would be a fresh twist. Though, as the CEO of a publicly traded corporate empire, he certainly had the money, power, and capability to do it. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?” I shot back instantly: “I’m not worth Mr. Sterling’s trouble.” I was terrified of what else he might say, and even more terrified that if this kept going, I’d expose the truth. I grabbed my kid and practically ran, swearing to myself I would never step foot in this hospital again. But to my utter shock, even after going to such extreme lengths to hide… I still bumped into him again. 08 That evening, my balding Chief Editor dragged me out to a networking dinner. I knew the rules of the corporate dinner table. Whether you knew the people or not, you just drank. But this time, we hit a brick wall. The client had the alcohol tolerance of a blue whale. An hour in, I finally raised my white flag. “I can’t do it, Mr. Henderson. I seriously can’t drink another drop.” “Harper, come on, that won’t do! We haven’t even made it through the appetizers yet!” I had clearly expressed my refusal. But a glass filled to the brim with red wine was still forcefully shoved into my hand. I had been in this exact situation countless times, and the only way out was usually to just swallow it down. But this time, someone intervened. “She said she’s done drinking. Are you deaf?” I didn’t know where Carter materialized from, but he snatched the wine glass out of my hand and slammed it heavily onto the table. His face was so dark and menacing it sent a chill through the room. My head was spinning from the alcohol, but I wasn’t so drunk I couldn’t recognize the man standing in front of me. I stared blankly at him. God, that face really was gorgeous. Setting aside the fact that he cheated on me… Carter truly fulfilled every single fantasy I had about a man with a great voice, great hands, and an incredible face. My editor snapped out of his shock and quickly stood up to smooth things over. “Mr… Mr. Sterling! You’re here! Please, take a seat. You misunderstood, nobody is forcing Harper to drink! We’re just warming up the room!” Carter didn’t give him an ounce of grace. “Warming up the room by harassing a woman?” Seeing my editor’s pathetic, fawning behavior, it suddenly clicked. The “corporate titan” my editor said might make an appearance tonight… Was Carter? My editor had even warned me to be on my best behavior tonight so we could secure an exclusive interview with him tomorrow. I don’t know why, but I instantly relaxed. If the VIP was him, then there was absolutely no need for me to suffer through this miserable networking dinner. Carter was a jerk, but I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t despicable enough to sabotage my career over a personal grudge. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head out,” I forced myself to say. Perhaps sensing that my relationship with Carter was anything but ordinary, no one dared to stop me. I stood up unsteadily, my legs like jelly, looking quite pathetic as I swayed. With a sweep of his long arm, Carter pulled me firmly into his chest, holding me in a deeply intimate embrace.

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The accident happened on a Tuesday, the kind of mundane evening where your biggest worry is whether the leftovers in the fridge are still good. One moment I was crossing the street, exhausted from a double shift; the next, the world was a blur of screeching tires and the sickening crunch of bone. A charcoal-grey sports car—the kind that costs more than my childhood home—had slammed into me, shattering my arm. But the physical pain was nothing compared to what came next. The driver didn’t apologize. He didn’t even check if I was breathing. Instead, he stood over me, smelling of expensive cologne and sheer arrogance, accusing me of “staging” the accident for an insurance payout. I was mid-surgery when the world tilted on its axis. Still hazy from the initial painkillers, I was told the treatment had been “interrupted” due to a legal injunction. Before I could process the agony in my arm, I was hauled into a courtroom, my hospital gown barely covered by a coat, my vision swimming. In the courtroom, the driver—a man with the polished, hollow look of old money—sneered at me from across the aisle. “A grown man stooping to insurance scams,” he scoffed, loud enough for the court stenographer to hear. “Pathetic.” He leaned back, adjusting his silk tie. “Do you have any idea what that car is worth? My wife bought it for me for our anniversary. It’s a custom-built masterpiece. And you? You’re just a stain on the leather.” He leaned forward then, his voice dropping to a predatory hiss. “My wife is one of the most powerful litigators in the state. She’s worth nine figures. By the time she’s done with you, you’ll be lucky if you have a pair of shoes left to your name.” I sat in the defendant’s chair, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The pain was a white-hot scream in my shoulder, and the injustice of it made my head spin. That’s when she walked in. The heavy oak doors swung open, and a woman in a perfectly tailored charcoal power suit strode down the aisle. She didn’t look at me. She went straight to the man who had hit me, wrapping an arm around him in a protective embrace. “Your Honor,” she said, her voice clear, commanding, and hauntingly familiar. “My husband would never intentionally cause harm. This is a clear case of a predatory pedestrian looking for a payday. We request the maximum penalty for this attempted fraud.” My blood turned to ice. My breath hitched, dying in my throat. I knew that voice. I knew the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was being assertive. I knew the scent of the perfume that was now drifting through the sterile courtroom air. Six months ago, this woman—the elite, cold-eyed attorney standing before the judge—had kissed me goodbye at our front door, telling me she was taking a high-stakes consultancy job in Chicago to help us save for a house. The woman defending my attacker was Isabella. My wife. … Isabella smoothed her husband’s hair, her touch tender, while he pointed a finger at me like a petulant child. “He’s the one, Bella. He got blood all over the hood. It’s bad luck. The car is ruined.” Isabella turned her head to look at the man her husband was pointing at. For a fleeting second, her poise shattered. Her eyes widened, a flash of pure, unadulterated shock crossing her face. But it was gone in three seconds. She pulled her professional mask back into place, her expression turning colder than I had ever seen it in five years of marriage. “I am representing Mr. Sterling,” she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. “Any communication regarding this incident must go through me.” The words felt like a physical blow. Five years of waking up next to her, of sharing dreams and a cramped apartment, and she was speaking to me like I was a stranger on a deposition list. For months, she had been “on assignment.” She told me the firm had moved her to a satellite office for a promotion. We talked every night—or so I thought. She’d say she was tired, that the signal was bad, that she missed my cooking. I spent my nights alone, working overtime to surprise her with a real vacation, eating ramen so I could afford her favorite vitamins when she felt run down. While I was out here struggling to keep our world spinning, she was building a palace with another man. The physical pain in my arm flared, a sharp, jagged reminder of the impact. I doubled over, a soft groan escaping my lips. Isabella’s eyes flickered to my mangled arm, but before she could speak, the man—Bradley—interrupted. “It’s just an arm, Bella. A loser like this probably doesn’t even use it for anything besides panhandling. But that car… it’s a Ferrari Roma. I want him to pay, and I want him to crawl.” I clenched my teeth, my heart thudding so hard it hurt. Isabella had always told me her family lost everything in a bad real estate deal, that we had to be frugal to stay afloat. I had lived like a monk, counting pennies, agonizing over the grocery bill, all while she was buying ten-million-dollar toys for a secret husband. “I want an apology,” Bradley demanded, slipping his hand around Isabella’s waist, pulling her flush against him. I looked at her, my soul screaming for her to recognize me, to stop this nightmare. Isabella looked conflicted for a heartbeat, her gaze shifting between Bradley’s smug face and my broken form. Then, she fixed me with a look of stern, calculated warning. “Apologize to my husband,” she said. The world went silent. I felt the heat leave my limbs. I had lost the use of my arm because of this man’s negligence, and my wife was demanding I apologize to my executioner. “Mr. Mitch,” the judge prodded, looking at me with thinly veiled impatience. I stood there, my body shaking, and forced myself to bow. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling. I… I’m sorry about your car.” Bradley didn’t even acknowledge me. He turned Isabella around and kissed her deeply, a victory lap in front of the court. “The repairs will be three hundred thousand dollars,” Bradley called out as they turned to leave. “You’ll never make that much in your life, but consider it a lesson. Some people are just worth more than others.” Isabella didn’t look back. She walked out of that courtroom with him, leaving me with a legal bill that felt like a death warrant. She had forgotten, apparently, that when my mother needed surgery two years ago, we couldn’t even scrape together ten thousand dollars. I had sold everything I owned back then. I walked out of the courthouse alone, the sun blindingly bright. A Maybach roared past me, splashing grey slush onto my shoes. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Isabella: Wait for me at the apartment. We’ll talk. Do NOT let him find out who you are. A single tear hit the cracked screen of my phone. Five years of devotion, of working until 2 AM, of building a life I thought was ours… it was all a punchline to a joke I wasn’t in on. When I finally reached our building, I found the hallway cluttered with boxes. My boxes. Two movers were unceremoniously throwing my clothes and books into the hall. “What are you doing?” I screamed, rushing forward, trying to grab a framed photo of my mother before it hit the floor. “Stop it!” The door to our apartment opened, and Isabella stepped out. She was still in her suit, looking every bit the high-society titan. “You need to move out for a while,” she said, her voice flat. “It’s for your own safety.” I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. “Five years, Isabella. You lied to me for five years. Am I even a person to you? Do you have a soul?” She sighed, a weary, practiced sound. “Don’t make a scene, Noah. Please.” “Don’t make a scene?” I choked out. “Bradley and I… it’s a family arrangement. A merger of estates. I kept you hidden to protect you. Can’t you understand that? This entire building? I bought it for Bradley months ago. Now that he’s seen your face, you can’t stay here. He’ll put the pieces together.” The air left my lungs. The home we had shared, the walls I had painted, the memories of five anniversaries… it was all hers. It was never ours. She reached into her designer bag and tossed a set of keys at my feet. “My assistant will drive you. There’s a place in the suburbs. Stay there. Don’t be reckless.” I watched her walk away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor. I picked up the keys and hurled them at her retreating back, but they just clattered harmlessly against the wall. The assistant drove me to a sprawling estate on the outskirts of the city. As soon as I stepped inside, I heard the lock click behind me. In the foyer, a massive family portrait hung on the wall. Isabella, Bradley, and a three-year-old boy, all smiling in the golden glow of a professional studio. Three years old. Every time I had brought up having a baby, she had shut down. She’d claim she wasn’t ready, that we needed more money, that her career was too volatile. Now I knew why. She already had a son. I looked at the date on the bottom of the portrait. My heart stopped. That was the day my father died. I had spent that night huddled in a hospital corridor, calling Isabella a hundred times, sobbing into the voicemail. When she finally called back, she sounded “exhausted” from her “business trip.” “I’m so sorry, honey, but my boss has me tied up in meetings. I can’t get a flight out for a week.” She hadn’t been in meetings. she had been posing for a family portrait while I buried my father alone. A red haze took over. I grabbed the heavy frame and smashed it against the floor, screaming until my throat was raw. When the strength left me, I slumped into the glass shards and pulled out my phone. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “I need a lawyer,” I whispered. “I want a divorce.” I sat there in the dark, watching the blood from my reopened arm wound soak into the expensive white rug. I tried to call Isabella one last time. The first time, she declined. The second time, her phone was off. I blacked out from the pain and the loss of blood. I woke up to heavy footsteps. Two men in dark suits—security—grabbed me and hauled me into a waiting black SUV. They drove like madmen until we reached a private wing of a hospital. They strapped me to a gurney. I struggled, my voice a raspy croak. “What are you doing? Let me go!” Then, Isabella appeared. Her face was contorted, frantic in a way I’d never seen. “I told you not to get in his way!” she hissed, leaning over me. “You just couldn’t stay away, could you? Bradley found out about you. He tried to kill himself. He’s in surgery right now.” She grabbed my chin, her grip bruising. “I know you’re O-negative. You’re the only match in the private registry close enough to get here in time. You’re going to give him whatever he needs. Doctor! Do it now! My husband is dying!” I stared at her, my vision blurring. She wasn’t just my wife anymore. She was a monster. The needle was thick, and the sensation of the blood leaving my body was a slow, cold hollowness. I slipped back into the dark. I don’t know how much time passed. I was woken by a searing, localized agony in my lower body. “What… what did you do?” I gasped, looking down at the blood-stained sheets. The doctor wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Mr. Sterling… he was highly agitated when he woke up. He demanded a guarantee that you would never be a threat to his family again. Ms. Isabella… she signed the consent forms for the vasectomy while you were under.” The room spun. I felt a surge of bile in my throat. I vomited blood onto the white tiles. My phone, left on the bedside table, began to vibrate incessantly. Notifications flooded the screen. “Check out this homewrecker.” “If you’re lonely, buy a dog, don’t steal someone else’s wife.” “Staged an accident just to get close to her. Total psycho.” Pictures of me from the courtroom were everywhere. I was being branded as the “other man,” the obsessed stalker who had tried to extort a grieving couple. I was the legal husband. I was the one who had been betrayed. I pulled my wedding certificate from my bag—the one I had kept like a holy relic—and posted it online, detailing our five-year timeline. Within minutes, the comments shifted. People pointed out the seal on my certificate. “That’s a fake seal. Look at the font. This guy is a pro fraudster.” I stared at the screen, zooming in. My heart shattered. Isabella had faked our entire marriage. The ceremony, the paperwork… it was all a prop to keep me compliant. Seconds later, Bradley posted a photo of their marriage certificate. It was real. It was stamped with the official state seal. Isabella called. “Was it all a lie?” I whispered into the phone. “Is his the only one that’s real?” “I had to give him security, Noah,” she said, her voice trembling. “He needs to feel like he’s the only one. But you… you were always going to be mine. Why can’t you just accept that?” I heard things breaking on her end. Bradley was screaming in the background. “He’s unstable, Noah! You have to fix this. Go on a livestream. Admit you were the ‘other man.’ Admit you obsessed over me. If you do this, I’ll take care of you forever.” “You destroyed my life,” I said, my voice dead. “And you want me to apologize for it?” Isabella’s voice turned ice-cold. “Think about your mother, Noah. Think about who’s paying for her ventilator and her private suite. Think very carefully about your next words.” I collapsed against the hospital bed. My mother. She was my only reason for breathing. Isabella had taken over her medical bills months ago, moving her to a facility “with better care.” “Noah, honey,” Isabella’s voice softened, returning to the manipulative warmth I used to love. “Don’t make me pull the plug on her. Just do the stream. Apologize. Then we can go back to how things were.” I checked out of the hospital against medical advice, my body a map of pain. When I stepped outside, people recognized me. They threw trash. They spat on me. “Homewrecker!” someone yelled. A call came through from the hospital. It was my mother, her voice a fragile wisp. “Noah… don’t do it… don’t beg for me…” The line went dead. I went to Isabella. She met me in a studio, handing me a script. “Do this, and the three million dollars for your mother’s transplant will be cleared tonight.” I looked at the cameras, the reporters, the bright lights. “This is a public execution,” I whispered. “Then die with dignity,” she whispered back. “Or watch your mother die instead.” I walked to the center of the room. I looked at Bradley, who was sitting in a wheelchair, looking triumphant. I dropped to my knees. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “I was obsessed with your wife. I tried to come between you. I am… I am nothing.” I put my forehead to the floor, over and over, until the skin broke and blood clouded my vision. When it was over, Isabella tossed a black debit card at my feet. “Three million. Go save her.” I ran. I ran until my lungs burned. I reached my mother’s room, shoving the card at the doctor. “Use it! Save her!” The doctor came back minutes later, shaking his head. “The account is frozen, Mr. Mitch. There’s no money.” I pulled the gold signet ring from my finger—the one Isabella gave me for my birthday. “This! It’s pure gold! It’s worth a fortune!” The doctor looked at it with pity. “Sir… this is iron dipped in gold. It’s a prop. It’s worthless.” A high-pitched whine filled the room. The heart monitor went flat. My mother was gone. I stood there, holding her cold hand, as my world turned to dust. I walked out of the room, up the stairs, and out onto the hospital roof. My phone chimed. A message from Isabella: [I’m sorry, I’m with Bradley at his physical therapy. As soon as he falls asleep, I’ll come check on your mom. Tell her not to worry.] [I bought you a house in the canyon. You can have anything you want.] [Bradley says he can look the other way now. I’ll spend more time with you soon.] I didn’t reply. I stood on the edge, the wind whipping through my hair. “Isabella,” I whispered to the empty air. “There is no ‘us’ anymore.” I stepped off the ledge. Down in the courtyard, Isabella happened to look up. She saw the falling figure. Her eyes widened, her soul finally catching up to her sins.

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My dad got me a stepmom. The very first day she moved in, she took me straight to the hospital. “Doctor, how do we treat a child’s bad stomach?” But I could hear her inner voice talking to a “System.” [Host, the female lead having cute little baby burps is part of her ‘delicate wifey’ setting. Isn’t it adorable?!] [I only know it’s a medical condition. It needs to be treated.] I didn’t understand what a “delicate wifey” meant. Until later. I met the destined male lead. He tossed a black card at me, arrogant and domineering. “Be my woman.” I scoffed. “Count the zeros on that card before you talk so big.” 1 “Minnie, from now on, she is your new mom. She’ll be taking care of you.” Dad squatted in front of me, pointing to the woman behind him. She was gentle and beautiful, just like a fairy from the TV shows. She smiled and waved at me. “Hi there, Minnie.” [System, is she the little female lead?] [Yes, Host. The female leads in ‘delicate wifey’ novels are always starved for affection. Please raise this delicate flower with lots of love until she gets together with the male lead.] I didn’t know why I could hear these strange voices. I timidly greeted my stepmom, uncontrollably letting out a burp. Dad affectionately tapped my nose. “Minnie’s got the little baby burps again. So cute.” I crossed my hands shyly. But I saw a complicated look cross my stepmom’s face. [This smell… it’s sour and gross. How on earth did her dad manage to compliment that?] I secretly took a sniff. It seemed she was right. It did smell a bit awful. 2 Dad had to go on a business trip. He left my stepmom a black credit card and left the house. My stepmom immediately took me to the best children’s hospital in the city. “Doctor, my daughter is six. Her burps smell foul, which probably means a bad digestive system. What’s the treatment plan?” System: [The female lead having baby burps is her delicate wifey setting! Combined with her fragile, petite body that’s easily dominated, it’s so cute!] My stepmom was furious: [Cute my ass!] [It’s a sickness, and it needs to be cured!] Dazed, I ended up with a massive pile of nasty prescription syrups. Before I could even get used to the daily routine of drinking bitter medicine, my stepmom enrolled me in Taekwondo. On the very first day, the coach trained me so hard I couldn’t even lift my legs, and I went home with several bruises. That night at home. I looked at my stepmom with grievances in my eyes, habitually keeping my mouth shut to let the other person guess what was wrong. She glanced at me sideways. “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t act like a mute.” I gathered my courage. “Mom, Taekwondo is so tiring and hard. Can I stop going?” “No, you may not.” “…” I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I ran into my bedroom angrily and called my dad to complain that my stepmom was bullying me. As a result, she walked in, snatched my kids’ phone right out of my hand, and reverted to the gentle woman I first met. “Don’t worry, honey. Minnie is having a wonderful time with me.” “However, today someone made fun of her name. They said her parents didn’t love her, which is why they gave her such a small, insignificant name.” “I plan to change her name. Let’s call her Aurora.” I heard that mechanical voice roaring in her head. [Host, why are you changing the female lead’s name?! Minnie sounds so sweet and obedient!] Stepmom: [Bullshit!] [Aurora represents the dawn, a brilliant, fierce beginning where she rises above everything. That is a proper name for a girl!] I didn’t understand the full meaning of that sentence. I only knew my biological mother passed away giving birth to me. My dad was always busy with work and had no time for me, so he just hired nannies. “Minnie” was just a random nickname he settled on. I silently mouthed “Aurora” in my head, covering my mouth as I giggled secretly. My new name sounded so beautiful! However, my stepmom hung up the phone and confiscated it. She curled her red lips at me, giving a sinister smile. “Aurora, from now on, without my permission, you are not allowed to contact your dad privately. Otherwise, I eat little kids.” I hid under the covers in terror. The TV shows didn’t lie to me. Stepmoms really were terrifying. 3 My stepmom fired most of the nannies in the house, leaving only one for cleaning and one for cooking. I completely lost my lifestyle of being spoon-fed and dressed by others. I was forced to learn how to dress myself and brush my own teeth. Every day, I bitterly drank my medicinal syrups and practiced Taekwondo… Gradually, I stopped having those stinky burps. My body grew strong enough that I could carry my own chairs. I also welcomed my first day of elementary school. My stepmom specifically bought me a new dress and dropped me off at school. “If you can study, study. If you can’t, just eat more at lunch. Mom will come pick you up tonight~” I nodded obediently and walked into the classroom with the other kids. Suddenly, a little boy bumped into me. Cola spilled all over my outfit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He was apologizing, but he had a mischievous grin on his face. I felt incredibly wronged. “It’s okay…” After wiping the cola off my new dress, I sat gloomily in my chair. The boy sat right behind me, occasionally kicking my chair with his foot. The constant thump-thump was incredibly annoying. Unable to take it anymore, I turned around to stop him, only to find my ponytail had gotten stuck in a wad of chewing gum. He made a cocky face at me. “The little princess got her hair dirty.” Furious, I went to the teacher to complain. The teacher didn’t care. “Mason Wright is just joking around with you. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” “Besides, why would he prank you and not anyone else? Did you do something to upset him?” I was left speechless by her logic. The teacher shooed me back to my seat. Mason kept kicking my chair. Not knowing who to talk to, I held back my tears and suffered until school ended. Afraid my stepmom would see my ruined dress and hair and scold me, I hugged my backpack against my chest to hide the stain. I clumsily twisted my hair up into a bun. As soon as I got in the car, I was met with my stepmom’s piercing stare. I felt incredibly uncomfortable under her gaze. Yet, she asked gently. “Tell Mom, how did your clothes and hair get like this?” I couldn’t help but speak up: “It was Mason Wright…” The System screamed: [It’s the third male lead! The female lead’s childhood-sweetheart-turned-rival! I totally ship them!] My stepmom was unexpectedly quiet. She took me home, changed my dirty dress first, and then meticulously cleaned the gum out of my hair. She looked at me and said, word by word: “Tomorrow at school, if he bullies you again, use the Taekwondo you learned to hit him back.” I twisted my fingers hesitantly. “But fighting is wrong.” “Then do you want your new dresses to keep getting ruined? Do you want gum in your hair again? Do you want your chair kicked all day long?” No, I didn’t want that at all. 4 Early the next morning, my stepmom dropped me off at school. As soon as I sat down in class, Mason started kicking my chair again, saying in a sleazy tone: “The little princess got a new dress.” I turned around and looked at him seriously, just like my stepmom had taught me. “My name is Aurora, not little princess.” “Please stop kicking my chair, or I won’t hold back.” He exaggeratedly grabbed his stomach, laughing out loud. “Hey everyone, look! The little princess is mad! She’s gonna hit me with her tiny little fists!” I stood straight up, grabbed him by the collar, and flipped him over my shoulder, slamming him to the ground. I ruthlessly pummeled that mouth that never knew when to shut up. I don’t know how much time passed before the teacher’s shrill scream echoed through the room. “Aurora! What do you think you are doing?!!!” 5 I was taken to the principal’s office, and they called our parents. Mason sat in a chair, bawling his eyes out. I stood in the corner, obediently looking down. Before long. My stepmom and Mason’s mom arrived at the same time. First, I heard the System’s absolute breakdown. [How did my fragile, delicate female lead knock out the third male lead’s teeth?!] [Host, look at what you’ve done! The delicate little vine has turned into a man-eating Venus flytrap!] [They’re both plants. What’s the difference?] After shutting down the System, my stepmom walked over and rubbed my head. “Good job.” I instantly lifted my chin with pride. The teacher said, displeased: “Aurora’s mom, you can’t teach your child like this. It will ruin her life.” “It’s normal for kids to roughhouse, but Aurora is too sensitive. Mason played a few jokes on her, and she beat him black and blue.” Mason nodded pitifully: “I just thought she was cute and wanted to play with her! How was I supposed to know she was so violent?” Mason’s mom angrily pointed a finger at us. “If your daughter can’t handle other kids playing with her, then don’t send her to school.” “My precious boy was beaten like this by your daughter. You must apologize and pay for his medical bills!” My stepmom sneered. “Why is your son allowed to bully my daughter, but my daughter isn’t allowed to fight back?” “There are security cameras in the classrooms. How about we call the police and let the officers decide who is at fault?” After saying that, she looked at the teacher. “My daughter told you she was being bullied yesterday, and as a teacher, not only did you refuse to solve the problem, you interrogated my daughter and showed blatant favoritism toward Mason.” “I require your school to give me a reasonable explanation.” 5 My stepmom didn’t even give Mason’s mom or the teacher a chance to speak. She called the police on the spot and contacted our family lawyer. The security footage proved Mason had been bullying me first. Citing emotional trauma, my stepmom demanded a massive, multi-zero settlement from Mason’s mom. After losing a fortune, Mason’s mom was so furious she beat Mason herself and transferred him to another school. And the teacher, deemed unfit for the profession, was fired. Perhaps afraid of becoming the next Mason, the other kids stopped playing with me. But my stepmom bought a bunch of gifts for them, and soon, I had more friends than I could count. I looked at my stepmom with absolute admiration. Only to hear her on the phone with my dad. “Honey, Aurora needs to pay her tuition for next semester. Please transfer me a million dollars.” My tuition was nowhere near that expensive. She was lying. A term popped into my head: “Gold digger.” But my stepmom never wore heavy gold or silver jewelry. The designer bags my dad brought her from his business trips were just left in the closet to gather dust. I didn’t understand what she needed all that money for. Regardless, my after-school extracurriculars multiplied. Equestrian, swimming, painting, piano… My stepmom claimed it was for my “comprehensive development.” Mason Wright completely vanished from my life. My days were incredibly fulfilling. My originally porcelain-white skin tanned into a healthy, athletic bronze. In a flash, I was in high school. I was in the AP class, where the academic competition was fierce. To ensure our class maintained a high average score on the next exam, our homeroom teacher paired us up. Good students mentoring the struggling ones. It was a fair random draw. I drew Ryder Brooks. He was dead last in the entire grade, the resident school delinquent who only knew how to get into fights. I immediately got a headache. Reluctantly, I walked over to his desk. He was still sleeping with his head on the desk. “Ryder Brooks, you got every single question wrong on this test. Get up. I’m going over the exam with you.” Ryder lazily lifted his head, revealing a strikingly handsome face. He looked me up and down, flashing a wicked grin. “Class Prez, you care about me this much? Do you have a crush on me?”

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I stood by the window, my fingertips tracing the rough fabric of the blackout sleep mask that covered my eyes. Three years. For three years, fumbling through a world of shadows has been my “normal.” It all started with an accident—a flashlight beam caught my younger brother’s eyes while I was looking for a torch during a power outage. He had weak vision back then, a delicate condition. My mother didn’t see it as an accident. She saw it as a calculated strike. Without a word of explanation, she began administering “treatment” to me—unknown dilating drops that stung like acid. “You want to know what it’s like for him?” she had hissed, her voice a jagged blade in the dark. “Fine. If you won’t empathize with your brother, I’ll make sure you have no choice. Only then will you understand how miserable his world is.” Every time the drops hit my corneas, the pain was agonizing. Any hint of light sent tears streaming down my face, hot and unstoppable. Eventually, the pain became too much, and I was forced to wear this mask permanently to keep the world out. Today was my brother’s eighteenth birthday. I felt my way toward my mother, catching the hem of her cardigan. I kept my voice small, hopeful. “Mom, Tyler’s an adult now. Haven’t I been punished enough?” She wrenched her arm away as if my touch were toxic. “Three years and you’re already whining? Your brother was born with this! He has to live a lifetime in the blur!” “He’s so fragile, and you still try to bait him,” she spat, her heels clicking toward the door. “Keep the drops going.” The door slammed, the sound echoing in my hollow chest. I let out a shaky breath, but it was drowned out by a burst of cheering from the backyard. Tyler’s friends were there. “Ty, man, you’re a freaking legend! Ten bullseyes in a row? Since that corrective surgery, your vision is better than all of ours combined!” “It was never that bad to begin with,” Tyler’s voice drifted in, smug and casual. “Mom just likes to blow things out of proportion.” I froze. The room seemed to tilt on its axis. Tyler’s eyes were fixed. He could see. He could see perfectly. I slowly reached up and peeled back the mask. I stared into the hallway mirror, though all I saw was a hazy, gray smear where my reflection should be. My eyes were bloodshot, the pupils blown wide and fixed, staring at nothing. Six months ago, I had secretly swapped the medication for plain water. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done. Whether it was a “punishment” or not was irrelevant now. Because I was truly, irrevocably blind. … I reached for the small silver arrow pendant around my neck—the one Mom gave me when I won my first state archery championship. She used to say my eyes were like North Stars, guiding every shot. Now, the stars had gone out. With a sudden, sharp jerk, I ripped the necklace off. “Yo, Ty! Your recovery is honestly insane,” a voice boomed as the front door swung open. “I told you, it’s all in the focus. Honestly, I think the ‘weakness’ just made me train harder,” Tyler replied, his voice brimming with the confidence of a golden boy. I heard them—Tyler and his pack of friends—striding into the living room, their footsteps heavy and vibrant. I pressed my palm against the wallpaper, using it as a guide to shuffle toward them. I had to tell her. I had to tell Mom that it wasn’t a game anymore. My eyes were broken. Really broken. “Mom…” My voice was a raspy ghost of itself. Immediately, I felt a sharp, piercing gaze hit my face. “Cassidy? Who told you that you could take that mask off?” I instinctively moved to cover my eyes, but Mom was already there. She grabbed my wrists, her fingers digging into my skin. “Your brother struggles every day, and you have the nerve to flaunt your sight in front of him? What, you think you’re better than him because your eyes ‘work’?” She didn’t care that his friends were watching. She didn’t care about the scene. She was vibrating with a misplaced, manic protective rage. I heard the boys shifting uncomfortably. “Wait, is that your sister? Wasn’t she the Junior Olympic hopeful? What happened?” “I thought she went away to college,” another whispered. “She looks… sick.” “Tyler, you’re fine now. Why isn’t she getting help? The coach said she was a once-in-a-generation talent. She was supposed to go pro.” Tyler let out a dry, dismissive laugh. “She had a bit of a setback. Mom’s handling it. She’ll be fine.” “Too bad,” one of them muttered. “Since she dropped off the map, nobody’s even come close to her records.” Mom yanked me upward, her grip bruising my shoulder as she shoved me down onto the sofa. “You clearly haven’t learned your lesson,” she hissed near my ear. “Double doses today.” The pungent, chemical smell of the drops filled the air. “Mom, please. Stop. I’m begging you…” I struggled, but I was weak. Tears, thick and laced with broken capillaries, leaked from the corners of my eyes, blurring the nothingness even further. I flashed back to being ten years old, coming home with a gold medal. Back then, Mom was obsessed with protecting my vision. She wouldn’t even let me look at a screen for more than thirty minutes. She visited three different specialists before she’d even let me use basic hay fever drops. Now, she was a stranger. A woman so consumed by the perceived unfairness of Tyler’s life that she was willing to extinguish mine to balance the scales. I was shoved aside as the group moved to the dining table. The smell of roasted chicken and garlic potatoes wafted over, making my stomach churn with nausea. I heard the clinking of silverware, the sounds of a family celebrating Tyler’s acceptance into the sports academy. “My boy,” Mom said, her voice dripping with pride. “With your vision back to 20/20, there’s nothing you can’t do.” I huddled in the corner of the sofa, squinting, trying to make out the shapes on the table. I was starving. I reached out a trembling hand toward where I thought the bread basket was, but my coordination was gone. At that moment, Tyler leaned back, gesturing wildly as he told a joke. His elbow caught my arm. The bowl of scalding hot gravy I hadn’t seen tipped over. It drenched his brand-new tracksuit. “Crap! My new gear!” Tyler shrieked. “Cass, watch what you’re doing! You’re cleaning this!” The laughter in the room died instantly. I felt the air grow cold. Mom slammed her fork onto the table. “Cassidy. Was that on purpose?” “Mom, I… I couldn’t see it,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to…” “Stop lying!” Mom stood up, her voice rising to a scream. “You’ve been using those drops for three years. You aren’t blind. Tyler was born with it and he never acted this pathetic!” “If you want to play the martyr, do it in your room. Don’t you dare ruin this day for your brother. Get out. Now.” I stood up, my eyes throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache. I refused to cry in front of them. I turned to walk away, but with the world a kaleidoscope of gray smears, I miscalculated the turn. Crack. My shoulder slammed into the sharp edge of the mahogany hutch. I gasped as a searing pain shot through my arm, and my forehead hit the wood next. I felt a knot rising instantly, but behind me, I only heard Mom telling Tyler to eat his dinner. They didn’t even look back. Ever since Tyler’s condition worsened years ago, I became the family’s designated scapegoat. Any mistake meant “reflection time” in the storage closet. I opened the door to the small, windowless room, the scent of dust and mildew greeting me. It didn’t matter that it was dark. It was always dark now. I sat on a small wooden stool, my hands searching the drawer of the old desk. My fingers brushed against a cold, plastic surface. The family photo album. I opened the first page. Even though it was a blur, the memories were etched into my brain. There was one of me as a toddler, holding baby Tyler. Our parents were beaming, their faces full of a future that hadn’t turned rotten yet. There were photos of my first bow, my first trophy. Mom used to be my biggest fan. When did it change? As Tyler’s vision faded, Mom’s love morphed into something jagged. My success became an insult to him. My sight became a debt I owed him. I used to think that if I won enough, if I got a big enough scholarship, I could pay for his cure. The irony was a bitter pill. I had saved his eyes, only to have mine stolen by the person who gave them to me. I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark. Eventually, the door was wrenched open. “Cassidy, the guests are gone. Are you going to rot in here? Get out and do the dishes.” I didn’t have the strength to move. My eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead. When I didn’t respond, she grabbed me by the hair and hauled me up. “Stop acting! You’re fine! You just don’t want to work.” She forced my eyelids open, staring at my dilated, unresponsive pupils for a split second. I felt her hand tremble, just once. “Why are they so wide…?” she muttered to herself. “It’s probably because you were sleeping in the dark. It’s a natural reaction.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a new bottle. “Stop the drama. These are high-quality restorative drops. Use them, sleep, and you’ll be fine by morning.” The familiar, burning sting returned. I didn’t fight her. I let the darkness take me. The next morning, a sliver of light—a muddy, gray smear—returned. I could see the vague outlines of the kitchen cabinets. It was a miracle, or so I thought. I wanted to be good. If I was perfect, maybe she’d listen. I spent an hour painstakingly making her favorite breakfast—lemon ricotta pancakes and fresh coffee. When she sat down, her expression softened by a fraction. “At least you’re being useful for once.” I sat across from her, my voice small and desperate. “Mom, Tyler is better now. I’ve done my time. Three years… Please, can we go to a real doctor? I want to go back to the range. I miss the bow. I want to compete again.” Mom paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. She looked at my bloodshot eyes, a flicker of something—guilt, maybe?—crossing her face. “Fine. Now that Tyler is settled at the academy, I suppose we could…” “Mom! My stomach is still messed up from yesterday!” Tyler lounged into the room, wearing his expensive new athletic gear. He smirked at me, that entitled, cat-like grin he always wore. “Cass, remember when you won that state title? You told me I’d always be a ‘little loser’ who could never even hold a bow. That hurt, you know? You think a few pancakes makes up for years of being looked down on?” My heart plummeted. “Tyler, I never said that. I never, ever mocked you!” He shrugged. “I remember it differently. But hey, I guess when you’re the ‘star,’ you forget the people you step on.” Mom’s face turned to stone. she stood up and scraped the pancakes into the trash. “Cassidy, you’re unbelievable. You’re still trying to manipulate us? After everything I’ve done to keep this family together?” “Mom, I didn’t! He’s lying!” I reached for her sleeve, but the world was darkening again, the gray smears turning to black ink. “Mom! I really can’t see! It’s happening again! If we don’t go now, I’m going to be blind forever!” “Enough with the theatrics! Tyler wouldn’t lie about that! You’re just bitter because he’s the one with the future now!” “You claim you can’t see? Then who cooked this breakfast? A ghost?” “Mom, please… no…” Tyler stood back, likely thinking this was just another round of our lifelong sibling rivalry. He didn’t realize the stakes. He didn’t realize he was playing with the last flickers of my life. Mom continued to scream, but as the world went pitch black, her voice seemed to drift away. A hollow, freezing cold settled in my bones. I turned toward the sound of her breathing and spoke softly. “Mom… if I disappeared one day… would you miss me?” There was a beat of silence. Then, a sharp, dismissive scoff. “What kind of game is this? Honestly, if you disappeared, maybe I’d finally have some peace. I wouldn’t have to look at your ‘poor me’ face every day.” “Go back to your hole, Cassidy. Get out of my sight.” She stormed out. “Cass?” Tyler’s voice was closer now, teasing. “You ruined my gear yesterday, I was just messing with you. Why aren’t you laughing? Don’t be such a drama queen.” He leaned in, his warm breath hitting my face. I forced a smile—a jagged, broken thing. I just wanted to get to my room. I turned, counting the steps in my head, but my foot caught on something. CRASH. I tripped over the trash can where she’d dumped the food. The cold, sticky mess covered me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just crawled through the filth, trying to find the wall. One step. Two. THUD. My knee hit the corner of the coffee table. I went down again. This time, my forehead cracked against the hardwood floor. I felt a warm, sticky liquid trickling down my brow. I could hear my father and Tyler nearby. I could hear their breathing. But nobody moved to help me. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up, determined to stand. But my legs were like jelly. I took one step and collapsed again. THUD. THUD. THUD. Falling, rising, falling. The living room wasn’t large, but the journey felt like crossing a continent. Blood ran into my eyes, stinging, but I couldn’t tell if it was blood or tears anymore. “…Cassidy?” My father’s voice finally held a note of genuine fear. “Enough!” Mom yelled, marching back in. “Stop this! You’re making a scene just for attention!” She grabbed her newest bottle of drops. “This is the medicine! I’m going to give you one more dose, and if you keep ‘acting’ blind after this, I’m done with you!” She pinned me down, forcing my eye open. The cold liquid hit. This time, there was no burn. There was nothing. My eyes were dead. “Why… why aren’t her pupils reacting?” Mom whispered, her voice suddenly thin. “Cassidy? Look at me. Why isn’t it working?” I “looked” at her, my face a mask of terrifying calm. “Mom,” I whispered, my voice a dry husk. “In the next life… please don’t punish me. I don’t want to be in the dark anymore.”

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The year I was the hungriest, I worked for Carter Hayes. I copied his notes for a day in exchange for a single meal. Years later, after I graduated from college, Carter came looking for me. “Two million bucks. Come here and be my fiancée.” 1 Back in high school, my mom cut me off. She refused to give me a single cent. She said if I was so stubborn about staying in school instead of dropping out to work, then I shouldn’t be afraid of starving. But I went to school anyway, clutching the twenty-dollar bill I’d secretly saved up. Twenty dollars lasted me half a month of extreme penny-pinching. When the money ran out, I drank water from the bathroom sink. It was late autumn and freezing; the cold water sloshing in my empty stomach felt like solid ice. I could hear the water sloshing around every time I walked. I starved for three days straight like that. At fourteen years old, starving for three days makes you want to bite the next person you see. I was so hungry I seriously considered chewing on the grass outside the school. Just as I was about to pass out, Carter Hayes sat down next to me with his lunch. I stared at him. He turned his head and met my gaze. I didn’t move; I just stared dead at his food. Carter got thoroughly creeped out and quietly asked if I wanted to share his lunch. My eyes instantly lit up. “Can I?” He let out a breath of relief and nodded. “Yeah, eat. My mom packed way too much anyway…” Later, Carter told me that the look in my eyes didn’t say I want to eat your food; it said I want to eat YOU. He felt like giving me his lunch was the only way to save his own life. For a long time, I worked for Carter. In class, I copied his notes; between classes, I wiped his desk. The compensation wasn’t much: a meal or two. He started bringing an extra portion for me every day. I’d split it into breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it still wasn’t enough to fill me up. So Carter would slip me whatever snacks he brought. “Here’s some beef jerky my mom brought back from a road trip. It’s probably still good.” I took it and chewed. Too tough. Kept chewing. “Here’s some fruitcake from last Christmas.” I took it. Crunch, crunch, chew. “Here are some fruit-flavored antacid Tums my mom bought.” I hesitated for a second, then swiftly ripped the package open and popped them in. Chew, chew, chew… Carter would sneak me these things during class, and I’d secretly eat them. Once the bell rang, he stared at me, eyes wide. “You ate two whole rolls of Tums?!” “Yeah…” He looked utterly defeated. “Sadie, I’m not going to accidentally kill you by feeding you this crap, am I?” I didn’t know if he would kill me, but I knew I was already starving to death. 2 For a long time, I survived on the food Carter brought. Until Fall Break. Initially, I wanted to go home. But the moment I got there, my mom grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out the door. She wouldn’t let me in. She said that for every day I stayed in school, she wouldn’t recognize me as her daughter. Other girls my age were already working full-time in out-of-state factories, but I was too delicate for that. Since I thought I was so capable and refused to listen, I shouldn’t rely on the family. Better yet, I shouldn’t come home at all. I sniffled, standing awkwardly on the porch clutching my backpack. The smell of roast chicken drifted from inside the open door. My mom brought the chicken out, and my younger siblings scrambled for it. My little sister Lily grabbed a piece and glanced at me, but my mom slapped her hand. “Eat your food! Don’t look at her!” Lily froze, sitting obediently. I lowered my head. The dim light from the house stretched my shadow, making it look as defeated as I felt. Eventually, my mom slammed the door shut. The light vanished. I hugged my backpack and walked away. That night, I slept at the Greyhound bus station. The next morning, I woke up and saw Carter. He was supposed to go on a trip with his parents. When he looked up near the ticketing gate and saw me, he jumped. “What are you doing here?” “My mom won’t let me stay at the house. It’s warm inside the bus station.” “Holy shit. Is she your biological mom?” “Yeah.” “…” Carter didn’t get on his bus that day. I don’t know what he told his parents, but he saw them off and stayed behind. He turned around, looked at me, and sighed. “Come on. Let’s go to my place.” He walked ahead, and I hurried to put on my backpack to follow him. Carter was two years older than me, tall with long legs. For every step he took, I had to take three. After a few steps, he turned back and snatched my heavy backpack. I looked up at him, and when he met my gaze, he laughed. “Sadie Harper, I’m just an unlucky bastard. How did I end up running into you? My parents were supposed to take me to the beach! And now here I am, carrying your backpack.” “I’m sorry.” “Whatever, forget it. Are you hungry?” “Starving…” “Alright then. While your boy’s still got some cash, let’s go get some real food.” 3 I stayed at Carter’s house for seven days. His house was nothing like mine. I had three siblings; the older ones cried, the younger ones threw tantrums. All four of us crammed into one room, always a chaotic mess. He was an only child. His entire house was spotless, organized, and beautiful. The neighborhood was landscaped, the building had an elevator, they had a guest room, the balcony was full of plants. The only downside was the lack of food. I woke up starving in the middle of the night but couldn’t find a single bite to eat—not even a roll of Tums. Eventually, my eyes locked onto a small, decorative potted orange tree on the balcony. I stared at the oranges for half an hour until Carter walked past the balcony, saw me, and let out a shriek. “!!! Holy shit, it’s a ghost!” I froze and looked back at him. That’s when he realized it was me. “Dude, Sadie, what are you doing squatting on the balcony? Oh… the oranges… if you want to eat them, just pick them!” Carter was so scared he actually shed a tear. I cried too, hugging my oranges, deeply moved. These oranges were delicious! So sweet. The next day, Carter took me out to buy groceries and snacks, warning me repeatedly, “Sadie, you are forbidden from squatting on the dark balcony in the middle of the night with your hair down looking like a creepy ghost girl.” I nodded vigorously, looking at him with immense gratitude. He paused when he met my eyes, and after a long moment, let out a laugh. “Come on. Let’s go home.” When we got back, I cooked. After cooking, I did my homework. After finishing my homework, I tutored Carter. He didn’t really care, casually flipping through his notebook, only half-listening. Later, he suddenly remembered something, holding my student ID. “Sadie, you’re in high school, why are you only 14?” I thought about it before explaining seriously. “I skipped grades in elementary school. I didn’t go to preschool, just started first grade at six, and then skipped straight to third grade. That’s why I’m two years younger than everyone else.” “Tsk, what was the rush?” “My parents always said I’d have to start working full-time when I turned 16. When I was little, I figured if I could test into college before turning 16, I wouldn’t have to go work in a factory. But high school requires tuition fees, so my parents still wanted me to drop out. They said labor laws are looser out of state, and if I went there, I could start earning money at 14.” “…” Carter was silent for a long time. Eventually, he was so mad he laughed. “Fourteen… your parents are real pieces of work.” I had originally planned to find a part-time job during Fall Break, but since I was under 16, no one would hire me. I finally found a gig taping up promotional flyers on telephone poles for 80 bucks a day. Carter had nothing better to do, so he found a gig too: getting paid to tear down illegally taped promotional flyers. I worked for half a day, got caught by Carter, and received a lengthy lecture from him. At the end of the shift, I made 80 dollars, and Carter made 120. I looked at my 80, then at his 120. He smirked and shoved the 120 into his pocket. I gripped my 80 bucks, hesitating for a moment before handing it to him. “Carter, let me buy you dinner.” He was stunned. After a long pause, he took the cash. We went to a greasy spoon diner near his neighborhood. Two bowls of chili, an order of fries, and some sliders—it cost 40 dollars. I don’t remember the rest, but I remember leaving completely stuffed that day. 4 Between the holiday and the weekend, I worked six days total. Minus the dinner, I had 440 dollars. The first day back to school was the happiest day of my life because my financial aid check finally cleared. I scraped together two thousand dollars, counting the cash over and over again. Then I went to borrow Carter’s phone. He asked what I needed it for. “I borrowed money from the older girl next door to pay for my high school fees. I need to pay her back.” He looked confused. “How much do you owe?” “Fifteen hundred.” After paying her back, I had five hundred left. That was enough to survive for a month, and I could find odd jobs on the weekends. I could finally breathe. I even bought myself a new backpack. My old one was practically shredded and tied together with knots. The new one was 20 bucks online—big and roomy. Carter sighed when he saw me that day. As my desk-mate, he continued to bring me food. He claimed his mom always cooked too much, so bringing a little extra was no big deal. Carter was a good person, and his mom was a wonderful person too. Because after that break, every portion of food Carter brought me had a perfectly fried egg on top. The kind sprinkled with freshly chopped scallions. One weekend, Carter asked, “Are you going home this week?” I shook my head. “My mom won’t let me.” “Perfect. Pack your stuff this afternoon, you’re coming to my place.” “…” Our prep school had a brutal schedule: classes from 7 AM to 8 PM, six days a week. Weekends didn’t officially start until Saturday evening. At 5 PM, I packed my bag and left with him. When I got there, I found out his older cousin was getting married, and they were prepping the house the night before the wedding. I helped Carter out all evening, ate the huge family-style dinner, and slept in the same room as his younger cousin. I woke up in the middle of the night and found Carter sitting in the living room playing video games. I walked over. He saw me, turned off his phone, and asked, “What’s up?” “Why aren’t you sleeping?” “Can’t sleep…” “Why?” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “My mom’s been trying to send me to a boarding school overseas. She says with my grades, I won’t amount to anything staying here.” He lowered his head and stared at his phone. I knew better than to press him, but when I went back to my room, I stared at the ceiling and couldn’t help but think: If Carter leaves, who will I find to eat with when I’m starving? The next morning started early with the wedding prep. I rode in the same car as his younger cousin. It was a beautiful, elegant wedding. The bride looked stunning in her white gown. I stared in awe until the bride’s mother handed me a tip envelope with a warm smile. In that moment, I understood why Carter wanted me to come. The girls helping the bridal party got a 200-dollar tip and plenty of amazing food. Carter was one of the groomsmen—tall, long-legged, sharp in a tailored suit, every hair perfectly in place. I chewed on some candy, watching him standing at the altar. Later, he stepped down and waved at me. I ran over, and he shoved a handful of expensive chocolates into my hands. “Come on, grab your backpack, I’ll take you to the back to grab some more snacks…” He trailed off, looking at me and grinning. “Who did your hair and makeup? That little puffy dress, the double buns… you look like a cosplay of Princess Peach.” “Who is Princess Peach?” “A video game character. Gotta admit, it’s a good look.” I didn’t understand, so I just opened a chocolate and chewed. Chew, chew, chew. 5 Carter had phases where he studied hard, but he always gave up eventually. He was just too lazy. I kept copying his notes for him. I took my own notes during class, and copied them for him during breaks. Whenever I had a spare moment, I’d gnaw on a plain bagel and read my textbooks. I had several bagels stuffed in my desk. I’d eat whenever I got hungry. In high school, I wasn’t the only one starving; teenagers are always hungry. We had breakfast at 7 AM, and lunch wasn’t until noon. Growing kids get hungry around 10 AM. The cafeteria didn’t make enough bagels. Sometimes when I pulled one out, Carter would ask for a piece. Then the guy in front of me wanted a piece. Then the girl behind me. Eventually, it became a routine. I’d tear off a piece, pass the rest forward, and it would circle the classroom. By the time it got back to me, it had magically transformed into a few bags of chips or half a pack of cookies. High school was a blur of endless assignments, test prep, and workbooks that never seemed to end. Time flew. Shortly after New Year’s, my first semester of freshman year ended. Even though Christmas break was approaching, I still couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to fight with my mom, but I still desperately wanted an education. I was young but stubborn; I genuinely believed that going to school meant my life wouldn’t be limited to factory work. I didn’t go home for the holidays. Instead, I found a warehouse packing job that desperately needed seasonal workers. Twelve-hour shifts, a hundred bucks a day. I worked for 20 days and made two grand. On Christmas Eve, the warehouse closed. Carter came to pick me up on his electric scooter. The little scooter wound its way across half the city. The river on the outskirts was frozen solid. People were ice skating and setting off fireworks. The daytime fireworks weren’t as bright, but they were still beautiful. We hung out for hours until the sky grew dark and all the shops closed. Carter took me to his family’s main estate for Christmas Eve. His extended family was massive—seventy or eighty people all celebrating together. The holiday dinner spanned six massive tables. I blended into the crowd; no one bothered me, and no one really noticed me. Later, when it was time for gifts, all the kids gathered around. Carter pulled me along to join them. The adults handed out Christmas cards stuffed with cash, and they gave me one too. In the dim lighting of the courtyard, someone hesitated when looking at me but handed over an envelope anyway. Later, I overheard someone asking, “I don’t recognize that girl. Whose kid is she?” “Oh! Carter brought her. Probably a cousin from his mom’s side!” I was no one’s cousin. My face flushed bright red. I clutched the stack of cash, ran over to Carter, and tried to shove it into his hands. He had been trying to figure out how to light a roman candle and jumped when I grabbed him. “Sadie, why are you giving me money?” “This is your family’s Christmas money. I can’t take it.” Carter shoved the cash right back into my coat pocket. “If they gave it to you, keep it. Now back up, I’m lighting this thing.” First came the loud pops of firecrackers, followed by a brilliant spray of colorful fireworks. All the kids gathered around to watch. Carter grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me back a step. “Sadie, make a wish. It’s the start of a new year.” “I want to be ranked number one in the school.” “Idiot, you can’t say the wish out loud.” “Oh, really? Let me make a new one.” For the new year, I want… I want to be as happy as I was last year… and I want Carter to stay.

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The lab results were crumpled behind my back, the sharp edges of the paper digging into my palm until it pulsed with a dull ache. Under the flickering glow of the dining room chandelier, I watched my son. He was picking at his dinner with a cold, practiced indifference that mirrored his father’s. I couldn’t help myself; the secret in my hand was too heavy. I asked him, my voice barely a whisper, if he’d ever wanted a little sister. He paused, his fork hovering mid-air. His lashes cast long, dark shadows over his cheekbones. Without looking up, he shook his head. “I already have a sister,” he said quietly. I started to laugh, ready to tease him about childhood imaginings, but the sound died in my throat. Beside him, my husband—the man I had built a life with for fifteen years—set his cutlery down with a clinical click. His tone was as flat as if he were checking the weather. He told me he’d been seeing a younger woman. He told me she was pregnant. The amniotic fluid test results had come back yesterday. It was a girl. “She’s young, she’s healthy. The baby will be bright,” Wyatt said, looking at me with eyes that held no more warmth than a frozen lake. “I’m keeping this child, Margot. I have to.” It felt as though an invisible hand had reached into my chest and squeezed. Every breath I took felt like inhaling shattered glass. I realized then that the “little girl” I had been dreaming of, the one currently forming inside me, had already been replaced. I was a spectator in someone else’s success story. … “Why?” I forced the word out through the bile rising in my throat. I couldn’t reconcile the man sitting across from me with the husband who had supposedly adored me for over a decade. Wyatt didn’t blink. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “Six months ago. A party, too much to drink, a mistake with a girl. I tried to pay her off, Margot. I really did. But she’s… persistent. And fertile, apparently.” A small, involuntary smirk touched the corners of his mouth. “Parker found out it was a girl. He’s the one who begged me to let her keep it. You should have seen him that day. I haven’t seen him that happy in years.” The pride in Wyatt’s voice made my blood run cold. I turned to my son, expecting to see a shred of guilt. There was none. “I want a sister,” Parker said, his voice terrifyingly mature. “It doesn’t matter who the mother is.” The first tear escaped, hot and bitter. I felt like I was looking at two strangers wearing the faces of the people I loved most. Wyatt sighed, pulling a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and sliding it toward me across the mahogany table. “Is this really necessary? Look at the circles we run in, Margot. Half the men at the club have a second family. I thought you were more sophisticated than this.” “Don’t worry,” he added, as if granting a mercy. “Once the baby is born, I’ll set the girl up in Europe. Your position, your status—none of that changes.” I pushed the handkerchief away. I put my head down and let the sob break. Yesterday, I was the woman everyone envied. The wife of a tech mogul with a spotless reputation. The mother of a prodigy. Today, the floor had dropped out from under me. I rubbed my eyes, desperate to wake up from this fever dream. Wyatt reached out, catching my chin, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “Stop the dramatics. No one knows about this except a few close friends. You’ll always be Mrs. Wyatt Scott. I promise, okay?” The name hit me like a physical blow. I suddenly went cold. My hand instinctively hovered over my stomach, thinking of the life inside me. What a cruel joke. When Wyatt tried to pull me into a forced embrace, I shoved him back with a strength that surprised us both. “Get away from me! You’re filthy. Don’t you dare touch me.” He stepped back, holding his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender. “Fine. I won’t touch you. Maybe Parker can talk some sense into you.” I stood up so abruptly the chair screeched against the hardwood. In one blind motion, I swept the dinner service off the table. China shattered. Wine spilled like blood across the white linen. “I want a divorce,” I choked out. “And I will never, ever raise that woman’s brat.” The silence that followed was absolute. Wyatt’s eyes turned predatory, the mask of the “good husband” finally slipping. Parker looked at me with pure, unadulterated disappointment. “If you want to leave, Mom, leave. I’m staying with Dad.” “And just so you know,” the boy added, his voice ice-cold, “if you walk out that door today, Jessie will be my new mother tomorrow.” The strength left my legs. I gripped the edge of the sideboard. “What did you just say?” Jessie. She was a student at the university where I taught. A girl who had come to my office months ago, announcing she was dropping out because she’d “hit the jackpot” with a wealthy older man. I had tried to mentor her, told her she was throwing her future away for a paycheck. She had looked at me with such pity. “Trust me, Professor. My man has enough money to support ten of me. I’m set for life.” I had felt sorry for her then. I didn’t realize she was talking about my life. “Why?” I whispered. “Of all the girls in this city, why my student?” Wyatt rubbed his temples. “It wasn’t intentional. I was at the hotel, I went into the wrong suite… by the time I realized who she was, it had already happened.” He looked at me then, a dark, hungry light in his eyes. “But I don’t regret it. Eighteen-year-olds have a certain… vitality that you lost a long time ago, Margot.” My brain felt like it was exploding. I grabbed the nearest heavy object—a crystal decanter—and hurled it at him. Then a glass. Then a plate. I screamed until my throat was raw, throwing everything within reach until I collapsed, gasping for air. Wyatt hadn’t even moved to dodge. “Feel better now?” he asked, stepping over the glass shards. He reached out to help me up. “Go to hell!” I screamed. I grabbed a broken shard of a teacup and brandished it like a knife. My hand was bleeding where the porcelain had sliced my palm. Wyatt’s expression hardened. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist in a vice grip, ignoring my struggle as he began to wrap the wound with a napkin. “Since the secret is out,” he said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register, “Jessie is moving in. Tonight.” “She’s young, she’s inexperienced. You’ve done this before. You’re going to help her through the pregnancy.” I stared at him, certain he had lost his mind. “You… what?” He twisted his wedding band, then reached up to pinch my cheek, a gesture that felt like a threat. “Be a good girl, Margot. Jessie will be here in an hour. I’ve already called your department head and told them you’re taking a sabbatical. You’ll have plenty of time to look after her.” I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. “You’re sick. You want your wife to be a servant to your mistress? You’re delusional, Wyatt.” He leaned in, pressing a finger to my lips. “Shh. Keep your voice down. You wouldn’t want your mother to hear about this, would you? She’s still in the cardiac ward, Margot. The doctors say she can’t handle any sudden stress.” The blood drained from my face. My mother. Wyatt had been a nobody when I met him. My mother was the only one who believed in him, even giving him the seed money for his first startup. She loved him like a son. “If you don’t behave,” Wyatt whispered, his smile never wavering, “I can’t guarantee that a ‘leak’ won’t make its way to her hospital room. Think about it.” He checked his Patek Philippe. “Jessie will be here in five minutes. You have that long to get yourself together.” I slumped against the wall, my fist clenched until the knuckles turned white, before finally, helplessly, letting go. I nodded. Wyatt kissed my forehead as if rewarding a pet. Then he turned and walked toward the door to greet her. Parker pushed past me, shoulder-checking me aside. The boy who usually acted like a forty-year-old executive was suddenly buzzing with excitement, his eyes fixed on the front door. I sank to the floor, the lab result for my own pregnancy still hidden in the waistband of my skirt. The front door opened. My eyes locked with Jessie’s. Her belly was just beginning to show under a tight silk dress. She didn’t look like a scared student anymore. She looked like a conqueror. “Professor,” she cooed, her eyes dancing with malice. “I’m so looking forward to learning from you.” I stayed silent. Parker stepped forward, his voice demanding. “Mom, move your stuff out of the master suite. Jessie needs the space, and you’re old anyway. You can sleep in the guest wing.” “Fine,” I said, my voice dead. If my husband and son were gone, what did a bedroom matter? Wyatt blinked, seemingly surprised by my compliance. He remembered the woman I used to be—the one who fought for every inch of her territory. I turned to walk away, but Wyatt caught my arm. “Not so fast. Since you’re being so accommodating, why don’t you finish clearing out the room now? Jessie needs to settle in.” Jessie moved closer, hooking her arm through mine in a mock-intimacy that made my skin crawl. “Thank you, Professor. I really want the baby to be close to you. Maybe your ‘wisdom’ will rub off on her. Oh—and make sure you get the dust under the bed. I have terrible allergies.” She was treating me like a maid. And Wyatt and Parker just watched. I wrenched my arm away. “There are twenty housekeepers on payroll. Let them do it.” “Margot,” Wyatt’s voice was a warning bell. “Don’t test me. You can leave, but remember your mother. If you won’t do it, maybe we should bring her here so she can help?” The threat hit its mark. I turned and walked into the master bedroom. I started pulling my clothes from the closet, my hands shaking. Parker followed me in. He didn’t help. Instead, he started grabbing my perfume bottles, my jewelry boxes, my silk scarves, and throwing them out into the hallway. Glass shattered. Precious things I’d collected for decades were ruined in seconds. “You’re too slow, Mom,” he said, his face a mask of indifference. “Besides, this stuff is all old. It belongs in the trash.” Wyatt appeared in the doorway, looking at the mess. He actually had the nerve to look pitying. “Look, Margot, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy those beachfront villas in Malibu you liked and put them in your name. Just… take a break. Stay in the guest wing for a while.” The hypocrisy was suffocating. I finished clearing the bare essentials and walked out without a word. But thirty minutes later, a scream pierced the air from the master suite. Two of Wyatt’s security guards intercepted me in the hall and forced me back toward the room. There, on the Egyptian cotton sheets, a long sewing needle glinted in the light. Jessie was hysterical, buried in Wyatt’s chest. “Wyatt, I’m so scared! I felt it prick me. What if it hit the baby? What if she’s hurt?” Wyatt looked at me, his face contorted with disgust. “Margot, how could you be so petty? So cruel?” “I thought you were a professional. A teacher. Have you no dignity? I told you Jessie wasn’t a threat to your status, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You put a needle in her bed? You wanted to kill the baby?” I stared at the needle. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Parker, who had been standing in the corner, suddenly lunged. Before I could react, he grabbed my right hand. A sharp, searing heat exploded in my wrist. He had driven the needle into my arm. My hand went numb instantly. Parker wasn’t done; he swung his small fists at my stomach, his face red with rage. “Bad Mommy! Evil Mommy! You tried to hurt the baby, so I’m hurting you!” The physical pain was nothing compared to the sound of his voice. I had spent years worrying that Parker was too stoic, too much like his father. I had prayed for him to show emotion, to cry, to laugh, to be a child. And now he was, for the first time in his life—and it was directed at me, in defense of a stranger. I looked up at Wyatt. “Do you really believe I did this?” Wyatt didn’t answer. Jessie let out another theatrical wail. “Wyatt, my stomach hurts. Something is wrong. If I lose this baby, I don’t want to live!” Wyatt scooped her up, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me one last time. “This was your fault, Margot. You brought this on yourself. Parker was just defending his sister.” He looked at the blood dripping from my wrist. “It’s a scratch. Fix it yourself.” “And don’t worry about your mother. I’ve sent a private surgical team to her floor. They’re monitoring her 24/7. As long as you stay in line, she stays alive.” He carried Jessie out of the room. A sharp, cramping pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I gasped, reaching out a hand to Parker, hoping for a flicker of the son I used to know. But Parker shoved my hand away with a look of pure loathing and ran after his father. I fell, my stomach slamming against the sharp edge of the coffee table. I felt a warm, terrifying rush of fluid between my legs. Panic, primal and raw, took over. I used the last of my strength to scream. “Parker! Stop! Please! There’s a baby—your real sister—please, help me!” Parker stopped in the doorway. He turned back, a cruel, mocking sneer on his face. “You’re such a liar, Mom. Dad said you’re too old and dried up to have kids. You’re just jealous because Jessie can do what you can’t.” “My sister is in Jessie’s belly. Stop pretending, it’s pathetic.” The pain intensified, a dull roar in my ears. I tried to speak, but he was already gone. In the end, it was a sympathetic maid who found me and called an ambulance. When I woke up, the fluorescent lights of the hospital were blinding. A doctor stood at the foot of my bed, his face a mask of practiced sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Scott. You were too far along for the trauma you sustained. We couldn’t save the pregnancy.” “Don’t lose hope,” he added gently. “You’re still young enough to try again.” I touched my stomach. It was flat. Empty. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel like crying. The grief was there, but it was overshadowed by a cold, dead certainty. There would be no “next time.” Not with Wyatt. Not ever. I slept for a few more hours, drifting in a morphine haze. When I finally reached for my phone to call a lawyer, it rang in my hand. It was the emergency room downstairs. “Mrs. Scott? Your mother’s condition has plummeted. You need to come down. Now. To say goodbye.” The world tilted. I ripped the IV out of my arm, ignored the blood spraying from my vein, and ran. I reached the ICU unit, breathless and shaking. My mother was lying on a gurney in the hallway. Alone. There was only one intern standing over her. “Where is everyone?” I grabbed the nurse’s arm. “Where is the surgical team? Where are the specialists?” The intern looked down, avoiding my eyes. “Mr. Scott… he called them away. He said his wife was having an emergency on the upper floor and he needed the entire cardiac and trauma team up there immediately.” My heart stopped. Wyatt had pulled the doctors to attend to Jessie’s “fainting spell.” I dialed Wyatt’s number. It took ten tries before he picked up. But it was Parker who answered. “What do you want, Mom? Why are you calling?” “Put your father on,” I hissed, my voice trembling. “Dad’s busy. He’s holding Jessie’s hand while she gets her ultrasound. Stop being a stalker.” He hung up. My mother’s breathing was becoming a series of ragged, wet gasps. I called Wyatt’s personal assistant. I begged. I screamed into the phone. “Margot, what is it now?” Wyatt’s voice finally came through, sounding bored. “Wyatt, please. My mother is dying. She needs the surgeons. Please, send them back down. I’m begging you—I’ll do anything.” There was a pause. Then, a dry, cruel chuckle. “Still with the theatrics? My team is already here, Margot. Stop trying to steal the spotlight from Jessie. It’s transparent.” “No, Wyatt, please—she’s literally dying—” “Then let her die,” he snapped. “I’m done with your lies.” The line went dead. I stood there, paralyzed, as the monitor behind me flatlined into a long, continuous drone. I watched them pull the white sheet over my mother’s face. I didn’t have any tears left. Hours later, my phone buzzed. A text from Wyatt. How’s your mother? The team said she was stable. Don’t worry, I’ve got the best meds being flown in from Germany. Tonight is Parker’s birthday dinner. Be there at seven. He wants that specific chocolate cake you make. Don’t be late. “Okay,” I whispered to the empty room. I went back to the OB/GYN wing. I asked the nurse for the remains of the child I’d lost. I placed the small, clinical container inside a beautiful, silk-lined gift box. Then I called a courier. I handed him my black Amex. “Deliver this to Wyatt Scott. Personally. In front of everyone.” At the gala dinner, Jessie was draped in diamonds, preening for the cameras. Parker was looking around, his eyes searching the crowd. “Where’s Mom? Is she still throwing a tantrum?” Wyatt checked his watch, his jaw tight. “She’ll be here. She knows better than to miss this.” The courier arrived then. Wyatt smirked, assuming it was a peace offering. He took the box, his ego preening. “See? She can’t stay away. A cake is a bit much, but I suppose I’ll forgive her this once—” He opened the box. His face went from smug to a ghostly, translucent white in less than a second.

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I’m a transfer student. I worked so hard for so long just to get into my childhood crush’s Honors class. But when I finally transferred over, I realized he already had a very pretty desk mate. She smiled at me gently and said, “Ethan still needs to tutor me. I can’t give up this seat for you, sweetie.” Ethan’s eyes landed on her, a look of unmistakable joy on his face. I froze in place, my face burning. I had no choice but to find an empty seat somewhere else, not daring to speak to him again. But later, Ethan cornered me, looking completely lost and panicked: “Tutoring? Why didn’t you come to me…?” 1 Everyone’s eyes in the classroom focused on me. Her tone was so soft and sweet. “Sweetie, cutting in line isn’t nice. Ethan still needs to tutor me.” In an instant, whispers erupted across the room. “She just transferred and already wants to steal someone’s seat? This new girl is so arrogant.” “Isn’t that Ethan’s childhood friend? I used to see her waiting for him at the door every day.” “That still doesn’t mean she can just barge in and demand a seat!” “She was top of the Regular class, so she thinks she owns the place now.” It wasn’t like that… I wanted to explain, but my throat felt completely blocked. I didn’t even know where to start telling them that Ethan and I had agreed on this a long time ago. I worked so hard to test into the Honors class just so we could sit together. He told me he had already arranged our seats. My palms began to sweat as I gripped my backpack straps. I looked at Ethan, pleading for help. Hoping he would speak up and explain that I wasn’t acting like this… But he turned his face away and looked at that girl. His eyes were smiling. “Yeah, I’m tutoring you.” The classroom fell silent for a split second. I don’t know who started it, but someone let out a scoff. Then, the entire room erupted into laughter and mocking giggles. I blushed, completely at a loss. My mind went entirely blank. I didn’t understand. Didn’t he say… once I tested into the Honors class, we would work hard together…? 2 The bell rang. All the students obediently took their seats. Ethan looked at me and casually pointed to the back. “Just find a spot back there for now.” I took a deep breath. Enduring the burning sensation on my face, I walked to the back. Behind me, I heard that girl’s lowered voice, “Ethan, your childhood friend looks a little upset.” “It’s fine. Class is starting, just focus on the lecture.” “Oh.” Her voice was tiny. I couldn’t see her. But I could imagine her adorably innocent expression. I don’t remember how I walked the rest of the way, just that I stiffly sat down in the only empty seat in the last row. There was someone next to me. He seemed to hear the noise. He lifted his eyelids, gave me a single glance, and then buried his head back into his arms. For the entire class period… I was in a daze. I couldn’t absorb a single word the Honors teacher was saying. Until class ended. Ethan stood up from his seat at the front and walked over, placing a notebook on my desk. “Honors class notes. “I didn’t expect you to actually pass the exam. Look over these first and try to teach yourself.” The cover of the notebook was pink. It was the same one I had given him at the start of the school year, filled with pages of meticulous writing. For some reason, a wave of grievance surged in my chest, and my eyes grew red. Ethan paused, startled. “What, are you that touched?” The girl sitting behind him suddenly stood up, clutching her forehead looking frustrated. “Ethan, I still didn’t catch what you were explaining earlier!” He looked back at her. The notebook I had just accepted was immediately snatched back from my hands. “Wait a bit. Let Chloe copy them first.” He took the notes and walked away. I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore; they fell on their own. The next moment. A pack of tissues was tossed onto my lap from out of nowhere. My new desk mate, who had been sleeping all class, suddenly looked up, his cold eyes laced with annoyance. “Don’t cry next to me.” He startled me. I frantically grabbed a tissue and wiped my tears away. But my eyes uncontrollably locked onto the boy and girl sitting in the front, heads bent together as they went over a math problem. My eyes stung fiercely. The unfamiliarity of a new environment. The crushing of my expectations and the coldness of my new classmates. All of it rushed into my brain at once, fighting for space. I tried to push it down. But the harder I pushed, the more I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My new desk mate looked visibly irritated. He simply pulled his hoodie off, draped it over his head, and went back to sleep on his desk. 3 The bell rang again. The teacher walked in with his lesson plans. Class began. I don’t know if the Honors class paced itself too fast, but I struggled to keep up this period, finding everything obscure and incredibly difficult. My desk mate woke up. He looked at me with an indifferent gaze. Then he suddenly spoke, “You copied that wrong.” My heart skipped a beat, and I looked at him blankly. He forcefully grabbed my pen and quickly jotted down the calculation steps for the major problem on the board. My eyes understood it. But my brain didn’t. I just stared, bewildered. He frowned. “Is the Honors class really this easy to get into?” He lowered his voice again, resting his head back down. “The standard is seriously dropping.” It wasn’t until I went to the restroom that I learned his name. Caleb Wright. The girls from the Honors class were whispering in the bathroom. “The transfer student ended up sitting with Caleb Wright.” “Isn’t that perfect? The one who bought his way in and the one who barely scraped by. They’re a match made in heaven.” Followed by snickering. I don’t know where my courage came from. I burst out of the bathroom stall. I couldn’t catch them; I only saw the backs of two girls turning the corner. 4 The academic pressure in the Honors class was intense. Every student was grinding to get into a top-tier college. When the evening study hall for the Honors class finally ended… My old class had already been dismissed for hours. I packed my backpack, intending to wait and walk out with Ethan. After a brief moment of hesitation, most of the class had already emptied out. Ethan stood up and finally walked toward me. But Chloe called out to him. Her pale cheeks were slightly flushed, looking almost embarrassed. “Ethan, I still don’t get how to apply the formula for this problem…” Ethan stopped in his tracks. He looked at her, then looked at me, torn. “It’s getting really late…” I couldn’t help but remind him. Chloe bit her lip. “Yeah, it’s so late. No one is coming to pick me up today…” Ethan immediately frowned. He shot me an apologetic look. “You should head back first. I’m going to help Chloe study.” He turned back to her. Chloe gave me a look—whether intentional or not, I couldn’t tell. Then, she asked tentatively, “Could you maybe walk me home after…?” In that moment. My heart felt like it leaped into my throat. Then I heard him say, “Sure.” My heart instantly went dead silent. My blank gaze met Chloe’s eyes. The corners of her lips curled up. And she gave me a small smile. 5 I had never left the school campus after nine o’clock. It was completely pitch black out. Only the lights from the Honors building were still on. But the further I walked, the further away the light source became. I quickened my pace. But in the shadows, I thought I saw a figure moving ahead. My heart hammered in my chest. I stopped, but the figure kept getting closer. Instinctively, I pulled out my phone and dialed my speed dial. The screen emitted a faint glow in the dark night. Ring… It connected! But the very next second, the call was hung up. I froze. Dumbfounded, I forgot my fear. Until the figure walked right up to me, and I let out a yelp. Before I could even scream. The person spoke. “With a coward’s guts like that, why even transfer to the Honors class?” I looked up, stunned, meeting Caleb’s eyes. He said he hated weaklings. He told me that if I couldn’t even handle the late hours of the Honors class, I should have quit while I was ahead. He said, in this world, nobody is born obligated to help you. With that, he turned and walked away. Leaving me behind in the dark. I don’t know how much time passed. Faintly, from the direction of the school building, I heard a girl’s silvery laughter. I heard Ethan’s promise. He said, “Chloe, I’ve got your studying covered from now on.” She sounded so delicate and fragile. “But what about your childhood friend? She worked so hard to get into the Honors class. Are you just going to ignore her?” Ethan’s voice paused. “I honestly didn’t expect her to actually pass the test…” The night breeze carried their conversation further and further away. Behind me, not a single trace of light remained. I gripped my phone tightly and sprinted forward. No one is going to help me. Then I’ll walk by myself! 6 I don’t remember how I ran home. I only remember bawling my eyes out once I got there. I couldn’t even articulate why I was crying. When I woke up, my eyes were swollen like peaches. When I went downstairs, I unexpectedly saw Ethan waiting there. He had his hands in his pockets. “What happened to your eyes? “Did transferring classes make you cry?” Just like always, he reached out to pat my head. “I was busy last night when you called. Did you need something?” I dodged his hand. “Nothing. Pocket dial.” Ethan froze. He looked at his hand, then studied me for a moment. “What’s wrong, Mia?” “Nothing.” He suddenly grabbed my arm, looking at me with a complex expression. “What is it? Are you mad?” I turned back, feigning confusion. “No? I just need to get to school.” Ethan followed me. He watched me the whole way, looking like he wanted to say something but swallowing it back. I knew why he was surprised. Ethan and I were the textbook definition of childhood best friends. His dad passed away when he was very young. Back in elementary school, when Mrs. Carter had to work overtime and couldn’t make it home, he was left alone, starving. He would just stare eagerly at my house across the hall. I noticed him and brought over a huge bowl of ribs my mom had cooked. He ate with such relish. He scarfed down two huge bowls. So I brought him two more. After he finished, his eyes sparkled as he looked at me. “Mia, you’re the best. “I want to stay with you forever!” In middle school, some pubescent boys bullied me. They snipped off the braids I had grown out for years. He went absolutely feral and fought the kid single-handedly. Even though he was losing the fight, he viciously yelled at the guy, “Mia is mine! If you bully her, I’ll kill you!” That’s why he loved patting my hair when greeting me. He was terrified someone would cut it again. And I… I had never once dodged his hand before.

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