Category: English

1 At Travis White’s twenty-eighth birthday gala, someone presented him with another woman, right in front of me. In that moment, I shed my years of gentle compliance, shattered my wineglass, and brought his birthday party crashing down around us. Then I packed my bags and walked out of our home, alone. Everyone said the powerless Mrs. White wouldn’t last three days before she came crawling back, tail between her legs. Travis was unconcerned. “She’s an orphan. Without the White family, where could she possibly go?” But countless sets of three days passed. People began to wonder if I had died somewhere, forgotten. That was when Travis finally called. The number was disconnected. Later, at a renowned artist’s gallery opening, a portrait of a woman in profile stopped Travis White in his tracks. He offered a fortune to buy the painting. The artist, Leo Baker, simply smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, but that’s the best portrait I’ve ever painted of my wife. I can’t part with it.” … It was Travis White’s twenty-eighth birthday party. I wore my most exquisite gown, my arm linked through his as we made our grand entrance. The moment we reached the bottom of the staircase, he released me, leaving me standing there as the tide of the party flowed past. Every eye in the room followed Travis. I was forgotten in a corner. Guests presented him with gifts, one after another. He would give a detached nod, signaling for the butler to take them away. This continued until one guest stepped forward with a beautiful young woman. Suddenly, all eyes were on me again. Pity. Amusement. Scorn. I had grown accustomed to the weight of those gazes over the years. Travis’s normally stoic face flickered with a brief, unguarded expression. The woman was a dead ringer for his first love, Lydia, the one he’d lost. “Presenting me with a woman in front of my wife,” Travis said, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “You’ve got some nerve.” The gift-giver chuckled obsequiously. “Mrs. White is a generous woman. I’m sure she won’t mind.” It wasn’t that I wouldn’t mind. It was that they knew I didn’t dare to mind. An orphan raised by the White family fortune—how could I possibly say “no” to its new master? Travis toyed with the wedding band on his finger, his eyes glinting. “Well, since my wife has no objections, take her…” Before he could finish, I strode to his side. I looked at the woman’s face. The man had done his homework; he knew exactly what Travis desired. And in that instant, a profound weariness washed over me, bone-deep and final. I realized I no longer had the strength to play the part of the dignified Mrs. White, to honor the promise I made to his grandmother. With a gentle push, I sent the champagne tower behind me to its doom. The beautiful crystal pyramid swayed, then collapsed with a deafening crash. Glass and champagne sprayed across the marble floor, throwing the elegant party into chaos. “Mrs. White has lost her mind!” someone shrieked. I had ruined Travis’s birthday. He didn’t seem to care. The butler was already escorting the guests out, and the staff was quietly cleaning up the mess. The beautiful woman, however, remained. She stood silently by Travis’s side, her serene demeanor a perfect echo of Lydia’s. The contrast made me look even more unhinged. Travis idly played with the woman’s fingers, his gaze drifting to me. “Why so angry?” he asked, his tone maddeningly casual. “If you don’t want to see her, I’ll have her stay somewhere else. Don’t worry,” he added, “I swore to my grandmother that I would never take away your position as Mrs. White.” The woman beside him chimed in, her voice soft and placating. “Mrs. White, there’s no need to be upset. A man like Mr. White is bound to have more than one woman. I only admire him; I have no intention of threatening your status.” I slipped the ring from my finger and placed it on the table in front of Travis. He raised an eyebrow. “Here’s your ring back.” He plucked the ring from the table, tossing it casually into the air. The diamond caught the light in a brilliant arc before falling back into his palm. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he threw it to the woman behind him. “It’s yours. A million-dollar ring, and Mrs. White doesn’t want it.” Travis stood, a cold sneer on his face, and addressed the butler. “Find the madam some tutors. Teach her some etiquette. I don’t want to witness such a disgraceful display ever again.” He walked a few steps, then paused and turned back. He pulled his own wedding band from his finger and tossed it onto the floor. It rolled across the marble, coming to a stop at my feet. “If you don’t want the rings, then let’s get rid of them both.” Travis left with the woman. The roar of his car’s engine was sharp and final in the night air. The butler, Mr. Hobbs, sighed beside me. “Madam, why must you provoke him? You know he holds a grudge against you.” I picked up the ring at my feet and dropped it into a nearby trash can. “You should get back to your duties, Mr. Hobbs. You don’t need to worry about me.” He sighed again and left. I went upstairs alone and changed out of the elaborate gown, pulling on a simple white t-shirt. I found my suitcase and methodically packed my half of the closet, the clear line between his clothes and mine making it an easy task. When other couples fought, they had to consider divorce settlements and lawyers. But the connection between Travis and me was so thin, it amounted to nothing more than a pair of matching rings. No one would ever believe that the bride and groom of the city’s most sensational wedding of the century never even signed a marriage license. I still remembered what Travis had said to me on our wedding day. “The only name that belongs on that line next to mine is Lydia’s. Charlotte, you never should have married me.” But what could I do? I married him anyway. I married the man I had loved for seven years, through all my girlhood dreams, believing that one day I could win his heart. Instead, I became the hollow figure everyone knew as Mrs. White, a wife in name only. The mansion was silent as I dragged my suitcase to the door. It felt just like the rainy night his grandmother had first brought me here. A thirteen-year-old Travis had stood on the grand staircase, looking down at me with cold, indifferent eyes. Then he had turned, gone to the kitchen, and returned with a glass of warm milk. I booked a flight. Six hours in the air, three more in a car, and I was back in the small, remote southern town of my childhood. They say the old yearn to return to their roots. But a person with no home yearns for them even more, even if there’s no family left to welcome you. I rented a small cottage with a little yard. The local dialect felt both familiar and foreign. I was young when I left, and my years in Northwood City had scrubbed the accent from my tongue. Fortunately, the man in the cottage next door was an outsider too, though he’d arrived before me. He’d helped me at the market one day when I couldn’t understand the old woman selling vegetables. The next day, I made him a sweet corn cake to thank him. That’s when I learned he was an artist, here to paint the local scenery. He had the easy, vibrant energy of a recent college graduate. Away from the people and pressures of Northwood, in this simple, rustic place, it hit me: I was only twenty-five years old. But living in the White mansion, constantly upholding the posture of “Mrs. White,” had made me feel ancient and weary. I bought flowers from the street and filled my small yard with climbing roses. I put a little rocking chair next to the flowerbed. It was modest, but it was all mine. The gardens at the White estate were filled with yellow roses, Lydia’s favorite. The glass conservatory housed an expensive grand piano that Travis had designed for her. No one was allowed to touch it. His grandmother had once threatened to rip out the roses. Travis had exploded in a rare fit of rage. “If the roses go, I go with them.” No one ever mentioned it again. Lydia and her roses became sacred, untouchable ground. That afternoon, there was a knock on my gate. It was Leo Baker, dressed in a hoodie with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He grinned when he saw me. “Hey, Charlotte! I’m heading up the mountain to paint the sunrise tomorrow. Want to come along? Get some fresh air?” He pointed to the peak rising behind our cottages. I knew the mountain was something of a local landmark, the main draw for tourists. I was tempted. “Don’t worry! I go camping all the time. I’m an expert, it’s totally safe.” His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself nodding. Leo was true to his word. He immediately went back to his cottage and returned with another large pack. He carried both sets of camping gear himself, along with his easel and art supplies. I tried to help, but he flatly refused. “I’m strong. This is nothing.” On the way up the trail, we talked about our pasts and our futures. My past felt dull and predictable, a story that revolved entirely around the White family and Travis, culminating in my empty title as his wife. But Leo was different. He was a wellspring of fresh stories and boundless dreams for the future. “Life is all about the experience, right? My dream right now is to be a famous painter, so I have to give it my all,” he said. “And, between you and me, I kind of ran away from home. So if you wake up one day and my cottage is empty, it probably means my family finally caught me.” I laughed. It turned out we were both fugitives. The only difference was that he had a family who would come looking for him. My disappearance would probably be a cause for celebration for Travis. We reached the summit just as the sun was beginning to set. The warm, golden light bathed everything in an ethereal glow. I looked down at the small town below, nestled in the valley, peaceful and serene under the blanket of light. Leo was already busy setting up the tents. “The sunset is beautiful too,” I said. “Aren’t you going to paint it?” “I prefer the sunrise,” he replied. “Every day is a new beginning. It represents infinite possibility, new life.” I sat on the camp stool he’d set out, watching him work, his words echoing in my mind. A new beginning. Leaving the White estate was the bravest thing I had ever done. But afterward, I had acted like a coward, running back to this remote town and hiding myself away in my little cottage. I hadn’t given a single thought to what came next. Was I just going to wither away here for the rest of my life? I was only twenty-five. My future was still full of infinite possibilities. Leo finished with the tents and handed me some food and water. He plopped down on a mat beside me, hands behind his head, and stared up at the newly-starred sky. “You should try looking at the stars like this, Charlotte. It’s a totally different feeling.” At the White mansion, I was bound by a thousand rules of etiquette. Everything I did had to befit the status of Mrs. White. The phrase I heard most often was, “Madam, you cannot do that.” Lying on the ground to watch the stars was something I had never even considered. Leo didn’t give me time to think about it. He reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled. In a second, I was off the stool and on the mat beside him. “Lie down!” he urged. I let go of my inhibitions and did as he said. Lying on my back, the sky seemed to press down, so close I felt I could reach out and touch the stars. We lay there for hours, talking about everything and nothing. And as we talked, I made a decision. I had to be brave. I had to step out into the world. Running away was just another form of hiding. I needed to meet new people, see the vast world outside my gilded cage, until the day came when I could stand face-to-face with Travis and feel nothing at all. Sometime in the night, I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Curled up in a simple tent on a mountainside, I felt more secure than I ever had in my life. When I stumbled out of the tent in the morning, groggy with sleep, Leo was already at his easel, his expression focused and serious. The sun climbed slowly over the horizon, its gentle rays warming my skin. I watched it rise, feeling like I was witnessing my own new beginning. “Charlotte! Don’t move!” Leo’s excited voice startled me. I froze, only able to watch him out of the corner of my eye. He was using me as his model. When he was finished, I rubbed my stiff neck. Being a muse was harder than it looked. “Let me get that for you. A thank you for being my model.” His hands were strong, and his massage was firm. I closed my eyes, melting under his touch. All the way down the mountain, Leo chattered excitedly about the inspiration that had struck him. I’d seen the painting; I thought it was nice, but I couldn’t appreciate the finer points. The moment we got back, he disappeared into his cottage. I turned on the TV. The sudden appearance of Travis’s face on the screen made me jump back. I almost changed the channel, but my hand froze. I was glad for the decision I’d made last night. Travis was a public figure. I couldn’t avoid him forever. He looked the same. During the interview, when asked about the recent rumors of a marital rift, his expression remained cool. “My wife is just throwing a bit of a tantrum. She’ll come back after she’s had her fun.” Everyone envied me. An orphan, taken in by the venerable White family and then married to the heir—I was the luckiest woman alive. Only I knew the truth: to be ignored by everyone, resented by my own husband, to hold the title of Mrs. White but still feel like a piece of driftwood in that house, utterly rootless. Every year, when the yellow roses were in bloom, Travis would have the staff cut them and fill every vase in the mansion. The piano in the conservatory was polished daily. Lydia was dead, but Travis made sure her presence was everywhere, a constant reminder of my place. “We hear the argument between you and Mrs. White was over the new assistant you’ve been seen with?” the reporter pressed. Travis’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He instinctively reached to touch the wedding band on his finger. But there was nothing there. He remembered then. Charlotte had been surprisingly defiant this time. She’d returned his ring and had the audacity to run off. He thought back to the call from Mr. Hobbs, his panicked voice reporting that the madam was gone. When Travis had returned home, he’d found Charlotte’s side of the closet completely empty. Only his suits remained, hanging in the vast, silent space. It was just another one of her tactics, a way to pressure him into getting rid of the woman who looked like Lydia. He knew how much she hated anything related to Lydia, let alone a living replica. But so what? His grandmother was gone. Charlotte had no other family, no one else to depend on. He was all she had. When she was a child, she would always hide when she was upset. His grandmother used to indulge her. He didn’t have the patience for that. Once she’d had a taste of the real world, she’d realize how good she had it at the White estate. She’d come back. “She’s an orphan,” he’d told the butler. “Without the White family, where could she possibly go? No one is to look for her. Just let me know when she returns.” Under Travis’s glare, the interviewer quickly shifted the topic from his personal life to business. Talking about work, Travis visibly relaxed. It seemed the mere mention of his wife was enough to sour his mood. I poured myself a glass of ice water and started writing my resume. This little town was a place for the old to retire, not for the young to find work. I had to leave. I worked until dusk, finally stretching and getting up to make dinner. As I sat down to my simple meal of three dishes and a soup, I wondered if Leo was still working. Did he forget to eat when he was painting, the way Travis did when he was working? When his grandmother was still alive, Travis often worked through meals, getting terrible stomach cramps. After that, whenever I could, I would bring his dinner to the office. At first, his secretary would make me wait outside for an hour or two. But eventually, he got used to it and would let me interrupt him. He’d eat, then go back to work. I sighed, put on a jacket, and knocked on the gate next door. There was no answer. Just as I was about to turn away, the gate swung open. Leo’s annoyed expression immediately brightened into a wide smile when he saw me. “Charlotte! I was just painting you, and then you appeared, like magic.” He was still holding a paintbrush. There were streaks of paint on his clothes and a smudge on his cheek. He looked a mess, but his smile was so dazzling that the paint splatters seemed like charming accessories, making him look even more alive. “Have you eaten? Want to come over for dinner?” At my invitation, he clutched his stomach and let out a dramatic groan. “I’m starving! You’re a lifesaver, Charlotte! Let me just put my brushes away.” Over the next few days, we fell into a comfortable routine. He would come over for dinner every evening, and in return, he’d help with the cleaning, and he took over all the gardening work in my yard. It was nice. I’d never had a younger brother, but I imagined it would be something like this. I sent out my resume and got a few interview requests. On the morning I was set to leave, I went to say goodbye to Leo. When I opened my gate, I saw several black sedans parked in front of his cottage. Men in suits, looking like bodyguards, stood by the cars. I hesitated for a moment before walking over. As I approached, one of the men moved to block my path. “Don’t touch her!” Leo strode out of his cottage. The sunny, cheerful boy was gone, replaced by a man with a cold, serious expression. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his yard, slamming the gate shut behind us. “Don’t follow me in,” he ordered the men. They exchanged glances but obeyed. “Hey, Charlotte,” he said, his bright smile returning as if by magic. “Did you come to call me for dinner?” “No. I came to say goodbye.” His voice immediately jumped several octaves. “Where are you going?” I told him about the interviews. “This place is wonderful, but like you said on the mountain—every day is a new beginning, full of infinite possibilities. I want a new beginning for myself, a life without regrets.” “So, Charlotte… are you over him?” I looked at him, surprised. He just winked. “Don’t treat me like a kid. An artist’s eye is very sharp.” His directness made me blush. “Yes,” I said softly. “I think I am.” “So where are you going to work?” “Northwood City.” I had considered moving somewhere far away from Travis, but Northwood was the only home I’d known since I was a child. I grew up there, went to school there, my friends were there. Why should I force myself to start over in a strange new city, just because of him? “Then I’ll go with you,” he said. “Perfect timing, since my family found me anyway.” In the end, I hitched a ride with Leo. The nervousness I felt about returning to Northwood, about the possibility of facing Travis again, slowly faded as Leo chattered on and on about his plans for us. Life back in Northwood was surprisingly smooth. The interview went well, and I was told to start the following week. I found an apartment near the office. Two days later, Leo became my next-door neighbor again. I was taking out the trash when I saw movers carrying furniture into the apartment next to mine. I glanced over and saw the tall, lanky figure of Leo Baker, directing the workers. “What are you doing here?” “I was hoping to surprise you, but you caught me,” he said, casually taking the trash bag from my hands. “I missed your cooking, so I decided to be your neighbor again.” I was actually happy to see him. In a strange new place, having him next door made me feel safer. “Well, I’ll make a few special dishes tonight to celebrate your move.” For convenience, we decided on hot pot. The spicy broth bubbled, and Leo fished out a piece of tripe, placing it in my bowl. The first bite set my mouth on fire, and I grabbed my drink, gulping it down. “Oh, you can’t handle spicy food? I heard you loved hot pot, so I assumed…” “It’s fine. It’s just been a while.” How long had it been? I couldn’t even remember. I used to love hot pot more than anything. My grandmother would eat it with me, she’d have the mild broth, and I’d have the spicy. One time, Travis was working late, and the dinner I’d brought him had gone cold. It had started to snow outside, so I suggested we go out to eat. I took him for hot pot. Travis preferred bland food, so I ordered the half-and-half pot. But he frowned through the entire meal. “Don’t eat this again,” he said in the car on the way home. “The smell clings to you.” I never ate spicy hot pot again. It’s strange how, when you avoid something for long enough, even your own body forgets how to handle it. But soon enough, I was sweating and happily devouring my meal, rediscovering the simple joy of it. After dinner, Leo cleared the table, cleaned the kitchen, and opened the windows to air the place out. He took the trash with him when he left. Life in Northwood was calmer than I had expected. The media had forgotten about the long-absent Mrs. White, and no one from the White family came looking for me. My existence was, as always, insignificant. The media was, however, very curious about the new assistant Travis was never seen without. I idly scrolled through the paparazzi photos. It was almost comical. Did Travis truly love Lydia that much? In the photos, he bent down so the woman could adjust his tie. He carefully shielded her head as she got into the car. When it rained, he held the umbrella almost entirely over her. It seemed his love could be so easily transferred to anyone with a similar face. Travis had always been fiercely protective of Lydia’s privacy; no photos of her had ever been leaked. So now, everyone was speculating that I had been completely cast aside. If I were still in the mansion, I would probably be waiting up for a husband who never came home. But now, I was busy preparing presentations, attending meetings, dealing with… “Leo, I told you, you can’t be so clingy!” I pushed his head off my shoulder. He just pushed my laptop away. “You have a handsome man right here in front of you, and you’re staring at some old guy on a screen?” It was the first time I had ever heard anyone call Travis White an “old guy.” The thought of his reaction made me burst out laughing. When I finally caught my breath and looked up, Leo’s expression was serious. “Is he the one? The one who hurt you? Travis White of the White Corporation. I know him.” I looked at him, stunned. I had no memory of ever seeing Leo at the White mansion. “When I was a kid, my mom made me call him Uncle Travis.” “…” I lost it again, collapsing onto the sofa in a fit of laughter. “Hahaha… he’s only four years older than you, and you called him uncle… haha…” Leo pinched my cheek. “He looks old.” Travis had been involved in the family business from a young age, which had always made him seem more mature than his peers. So, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “So,” Leo said, his face suddenly very close to mine. “You’re the missing Mrs. White?” I realized that in my laughter, I had ended up with my head in his lap. I tried to sit up, but for the first time, he didn’t let me. His eyes were fixed on mine, demanding an answer. “Yes.” “So does that make me your boy toy on the side?” The thought made him laugh. I playfully slapped his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous! Besides, I’ve already left the White family. I gave him the ring back.” “Then I’ll get a lawyer. You two can be divorced by tomorrow.” “We don’t need to… we don’t have a marriage license.” I gave a bitter smile. No license, no divorce. The only thing that had ever bound us was a ring. Maybe I had played the part of Mrs. White for so long that even Travis had forgotten we weren’t legally married. “Perfect,” Leo said, his eyes gleaming. “In that case, why don’t you get a marriage license with me?”

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A strange girl showed up, claiming she could wake him with her “chatterbox therapy.” I didn’t believe her. Not until a stream of comments flickered into view before my eyes: 【Here comes the talkative female lead! The comatose male lead is about to wake up!】 【She’s going to use a barrage of shameless, cringe-worthy lines to make him curl his toes in his coma until he just can’t take it anymore and has to wake up, LOL.】 【And after he wakes up, they’ll start their super sweet romance. Happy ending, here we come!】 【So, the side character sister needs to step aside for the female lead. Your daily chitchat is useless. This is a job for the pro!】 And my brother did wake up, just like they said. But the first thing he did when he was back… Was to make me break up with my new boyfriend. 1 It was the weekend, so I went to the hospital, same as always. I was there to talk to Daniel, to turn him over in his bed. Every two hours, like clockwork. Left side, on his back, right side. A constant, gentle rotation. That’s when Martha arrived. My parents brought her into the room, telling me she had a way to wake Daniel. She reached out to me without a hint of shyness, as if we were old friends. “Hi there! I’m Martha. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Hope we get along!” Her voice was bright and cheerful, like a newborn canary. I didn’t answer right away. I understood why Mom and Dad were so desperate. Daniel had been in a coma for two months. People were starting to whisper that if someone doesn’t wake up after three, they might never wake up at all. But trusting a complete stranger with him… did that feel right? Just as I was about to voice my doubts, a line of text materialized in the air before me. 【Here comes the talkative female lead! The comatose male lead is about to wake up!】 【She’s going to use a barrage of shameless, cringe-worthy lines to make him curl his toes in his coma until he just can’t take it anymore and has to wake up, LOL.】 【And after he wakes up, they’ll start their super sweet romance. Happy ending, here we come!】 【So, the side character sister needs to step aside for the female lead. Your daily chitchat is useless. This is a job for the pro!】 I stared at the strange words, my mind reeling. Female lead? Male lead? What did that even mean? I must have been frozen for a while, because my mom gently tapped my arm. “Lily?” I snapped back to reality and politely responded to Martha. “Hi, I’m Lily. Please, take care of my brother.” With that, I stepped back to stand with my parents, waiting to see what Martha would do. She, however, ran a hand through her hair, a bashful look on her face. “Sorry, but would you mind waiting outside? I can’t really… get in the zone with an audience.” And so, the three of us found ourselves standing in the hallway. 2 Mom and Dad were a nervous wreck, completely in the dark about her methods. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening, thanks to the floating comments. 【LMAO, she just told him she’s a stalker who’s been secretly watching him for ages. And now that he’s helpless, she can finally do whatever she wants.】 【She said she’s going to take the opportunity to admire his perfect feet while he’s out cold. I’m dying.】 【“If you don’t wake up, I’m posting the nude photos I took of you on a gay dating site and you’ll have men lining up for you!” Hahaha, this isn’t therapy, it’s blackmail!】 【Wake up, man! This adorable girl is right in front of you!】 Could these… words… really work? I had my doubts. According to the comments, the world I was living in was a novel. Daniel was the male lead, and Martha was the female lead. His coma was just a necessary plot device to bring them together. He would eventually wake up and they would begin their sweet love story. As for me? I was just a side character. A supporting role. The girl with a one-sided crush on her adoptive brother, a small obstacle in the path of their love. A pang of sadness hit me. But if the comments were right, if Daniel was guaranteed to wake up, then I was also incredibly happy. As long as he was healthy and whole, that’s all that mattered. Half an hour later, Martha emerged from the room. She looked a little drained, her voice slightly hoarse. “That’s all for today. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I nodded, handing her a bottle of water I’d bought earlier. “Thank you for your hard work. See you tomorrow.” Martha looked surprised for a second, then thanked me and left. My parents and I went back into the room. While they massaged Daniel’s limbs, I sat by his bed and worked on my differential equations homework, reading the problems aloud. “y” – 3y’tan(x) – 2y = 0…” “…Brother, I think I messed this one up again. When are you going to teach me that other method you mentioned?” 3 The comments went wild. 【Holy calculus, what have I gotten myself into?】 【Can’t even escape math while reading a novel. I give up.】 【Honey, are you sure reading that stuff out loud isn’t going to put your brother into an even deeper coma?】 【LOL I’m dead. But wait, what’s up with the sister? Why was she so nice to the female lead just now? Shouldn’t she be jealous?】 【That’s how a normal family member would act, right? If someone says they can help, you treat them like a queen!】 【Yeah, but she’s not exactly a normal family member, is she? She’s in love with her brother! Eww, as someone with a brother, I can’t even.】 【They’re not blood-related… Let’s not mix things up. Don’t you dare slander our stepsibling ship.】 … They started arguing about math and the morality of shipping non-related siblings. I ignored them and kept working on my problems, glancing at Daniel from time to time. He lay there on the bed, so quiet, as if he were just sleeping. His eyelashes were long and thick, casting dark shadows beneath his eyes. When we were little, I was so jealous of how much prettier his lashes were than mine. I used to sneak into his room while he was asleep and try to pluck them. He always caught me, every single time. But I hadn’t crawled into his bed since that one night in my first year of high school. I’d been reading a horror novel about tomb raiders and was completely spooked, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. So, I tiptoed into Daniel’s room, curled into a ball, and burrowed into his arms. “Brother, can I sleep with you tonight?” He must have still been awake, because he jumped. Then, he immediately pushed me away. “Get out.” I ignored him, pressing closer. “Please, brother? I’m so scared a boogeyman is going to grab my feet…” His tone suddenly became harsh, severe. He used my full name. “Lily, get out.” I froze, looking up at him. His face was cold, impassive. He wasn’t joking. I tried again, my voice small. “But… we used to sleep together all the time when we were little…” He shoved me off the bed, leaving no room for argument. “That was then. It’s different now. You are never to get in my bed again.” “Oh.” I was hurt and angry. I gave him the silent treatment for weeks after that. Thinking back now, he was right. We weren’t little kids anymore. He needed to create distance between us. And he was right to do so. Suddenly, my phone rang, shattering my thoughts. I glanced at the screen. The name ‘Lucas’ flashed. And I remembered. I had plans today. 4 I answered the call. Lucas’s slightly disappointed voice came through the phone. “Hey, are you busy? I texted but you didn’t reply, so I figured I’d call.” “Everyone’s at the children’s home already. We’re just waiting on you.” I put him on speaker, apologizing as I gathered my things. “I’m so sorry, something came up. I’m on my way now, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.” His voice immediately brightened. “Okay, I’ll wait for you.” After I hung up, my mom asked with concern, “Do you have to go somewhere?” I nodded, stuffing my notebook into my bag. “Yeah, it’s a volunteer event with the university society. I’ll come right back after.” My dad ruffled my hair. “Your mom and I are here with your brother, don’t worry. You need to live your life, Lily. You can’t put everything on hold for the hospital.” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left. Now that I knew Daniel was going to wake up, the constant, crushing anxiety had eased a little. As I walked out of the room, a few more comments popped into view. 【WTF, did his eyelashes just flutter? Did anyone else see that?】 【I saw it, I saw it! Our girl is a miracle worker! First day and already getting results! She’s the GOAT of chatterbox therapy!】 My heart sank a little. It was a strange mix of joy and disappointment. Joy, because the comments were right. Daniel was reacting. He was going to wake up soon. Disappointment, because it meant that only Martha’s efforts truly mattered. There was just no fate between Daniel and me. 5 I spent the afternoon volunteering at the children’s home. I helped the kids with their lessons, played games with them, and sat with them for counseling sessions. It was the same home where Daniel and I had lived. We were both orphans. The year he was seven and I was four, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes came to the home, looking to adopt a boy and a girl. They chose the smart, brave Daniel first. As for me… no one ever wanted a timid, shy little thing like me. But Daniel pulled me out from where I was hiding behind the director’s legs. He gathered all his courage and presented me to Mr. and Mrs. Hayes. “She’s a really good girl. She always wipes the table after she eats, and she’s very quiet when she sleeps.” “Mom! Dad! I’ll vouch for her with every single one of my future report cards!” And after that, Daniel was always first in his class. … In the present, Lucas was waving a hand in front of my face. “Lily? Time to go.” I snapped out of my reverie and nodded, getting up to leave. “Want to grab dinner together?” he asked suddenly. I shook my head. “I can’t, I have something to do.” Lucas hesitated. “Are you going to the hospital to see your brother?” I was a little surprised he knew. He explained apologetically, “I overheard you talking to the director earlier. Sorry.” Since he knew, I just nodded. But I wasn’t expecting him to suggest visiting Daniel himself. “Your brother is a legend at our university, a top graduate. I’d like to pay my respects to a senior alumnus.” I thought about it and agreed. Maybe a visit from a stranger could help a little. Even with Martha’s therapy, every little bit of effort might bring Daniel back a day sooner. So, I took Lucas to the hospital. 6 In the hospital room, Daniel was still sleeping peacefully. Mom and Dad were delighted to see Lucas and chatted with him for a long time. Even after he left, they were still grilling me. “Lily, you two seem quite close, don’t you?” I was massaging Daniel’s arm, my mind elsewhere. “We’re okay, I guess. He’s a senior, one year ahead of me. He helps me out a lot with school.” Dad was looking at me thoughtfully. “I think that boy has a thing for you. Peeling your apples, buying you milk… he’s working hard to impress you.” My hand stilled. All my energy lately had been focused on Daniel; I hadn’t noticed a thing. I stopped massaging and asked seriously, “Really? Is it that obvious?” Mom smiled. “It is. But our Lily is such an amazing girl, it’s only normal for boys to like her. And he seems like a nice kid. But what matters is if you like him.” If I like him… I lowered my eyes, stealing a glance at Daniel. Being in love with your own brother… people would think that’s disgusting, wouldn’t they? Dad picked up the thread. “You’re a sophomore now. It’s a good time to start dating. Just don’t keep it a secret from us, okay?” I nodded, my voice soft. “I know. I’ll definitely tell you.” The comments suddenly flared to life. 【OMG, did his eyeballs just move under his lids? What’s going on? Does the female lead’s therapy have a delayed effect?】 【At this rate, he’ll be awake in a few days! Yesss, I’m ready for the romance!】 【The side character should just get with the senior already. Stop pining for your brother. The stepsibling trope is a dead end here.】 I ignored that last comment, my eyes fixed on Daniel’s. They were definitely moving. I excitedly called Mom and Dad over to look. They were so moved they nearly cried, vowing to repay Martha handsomely. I would too. I made a silent promise to myself. If she could really wake Daniel, I would wish them nothing but happiness. And now… it was time to clear out all my memories of him. 7 That night, I took out the box where I kept all my treasures related to Daniel. Birthday gifts he’d given me, paper airplanes he’d folded, tokens from the claw machines we’d played… Among all the neatly kept items, one wrinkled, crumpled piece of scratch paper stood out. It was covered in Daniel’s familiar handwriting. First, there were his notes and steps for solving a high school math problem. Then, suddenly, the writing changed. 【How many solution methods is that now? Who cares. The more the better. It means I get to spend more time with her.】 【Otherwise, she’ll just run off to watch her TV shows.】 In high school, I was obsessed with TV, especially those cheesy teen romance dramas. Daniel would always boast shamelessly. “What’s so good about this? Is this guy even half as handsome as your brother?” He was handsome. He was the star of our school—smart, popular, top of his class. But he wasn’t mine. My heart felt like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny needles, a dull, sour ache spreading through my chest. I pulled myself out of the memory and kept reading. 【When she watches the main couple kiss on screen… does her heart flutter too?】 【Does she imagine someone loving her like that?】 【Could… could that person be me?】 【I want to kiss her so badly】 The last two lines were violently scratched out. Below them, still in Daniel’s handwriting but pressed so hard the lead nearly tore the paper, were three words. 【Daniel, you’re insane.】 【You are her brother.】 The air left my lungs. A wave of pure shock washed over me, so powerful it felt physical. The hand holding the paper began to tremble uncontrollably. The words blurred on the page, the ink seeming to bleed together until it reformed into a single, undeniable truth— Daniel loved me, too. 8 So that was it. All this time, Daniel had been just like me. Tossing and turning through countless nights, wrestling with a guilt that felt like sinking in mud. The comments were in an uproar over this. 【!!! The male lead is actually in love with the sister?? WTF, I want a refund!】 【Hold on, hold on, this was from like three or four years ago. Maybe he’s over it now.】 【Uh… whether he’s over it or not, it’s still gross. They grew up together as brother and sister. How could he have those kinds of thoughts about her?】 【What’s wrong with it? They’re not related by blood! Brothers are born to become brothers-in-law! I’m shipping the male lead and the side character!】 【I have nothing to say to you people who don’t get the stepsibling trope.】 【User ‘ForbiddenFruitLover’ has renewed their annual membership X10! Congratulations! You’ve unlocked a hidden bonus scene!】 【All hail the master shipper!】 【Are you guys all perverts? I’m rooting for my girl Martha!】 … Could the comments be right? Was it possible Daniel only used to have feelings for me? Or did he still love me now? But if he did… what about Martha? What about the story? Would the plot unfold as the comments had predicted? That night, I barely slept a wink. By dawn, I had made my decision. It was time to make a move. 9 The next day, my parents had errands to run, so I went to the hospital alone. Daniel was lying there peacefully, still showing no signs of waking. I went through our usual routine—wiping his face, turning his body. Finally, I sat by his bed and started talking, filling the quiet room with the mundane details of my life. “Brother, I met a senior from school. You know, the one who came to visit yesterday.” “He walks me to the library sometimes. He brings me bubble tea.” “Since you’ve been in the hospital, I’ve been going to him with all my school questions. He even helped me with that equation yesterday.” “He’s really smart, too. Just as smart as you.” “Last night, when we were saying goodbye… he told me he had feelings for me.” “Brother… do you think I should say yes?” After I finished, I watched him, searching his still face for any sign, any flicker of a reaction. But before long, the door creaked open. Martha peeked her head in. “Good morning!” I stood up to greet her. “Thanks so much for coming again.” She waved her hand dismissively as she walked in. “Hey, don’t mention it. Your mom told me he was reacting yesterday? Looks like my treatment is working wonders.” She came closer, leaning in conspiratorially. “Today, I’m planning to use some stronger medicine. He might even wake up by tomorrow!” I couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of medicine?” Martha just shook her head, gently pushing me toward the door. “Can’t say. Spoilers! Just wait for the results!” I was skeptical, but I left the room again. I stood outside the door once more. I never imagined that Martha’s “stronger medicine” would involve physical contact.

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On my daughter’s fifth birthday, Cynthia posted a photo on Instagram with the caption: 【My little one was fussy before bed, wanting her daddy, and Super Dad dropped everything to rush right over.】 The man lying in bed with her, smiling at the camera, was my husband—Chris. I glanced at the text message I’d received just ten minutes earlier: 【Something came up at the office. Don’t wait up for me and Mia.】 I liked the post. Then I dialed my divorce lawyer. 1 It was two in the morning when Chris finally came home. The harsh glare of the hallway light spilled into the room, and my first instinct was to shield my daughter’s eyes. Chris leaned against the doorframe. “Honey, I’m home. Let’s wake Mia up. I can celebrate her birthday with her now.” I used to be obsessed with these family rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even kindergarten events—I always insisted that Chris be there. I didn’t want Mia to grow up like I did, seeing her father mostly through video calls. But now— I straightened the covers, my voice flat. “That won’t be necessary.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Chris’s face. “Clara, I just went over there to put Leo to sleep. Don’t misread the situation. This is exactly why I can’t be honest with you, because you’re always so suspicious.” I wasn’t misreading anything. And from now on, I wouldn’t be suspicious, either. “If there’s nothing else, you should go to your own room. Don’t wake Mia. She has school in the morning.” Chris let out a cold laugh. “Fine, have it your way. Just don’t come crying to me later, accusing me of being absent from Mia’s childhood.” I turned my back to him, switched off the lamp, and gently patted Mia, who had started to stir from the noise. His absence didn’t matter anymore. After all, Mia’s birthday wish this year was: “I don’t want to see Daddy anymore.” The next morning, after breakfast, Chris didn’t leave for work immediately as he usually did. Instead, he sat on the sofa, watching the morning news. Just as we were about to leave, he grabbed his keys and walked over, ruffling Mia’s hair. “Daddy’s taking you to school today.” He was speaking to our daughter, but his eyes were locked on me. Two years ago, when Mia first started kindergarten, Chris drove her every single day. But after Cynthia came into the picture, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings had been moved up. I believed him. Until three months ago, when Mia transferred to a new school. I was standing by the gate when I saw him. The man who was supposed to be in a meeting was leaning over, lifting a little boy out of the back seat of his car. It wasn’t that he didn’t have time to take his daughter to school. It was just that he had something more important to do. We had a massive fight that night. The next day, Mia stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I’d already decided on a divorce, he was still Mia’s father. I considered it for a moment and didn’t refuse. A small smile played on his lips as he bent down and scooped Mia into his arms. When he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was cluttered with someone else’s life. A superhero water bottle, a wooden toy bow and arrow, a woman’s shawl… And hanging from the back of the passenger seat was a “family photo.” Chris’s expression tightened when he saw where I was looking. “Cynthia just hung that there. She said it makes Leo happy. Don’t start a fight over something so trivial.” The old me would have torn that picture to shreds and tearfully demanded to know where Mia and I stood in his heart. But the new me just nodded. “It’s a nice photo.” Chris stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. “You’re not angry?” Angry? Maybe I should have been. But for some reason, my heart was a flatline. I almost wanted to laugh. Did Chris, always so sharp and calculating, really not see through such a clumsy, transparent ploy? The truth was simpler. He just didn’t care. “We should get going. Mia’s going to be late.” At my prompting, Chris’s lips thinned into a tight line, and he opened the driver’s side door. Just as I was about to lift Mia into the car, his phone rang. The ringtone was a child’s voice singing, “My Daddy, my hero…” On the other end of the line, a little boy was crying hysterically. “Daddy! Daddy! Where did you go? Are you leaving Leo and Mommy?” Chris hung up and, without a single glance in our direction, scrambled into the car. “Leo’s crying for me. I’ll have the driver take you today.” The black Maybach sped away, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. Worried about Mia, I knelt down to comfort her. “Daddy has something important to do today. Next time he’s free, we’ll have him take you to school, okay?” Mia’s face held a maturity far beyond her years. “Daddy will never be free, Mommy. All his time is for Leo and his mom.” 2 That evening, Chris called. “Clara, I’ll be home late. Leo is sick…” “Okay.” I agreed so quickly that his prepared explanation caught in his throat. He must have thought I was being difficult, because his tone hardened with irritation. “Clara, don’t be like this.” Then he hung up. Ten minutes later, I received a series of texts. 【I’m so sorry, Clara. Leo has been really clingy with his dad lately.】 【But really, Chris shouldn’t have just abandoned you and Mia the second I called.】 【I’ll be sure to scold him. Please don’t be mad.】 The last text was punctuated with a giggling emoji. It was Cynthia. The messages weren’t an apology; they were a declaration of war. I had no interest in fighting her for him. I deleted the texts and blocked her number. A moment later, Chris called again. “Clara, what is your problem? Cynthia apologizes to you, and this is how you act?” I could faintly hear the sounds of a woman and child sobbing in the background. I said nothing. After a long silence, his voice came back, low and heavy. “Clara, how did you become like this? I’m so disappointed in you.” Cynthia was the one who had provoked me, but the moment she cried, Chris laid all the blame at my feet, as if I were some kind of wicked villain. When I got home, I started packing. While Chris had been on the phone, I’d been consulting with my lawyer. In a divorce, I was entitled to at least 30% of the shares in Chris’s company. And since our parenting conditions were comparable, custody of our daughter would likely be awarded to me, the mother. My last hesitation vanished. Clothes, bags, jewelry, Mia’s favorite toys—they were all coming with us. As I sealed the last box, my hands trembled. For a moment, I paused, then I broke the dusty wax seal on an old chest in the corner. It was filled to the brim with love letters—from the Chris who was seventeen, all the way to twenty-two. I opened the one on top. It began: 【To the twenty-seven-year-old Clara, this is the seventeen-year-old Chris.】 【This is the first love letter I’ve ever written to you. As we promised, we will open this together in ten years.】 【By then, we’ll definitely be married. Maybe we’ll even have a beautiful child.】 My phone rang. On the other end was the twenty-seven-year-old Chris. “Clara! Do you have any idea that Cynthia took Leo and ran away from home? If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you.” My eyes fell to the last line of the letter. 【Signed: The Chris who will love his Clara forever.】 A sharp pain lanced through my chest, like something delicate had finally shattered. I hung up the phone and tossed the entire box into the fireplace. 3 Chris didn’t come home that night. I didn’t frantically call him over and over like I used to, crying and promising I would never give Cynthia a hard time again. My daughter didn’t ask about her father either. She just quietly took the framed photo of her and Chris from her room while I packed. Chris and I were locked in a cold war. It lasted a week, until Mia’s kindergarten needed a parental consent form signed, which required facial recognition. I tried calling Chris, only to find he’d blocked my number. With no other choice, I took the form and went to his office. I hadn’t been waiting long when I saw a familiar figure slip into Chris’s office. The assistant pouring water nearby looked guilty. “Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne gave instructions that Ms. Cynthia can enter his office whenever she likes.” That special privilege was, in a way, my fault. Back when I still brought Chris lunch every day, we would eat and talk for an hour. One day, Cynthia showed up, but the assistant at the time stopped her at the door. By the time Chris walked me out, Cynthia and her son Leo were shivering in the hallway, their lips blue from the cold. That was the first time Chris ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled, saying my daily lunch deliveries were a waste of his time. The assistant who had stopped Cynthia was fired. From that day on, everyone knew Cynthia was the one who held Chris’s heart. I never came to the office again. I gave the new assistant a small smile and walked straight toward the office. Chris was indeed in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. “What are you doing here?” Cynthia was perched on the armrest of his chair, their bodies so close they were almost touching. He noticed my gaze and faltered. “Clara, don’t get the wrong idea. Cynthia just happens to know a little about this project, so…” I nodded and handed him the tablet. “Mia has a field trip. It needs a parent’s signature.” “You came all this way just for that?” “What else?” The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I didn’t know why, but I knew Chris well enough to recognize he was in a foul mood. Cynthia scoffed lightly. “What a complicated way to get a signature. Chris, she just wants to make up with you. You’ve been staying at my place for days. It’s about time you went home to see Mia.” The tension in Chris’s brow eased. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table and gave me a smirk. “Clara, so now you’re using our child as an excuse.” “Apologize to Cynthia. Otherwise, I’m not signing this.” Hearing those words used to infuriate me. I’d be furious that he didn’t care about his own daughter, and even more furious that he was doing it for Cynthia. But now, I felt nothing. My only thought was that without his signature, Mia would miss her field trip, and she would be disappointed. I looked at Chris, and at Cynthia still sitting on his armrest, then turned and walked out of the office without a word. I could just tell the teacher that Mia didn’t have a father. I’d only taken a few steps when a clear, masculine voice called out. “Ms. Thorne, if you don’t mind, perhaps I could sign it for you.” It was the other man from Chris’s meeting. “After all, I’ve been an audience to your family drama for some time now.” I finally got a good look at him. He was dressed in a sharp black suit that radiated a cool authority, his features handsome and severe. He clearly came from money and power. I simply handed him the tablet. The verification went through instantly. Three elegantly written words appeared on the screen: 【Kyle Cole.】 4 The divorce papers were drafted. I unilaterally ended our cold war and told Chris to come home that evening. When I went to pick Mia up from kindergarten, his Maybach was already waiting. The window rolled down, revealing Cynthia’s triumphant smile from the passenger seat. “Clara, here to pick up your child, too? This is an elite kindergarten, you know. Are you still wearing last year’s coat? Aren’t you afraid Mia will be embarrassed?” I couldn’t be bothered with her and moved a little farther away. Cynthia turned to the driver’s seat, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Chris, did I say something wrong again? I think I made Clara angry.” For once, Chris didn’t respond. He just stared at my thin coat, his voice stiff. “Clara, it’s windy out. Get in the car.” I moved even farther away. I don’t know when it started, but the distance between us had grown so vast that even a simple word of concern sounded forced and hollow. As we neared the school gate, a scuffle broke out in the line of children. I frowned, and my heart sank when I saw that one of them was Mia. I rushed over and pulled them apart, only then realizing the other child was Leo. He froze when he saw me, then immediately threw himself on the ground and began to wail. “Waaah! The mean lady hit me! It hurts, it hurts!” Chris and Cynthia hurried over. Cynthia swept her son into her arms, her face filled with indignation. “Clara, I know you don’t like me, but you can’t take it out on a child. They were just playing. There was no need to get so aggressive.” Chris looked at me with disapproval, completely forgetting that Mia was his own flesh and blood. The teacher looked torn. “Mrs. Thorne, Mrs. Cynthia, the children both saw Mr. Thorne and started insisting he was their father. They argued, and then they started fighting.” It was dismissal time, and the area was crowded with parents. The whispers started immediately. “What a mess. Two kids fighting over a dad? Must be the wife and the mistress.” “That guy looks loaded. Maybe the little boy is just a liar, trying to show off. Who knew the real daughter would be right there?” “A little gold-digger in the making. What are they teaching him at home?” Leo was still crying, clinging to Chris’s neck and screaming “Daddy.” But Mia… she just held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Chris, unblinking. The other children chimed in curiously. “Mister, who’s your real kid? You have to tell us! The one who’s lying has to apologize.” Chris opened his mouth. “I’m Mia’s…” At that exact moment, Cynthia gave his sleeve a gentle tug, her eyes pleading. In an instant, I knew. He was wavering. Just like countless times before, all it took was one look from Cynthia, and my daughter and I became his second choice. I gritted my teeth, my voice like ice. “Chris, your answer right now will affect Mia for the rest of her life. Think very carefully before you speak.” His body went rigid. His eyes were downcast, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice that was quiet but loud enough for everyone to hear, he said: “I’m Leo’s father.” He looked at Mia. “I think you’re mistaken, little girl.” My heart seized, as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe. This is our daughter. The crowd of parents immediately turned on Mia. “Little girl, why would you lie about who your dad is? And then hit his real son?” “Yeah, the truth is out and she’s not even apologizing. No manners at all.” “She’s just jealous he’s rich. Wants to be a rich man’s daughter.” “Her mother doesn’t look like a good person either, all done up like that. Probably taught her daughter to call rich men ‘daddy’ to try and trap one.” “Chris, you’re not even human…” I started to say, but a sharp pain in my palm cut me off. Mia was biting her lip, her grip on my hand astonishingly tight. The light in her eyes was fading fast. “Mom, let’s just go.” Then she turned woodenly to Chris and bowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I was mistaken.”

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“My childhood best friend, Leo, has depression. It’s the kind of depression that requires him to be coaxed into eating, held to fall asleep. The kind that made him slice at his own wrist with a penknife that one time he couldn’t get hard. It wasn’t until the arrival of the woman who was clearly meant to be his savior—the protagonist of his redemption story—that I realized I was just a supporting character. An insignificant extra. So, I quit. When Leo tried to cut his wrists, I sharpened the knife for him. When he threatened to jump from the balcony, I opened the window. And in the middle of hate-fueled sex, I called him a minute man. As I saw the heroine of his story nearing the completion of her quest, I took the initiative and asked for a divorce. That’s when Leo grabbed my waist, his voice a raw shout. “”How do you think my depression got better? Don’t you have any clue at all?”” 1 I knew Leo was different from the time I was still running around in diapers. While I was climbing trees like a little monkey, he’d be in his room, silently shedding tears. When I was slinging a tiny backpack for my first day of preschool, barely able to recognize the letters of the alphabet, he had already written one hundred and eighty suicide notes. The reasons for wanting to end it all were always different. From accidentally stepping on an ant, to losing a single strand of hair, even wetting the bed in the middle of the night—they were all justifications for why he couldn’t go on living. And at the end of every single note, he’d write the same line: 【Dear Mom and Dad, if I die, please leave everything I own to Clara.】 At seven, “”everything he owned”” was a small box of a thousand paper stars, painstakingly folded from candy wrappers. At ten, it was the Christmas money he’d saved up all year. At sixteen, it was a binder full of his perfect, straight-A report cards. That’s right. Even with his crippling depression, he was still a bona fide genius who aced every class. By the time we were twenty-two, his most precious asset had become me—his beautiful wife, Clara. That’s why every time I looked at the listless, half-dead version of Leo, who sometimes lacked even the energy to properly tie a noose, I would erupt in helpless fury. “”What right do you even have to be depressed?”” I’d demand. “”Your family’s company is practically a national chain, you’re so ridiculously good-looking that talent scouts have tried to recruit you, and you sailed through school without ever getting less than an A+. What the hell do you have to be depressed about?”” Hearing me say that, his innocent, deer-like eyes would mist over, the corners turning red. He was one bitten lip away from whimpering, “”I want to die.”” But instead, he’d say, “”You’re right. Besides being handsome, rich, brilliant, and married to a perfect wife, what else do I have going for me?”” He’d sigh dramatically. “”My life is such a failure.”” And then he’d reach for a penknife to drag across his thigh. It wasn’t because his arms were too sensitive; it was because I’d been away on a business trip, and his forearms were already a latticework of pale, scarred lines, with no clean space left. 2 I snatched the penknife out of his hand. “”Don’t die just yet,”” I said. Leo looked at me, surprised, his eyes wide with the expectation of some warm, comforting words. After all, since we were kids, I had practically been his designated therapist. In preschool, when he wouldn’t eat, I’d feed him spoonful by spoonful, cooing, “”Good boy, Leo. Just one more bite.”” In elementary school, my parents left for a research sabbatical in Antarctica, leaving me in the care of his family. From that point on, Leo’s dad became my legal guardian, and I, in turn, became Leo’s. That’s when I discovered he couldn’t sleep at night without being soothed and told a bedtime story. His parents never had the time, so they handed that monumental task to me. And so, I spent my nights whispering tales of Snow White while holding him in my arms. To put it bluntly, we went from sharing a crib in diapers to sharing a bed in a wedding dress and a tuxedo. Leo’s father knew his son was unreliable. At eighteen, Leo could barely string ten words together with anyone other than me, let alone be expected to inherit the family business. To ensure I could seamlessly take over the company, his parents pushed us to get married the moment Leo turned legal age. Before Leo could even process what I was doing, I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a brand-new chef’s knife from the block. I started sharpening it right in front of him, the steel gleaming under the lights. “”If you’re serious about this, use this one,”” I said, my voice flat. “”Stop trying to scare me with that little toy.”” Leo froze. His eyes were a mixture of hurt and utter shock. “”Clara, if I died, what would you do?”” I let out a dry laugh. “”Find someone new, I guess.”” Then I turned and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. 3 Inside the bathroom, the shelves were neatly lined with an array of… toys. Before my trip, they had been scattered about, but now Leo had cleaned them and organized them back into their box. My gaze, however, was drawn to a faded little pill bottle tucked away in a corner. I remembered when we were freshly eighteen, and I decided it was time to initiate him into the ways of the flesh. He was so nervous that, after several attempts, he still couldn’t get it up. His face was flushed, sweat tracing the sharp line of his jaw and dripping onto my collarbone. He had whispered to me in that sexy, raspy voice of his, “”Clara, I’ll try… I’ll try one more time.”” But after what felt like an eternity, all that teenage bravado wilted like a flower in the sun. It was over in less than three seconds. I tried to be encouraging. “”Don’t be nervous. Just think about what we were watching earlier.”” “”Or… you can just touch me, if that helps.”” But Leo couldn’t handle the failure. He rolled off me, pulled out the penknife he always carried, and said, “”Clara, I’m so useless.”” He was about to bring the blade to his arm. I can swear on my life that was the most terrified and helpless I had ever felt. Dear God, who could have imagined that trying to seduce an innocent boy would end with him threatening to die on the bed? “”Wait,”” I said, stopping him. I pulled out the little pill bottle I’d brought just in case. I had only intended to give him one or two, and was worried he’d be too proud to take them. I never expected him to snatch the bottle and down nearly half of it. Three days later, we limped out of that hotel, our legs aching and our bodies sore. It was like a switch had been flipped in him; he never needed that bottle again. When I tried to throw it in the trash, Leo fished it out, cradling it like a treasure. “”Let’s keep it,”” he’d said. “”As a souvenir.”” 4 A loud crash echoed from outside the bathroom. I was determined not to get involved with whatever Leo was doing. I took my time, lingering in the steam, but then another, louder bang followed. “”Leo, what are you doing?”” I called out as I emerged, only to find he’d knocked over and shattered a pair of antique vases. “”Honestly,”” I snapped. Leo was taken aback by my tone, clearly confused as to why one business trip had caused such a seismic shift in my attitude. He asked tentatively, “”Clara… are you cheating on me?”” I stared at the two large words floating above his head: MAIN CHARACTER. My heart ached with a strange mix of grief and resignation. I don’t know when it started, but one day I could suddenly see that label above him, a label no one else seemed to notice. I had thought it made me special, that I was destined to be his leading lady. But a few weeks ago, I had seen two different words floating over the head of Leo’s psychiatrist. FEMALE LEAD. I could even see another line of text materializing in the air around him. Leo’s Depression Level: 100% That’s when it all clicked. She was the heroine of the redemption story. And I was just the disposable side character. The starter wife. So, I quit. As for Leo, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.”

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I bought a merman on the black market. He was captivating. And he was dangerous. But then came the nights I’d find him watching me through the glass, his eyes burning with a predatory stillness. And after that, the dreams began—dreams so vivid and strange they felt more like memories. 1 To get back in my good graces, my underlings brought me to The Onyx Room, the most notorious private auction house in Solace City. I’d spent the entire evening slouched in a plush velvet armchair, feeling the boredom settle deep in my bones. I was idly flipping a vintage stiletto dagger I’d recently acquired, letting the blade catch the amber light, and shot a lazy, half-smiling glance at the man who’d invited me. He flinched, his leg starting to jiggle under my gaze. Just as I was about to dismiss him entirely, the auctioneer on the stage below finally reached the last lot of the night. The Onyx Room was all dark wood, hidden alcoves, and the low glow of amber lamps—a speakeasy vibe for clientele with monstrously deep pockets and questionable morals. The auctioneer, a man with a flair for the dramatic, raised a finger to his lips, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, pulling the room into a shared secret. “And now, for our final piece. I guarantee this is something that will drive every last one of you to madness.” He paused for effect. “It originates from the Gamma Labs project. A ‘failed’ experiment, they called it. But I tell you, it is nothing less than a masterwork of creation itself…” As he spoke, two stagehands wheeled out an enormous container draped in a thick, crimson curtain. The thing was massive, tall enough that its top cleared the high ceiling by only a few feet. Every eye in the room was fixed on it. Even I felt a flicker of interest and straightened in my chair, a cynical smile playing on my lips. A failed experiment. Just another toy for the obscenely wealthy. The underground world had been flooded with them for years—horrific chimeras born from illicit gene-splicing. Half-human, half-serpent monstrosities; children with the faces of cats; men twisted into beastly wolf forms. Every one of them a “failure.” But this was different. The red curtain fell. Under the dim, theatrical lighting, the container was revealed to be a massive, cylindrical cultivation tank, filled with a pale, glowing blue liquid. A collective gasp swept through the crowd below. They were stunned into silence by the sight, and I felt my own breath catch in my throat. Because floating serenely inside was a merman. A merman with no visible signs of crude genetic fusion. He was a creature of intense, breathtaking beauty, possessing an androgynous allure that blurred the lines of gender. But the bare, sculpted lines of his torso made it clear he was male. His frame was long and elegant, yet the defined muscles of his chest and arms rippled with a power you couldn’t ignore. His lower body was a magnificent tail, at least six feet of shimmering, gunmetal-silver scales that caught the dim light like a thousand tiny mirrors. He appeared to be sleeping, his hair—a startling shade of cobalt blue—drifting around his head like a deep-sea halo. As the water gently eddied, I could just make out the translucent, fin-like membranes behind his ears. His face was a masterpiece of sharp, delicate lines and chiseled angles. His eyelashes were stark white, like a dusting of frost, casting faint shadows on skin so pale it seemed almost inorganic. He looked like a deity who had presided over the cosmos, only to fall to earth when his celestial throne crumbled. This wasn’t a product of a creator. This was the creator himself. “I wonder what he looks like with his eyes open,” I murmured, the words escaping before I could stop them. As if on cue, he opened them. And then, in the space of a blink, I met a pair of deep blue eyes. The gaze was placid, yet it hit me with the force of being dragged into the crushing depths of the ocean. It was the feeling of tearing a perfect rose from a thorny vine with your bare hands. Captivating. And dangerous. Across the sea of bidders on the floor below, through the one-way glass of my private booth, our eyes locked. I knew he shouldn’t be able to see me. But he did. I was sure of it. His stare held no discernible emotion, yet it pierced right through me, sending a chill down my spine that was equal parts warning and… exhilaration. My lips were suddenly dry. I ran my tongue over them. I loved this feeling—the thrill of a challenge, the promise of a conquest. I raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze without flinching. When the bidding below descended into a frantic, near-violent frenzy, I raised my hand. And I ended it. I stood and walked to the glass, tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. Leaning in, I smiled and mouthed the words, a silent declaration of ownership. You’re mine. As I turned to leave, I glanced back one last time. And I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth, which had been perfectly neutral, twist into a subtle, contemptuous smirk. 2 Merfolk. The legends painted them as enigmatic, powerful creatures of the deep. Wild, cunning, and brutally intelligent. They were said to possess eyes that could pierce the darkest abyss, a sense of smell that could track blood for miles, and voices that could weave hypnotic spells. Whispers and folklore. No one in the modern world had ever actually seen one. And now, I owned one. He might be a product of a lab, but his flawless form made that single imperfection utterly irrelevant. I had him moved to my estate and placed in the shark tank. “Tank” was a modest term. It was a massive, private aquarium built into the foundation of my villa, its main wall a sweeping curve of reinforced glass that formed one side of my subterranean lounge. It was where I liked to unwind. And occasionally, where I’d feed my sharks with people who had disappointed me. I wanted to see which was the more ferocious predator: the merman or the sharks. Based on the legends of their savagery, the outcome was anyone’s guess. But three days passed, and the bloody spectacle I’d anticipated never happened. In fact, the only violence was directed at my staff; two of the handlers who performed the daily feedings had been bitten by sharks that were suddenly, uncharacteristically aggressive. I stood before the vast glass wall for a long time, watching the blue light from the ceiling shimmer through the eerily quiet water. Not only were my sharks, usually restlessly patrolling, nowhere to be seen, but the merman was also missing. Puzzled, I pressed my face closer to the glass, trying to peer into the deeper, darker recesses of the tank. A sudden, prickling chill crept up the back of my neck. I snapped my head up. There he was. Floating directly above me in the water, near the surface, looking down at me from the other side of the glass ceiling. He was positioned like a sea god passing judgment on a mortal subject. His white eyelashes were lowered, obscuring his expression, but his presence filled me with a strange unease that made the blood hum in my veins. Still looking up, I gave him a lazy wave. I didn’t know if he could hear me, let alone understand, but I called out anyway. “Come down. I don’t like craning my neck to talk to… anyone.” He seemed to understand. With a single, powerful flick of his silver tail, he descended, slicing through the water until he was hovering directly in front of me, separated only by a few inches of glass. I stepped closer, my fingers tracing the outline of his face on the cool surface. “You are devastatingly beautiful,” I said, my voice low. This time, I knew he heard me. And I knew he understood. Because his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, a look filled with an unreadable intent. He opened his mouth and said something, but no sound reached me through the glass. I asked him a few more questions, but he just watched me with that same unnerving gaze from the auction, offering nothing more. It was a letdown. I suppose I couldn’t expect much. He was a “failure,” after all. He could have been human once, or maybe just a fish. But if he was modeled on a human, then whoever possessed that face before the experiment must have been a walking cataclysm. 3 Over the next few days, I went to see him a few times. He either stared at me, motionless, or was nowhere to be found. The novelty began to wear off. I’d expected a wild hawk that needed breaking, but he seemed to have been tamed almost instantly. It was boring. My interest waned, and I stopped visiting the lounge. Until the night of the full moon. It hung high and heavy in the sky, a perfect silver disk. I was drinking alone on my terrace when one of my men rushed in, breathless, to report that the merman had vanished. Annoyed, and with a pleasant buzz from the scotch, I made my way down the winding staircase to the aquarium lounge. The moment I stepped onto the gallery, I saw him. He was there, hovering on the other side of the glass, watching me. A flare of anger cut through the alcohol haze. “Have I not been feeding the sharks enough lately? Are you all so bored you have to lie to my face?” I snapped, my voice echoing in the vast, quiet space. I jabbed a finger toward the merman. “And you. What are you looking at? Are you some kind of mute fish?” Fueled by liquor and irritation, I stalked toward the glass. I misjudged the small step down from the gallery to the main floor, my ankle turned, and I pitched forward. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. But it never came. After a long moment, I hesitantly opened them. A cold dread, sharp and sobering, washed over me, chasing away the last vestiges of my drunken stupor. I was floating. In the water. On the other side of the seamless, impenetrable glass wall was the very lounge I had just been standing in. And then, a pale, cold hand snaked around my waist from behind, locking me in an unbreakable grip. 4 Every nerve in my body went rigid. The primal, exhilarating fear of being trapped in a predator’s den flooded my senses. I’d been drinking in the comfort of my own home, dressed only in a silk nightgown with a light robe thrown over it. The thin fabric was now soaked, clinging to my skin. The robe had a low-cut back, and I could feel the distinct, icy touch of his skin against mine—a coldness that wasn’t human. I didn’t have time to wonder how I was able to breathe underwater, how I wasn’t drowning. The owner of the hand shifted, his head moving to rest beside my shoulder. I felt his breath, damp and cool, against the shell of my ear, the sensation impossibly clear through the water. It was a feeling so alien, so dangerous, it sent a tremor of pure adrenaline through me. I was terrified. I was thrilled. I didn’t dare turn around. This was a merman, a creature of legend known for its deadly siren song. Even as a lab creation, he was an unknown, and I had to treat him with the respect a predator deserved. I fought to control the trembling that threatened to take over my body, my eyes darting around, searching for a reflection. In the dim, blue light, the curved glass wall offered a distorted mirror. The image was surreal. I was floating like a marionette with its strings cut, my dark hair fanning out around me like seaweed, my white silk gown billowing softly against the current. Behind me, the merman was an imposing shadow, his form, including his tail, easily nine feet long. He dwarfed me, caging me completely. One of his arms was clamped around my waist. His cobalt hair mingled with mine, a swirl of blue and black that looked almost tender. In the reflection, his expression was one of lazy, sated satisfaction, his silver tail swaying gently with each breath. He lowered his head, nosing at the side of my neck. I felt the sharp points of his teeth graze the artery there, sending a wave of ice through my veins. What is he doing? Is he going to eat me? A thousand scenarios flashed through my mind, none of them fitting the slow, deliberate way he was acting. His other hand, fingers tipped with sharp nails connected by translucent webbing, had already slipped under my robe, tracing patterns over the bare skin of my back. My senses screamed at me to be on guard. I watched his reflection, ready to strike at the first sign of aggression. But he didn’t attack. Instead, he slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine in the warped glass. My heart hammered against my ribs. He knows I’m watching. His expression didn’t change, but I felt a subtle shift in the water around me, an invisible pressure building. My instincts screamed, the hair on my arms standing on end. “What do you want?” I tried to say, the words catching in my throat. I never got them out. I couldn’t even process why I could speak underwater. His free hand shot up, gripping my chin and tilting my head back, exposing the fragile line of my throat to his gaze. And then he kissed me. It was sudden, overwhelming. I raised my hands to fight him off, to push him away, but in that same instant, the world fell out from under me. The strange buoyancy, the ability to breathe—it all vanished. The crushing weight of the water slammed into me. The desperate, burning need for air filled my lungs. Panic set in. My thoughts fractured. Is this considered interspecies harassment? Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, I thought I heard it—the legendary song of the mermen. It was a deep, resonant hum, an ancient summons from the abyss. The language was alien, but I felt a flicker of recognition, a certainty in my gut. He was saying my name. Ava. The world was going dark. The pressure was unbearable. Just as my consciousness began to fade, I heard the faint, muffled shouts of my men from the other side of the glass. And then, everything went black. 5 When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor of the lounge gallery, right where I had tripped. Several of my men were gathered around me, their faces etched with concern. I pushed them away and scrambled to my feet, my eyes fixed on the empty aquarium. “When you came in,” I demanded, my voice raw, “where was I?” “Right… right here on the floor, Ms. Thorne,” one of them stammered, confused. “Did you see the merman?” I asked, my gaze sweeping the tank again. They exchanged uneasy glances. “No, ma’am.” I stared into the deceptively calm water for a long moment, my thumb brushing against my swollen lips. Without another word, I turned and strode out. I summoned a gene-splicing expert, a jumpy old man who paled when he saw the blood-stained dagger I was cleaning. He nervously launched into a long-winded explanation of the merman’s genetic makeup. “Spare me the lecture,” I cut in, impatient. “Just tell me how he pulled me into the tank. What kind of ability is that?” “I… I have no idea, Ms. Thorne,” the old man stammered, wringing his hands. “Are you certain… perhaps you’d had a bit too much to drink and it was… a dream?” I gave him a look that made him shrink. My men “politely” escorted him out. I sat on the sofa, stewing in my own thoughts, then rose to my feet. I summoned every person on the estate’s staff. “Everyone,” I announced, my voice dangerously calm. “We’re going fishing.” I stood before the glass wall and watched as a team of divers swept back and forth through the massive tank. Half an hour later, they’d found nothing but a few shark teeth, shed naturally during the season change. Not a single trace of him. A cold, humorless smile spread across my face. He was in there. I knew he was. He was deliberately letting them miss him. So, the silver-tailed merman wanted to play games. I’d tried to tame him, and now he was trying to tame me. If it weren’t for the fact that I was on dry land and he was in his element, I would have shown him a thing or two about the cruelty of humans. I ordered the food supply to the tank cut off. I had underwater cameras installed. And I forbade anyone from going near that part of the estate. For days, I watched the monitors. Nothing. The merman remained hidden. Just as I was about to lose interest again, he appeared. He materialized in the center of the main camera’s view, staring directly into the lens. It felt as if he could see me sitting on the other side. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was wild, aggressive, and charged with a wickedness that belonged to some forgotten, malevolent god. My breath hitched. And then I had to admit it. He was, without a doubt, provoking me. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to treat me, Ava Thorne, with such blatant disrespect in my own city. I immediately ordered the divers back in the water to capture him. But by the time they reached the tank, he was gone again. Staring at the empty, blue-lit water on the screen, I laughed softly. “Alright then,” I whispered to the empty room. “Let’s see who tames who.” 6 That night, for the first time in years, my sleep was not a dreamless void. It was filled with a strange, hauntingly vivid dream. In this dream, I was a woman of another time, a formidable privateer captain sailing the high seas. My mission was to chart a new trade route, but a violent storm had thrown my ship wildly off course somewhere in the Atlantic, near the Strait of Gibraltar. After the storm broke, the seas calmed. “Captain,” my first mate said, his voice hesitant as he approached me on deck. “We’ve… pulled something from the water. You should come see it.” His reluctance piqued my curiosity. I followed him below deck, where the crew, who had been huddled together, quickly parted to reveal their find. I stopped short, stunned. It was him. The merman from my tank. But this version of him was in a wretched state, his body covered in deep, gruesome wounds. The dream-version of me, however, was unfazed. She seemed to possess a worldly knowledge of such creatures. She strode forward and crouched beside the barely conscious merman, tilting his chin up with her fingers. She completely ignored the venomous glare he shot her, studying his face with a clinical interest before letting out an appreciative, low whistle. “A foreign merman, is it? Handsome devil. Just my type.” …I had to admit, despite the public setting, that sounded exactly like something I would say and do. This merman, unlike the one in my tank, seemed to have a strategic mind. He knew he was injured, weak, and powerless. So, he simply lay there, limp and unresponsive, allowing himself to be handled. My dream-self knew precisely how to deal with him. She ordered a set of shackles brought forth, forged from what my first mate called “cold iron and silver.” Instead of putting the merman back in the water, she had him chained by her bedside in her cabin. I had to give her credit. On land, it was her territory. How could she fail to break a beast on her own terms? And she was certainly relentless. The dream flashed forward. I saw myself sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a piece of specially prepared fish, trying to coax him. “Hungry? Tell me your name, and you can have it. I know your kind can speak.” The merman lay on the floor, his eyes like chips of ice, radiating a cold, murderous fury. I paid him no mind, even daring to run my hand over his bare torso, stroking the smooth skin as I mused aloud. “Fine, don’t talk. I’ll just name you myself. My name is Ava. You can share it. How about… Ava’s Isle? No, just Isle.” I paused, considering my own brilliance. “A woman of letters and poetry, that’s me. See how artistic that sounds?” The merman, shackled by his hands and tail, could only glare at me, the rage in his eyes so potent it was a physical force. He looked like he wanted to devour me whole. Having satisfied my curiosity for the moment, I offered him some mock comfort. “Don’t struggle. Being caught by me is the best thing that could have happened to you. In your condition, if I threw you back in the sea, you’d be nothing but shark bait.” I paused, a slow, pleased smile spreading across my face. “Now that I think about it, I’m your savior. And since you’re refusing to speak, you can’t thank me with words. You’ll just have to repay me with your body.” I had no idea if the merman understood my words, but I was certainly enjoying myself. Gazing at his impossibly beautiful face, a familiar itch started under my skin. I leaned down, cupped his jaw, and pressed a firm kiss to his thin lips, lips that I knew hid sharp teeth. “Hiss—” He bit me. “So shy,” I murmured, licking the drop of blood from my lip. I looked at his defiant, sneering face and was about to go in for another, more forceful kiss. But just as I reached for him, the morning light flooded my vision. The dream was over. 7 “Son of a—” I woke up snarling, furious at the interruption. But the words died on my lips as my eyes adjusted to my surroundings. I froze, not daring to move a muscle. Because I was in the exact same position as in my dream: sprawled on top of the merman. His stunning face was inches from mine, so close I could feel his cool breath ghosting across my skin. But this wasn’t my dream. I was in the water, in his domain, held captive in his arms. Discretion is the better part of valor. I looked from his teasing, observant gaze down to my own empty hands, and offered a weak, ingratiating smile. “Long time no see.” He raised a single, perfect eyebrow. The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me even closer. The sudden movement made me lose my balance in the water, and I instinctively threw my arms around his neck to steady myself. A low, throaty chuckle vibrated through his chest and echoed in the silent water. I snapped my head up to meet his eyes, saw the amused curve of his lips, and understood instantly what he was doing. He was playing with me. My fear, my small, desperate movements—it was all a game to him. In that moment, I forgot I couldn’t swim. I forgot I was at his mercy. I, Ava Thorne, always repay my debts. My hand, already around his neck, slid up into his cobalt hair, my fingers finding the translucent, webbed fin behind his ear. “You ruined a perfectly good nightgown,” I said, my voice dripping with false fairness. “A little touch for a touch seems only fair, don’t you think?” I gently pinched the delicate membrane, a sly smile on my face. “Nice texture,” I commented honestly. Seeing no aggressive reaction from him, no baring of teeth, that reckless, self-destructive part of me decided to push my luck. My hand slid from his fin to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before brushing over his lips. He caught the tip of my finger between his teeth, a gentle pressure, not a bite. Under his smoldering, predatory gaze, I laughed softly. “Why so gentle? Haven’t you eaten? Or is it possible the great merman knows how to be tender with a lady?” As I spoke, my other hand began its own exploration, gliding over the hard, defined planes of his chest. But this time, I had pushed too far. I had grossly overestimated my ability to operate in his world. It was only later that I would understand the monumental, almost fatal, mistake I had made. The merman was in his mating season, and my foolish provocations had nearly gotten me killed. Or worse. Lost in the intoxicating feel of his skin, I failed to notice the change in his eyes, the deep blue darkening to a stormy, abyssal black. By the time I sensed the shift in the atmosphere, it was too late. His silver tail, which had been swaying lazily, shot out like a whip, coiling tightly around my waist. “What are you doing?” “Hey, where are you touching?” “Whoa, easy there, handsome! Let’s talk about this! Don’t rip the silk!” “Isle! Okay, okay, I won’t touch you! I’m sorry!” “Damn it, I said I’m sorry!” “…”

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My wife, Claire, is the picture of emotional stability. She never checks my phone, never questions where I’ve been. She trusts me completely. All my friends tell me how lucky I am, what a great wife I have—so easygoing, so in love with me. Until, by chance, I stumbled upon her secret blog: “Since it can’t be you, it doesn’t matter who I marry.” “I see it now. Calmness and passionate love can’t exist in the same heart. With you, I was never this calm.” “Thank God our daughter looks like me. That way, when the three of us travel, there’s no shadow of anyone else.” Then I saw the post from our wedding anniversary. The day she took our daughter on an overseas trip with her first love. The day she let our daughter call him “Daddy.” In the blog, she wrote that it was the only way she could pretend he was her husband. Someone in the comments called her story tragic. I thought so, too. So I handed her divorce papers. I told her she could have our daughter. For the first time in our marriage, she became hysterical, screaming at me, demanding to know what more I could possibly want. “Who has it better than you? No man has it this easy! Don’t you dare act like you’re the victim here!” I just looked at her left hand, at the stark, empty space on her ring finger, and my voice was quiet when I replied. “Someone else can have this bargain. I’m done.” “I don’t want a woman whose heart belongs to another man.” 1 My wife, Claire, has her emotions on lockdown. She never checks my phone, never asks where I’ve been. She trusts me completely. My friends all say I hit the jackpot. “An easy-going wife who loves you? You’re living the dream, man.” And I’d smile, a smile that never quite reached my eyes. Tonight was a prime example. One by one, my friends’ phones buzzed with texts from their wives, summoning them home. Mine remained dark and silent. Mark, the last one left, nudged me with his elbow. “Seriously, Ethan. You have no idea how lucky you are. A wife like Claire… most of us would kill for that kind of peace.” I just nodded and finished my beer. After they’d all cleared out, I sat there for a while, draining one last bottle, building up the courage to go home. The house is always dark when I get back, so quiet I can hear the soft, even rhythm of Claire’s breathing from the bedroom. My foot bumped against the recycling bin, sending a clatter of glass through the silence. I froze, holding my breath, hoping I hadn’t woken her. A moment later, the bedroom door creaked open. Claire emerged, shuffling in her slippers, her eyes clouded with sleep. “You’re home,” she said, her voice flat. “Get some sleep. You’ve been drinking, so I’ll go sleep in Maya’s room.” No annoyance. No anger. Not a ripple of emotion. Any other woman would have been furious—me coming home late, stinking of bourbon. Claire didn’t even raise her voice. It wasn’t the first time. I’ve dated other women, I know the little dramas, the playful arguments. Claire had none of that. Her emotional stability was so absolute, it was almost inhuman. But there wasn’t a word of concern, either. I stood there, rooted to the spot, as she walked toward our daughter’s room. The question I wanted to ask, the one I was too afraid to voice, swirled in my throat. It came out as a pathetic, desperate plea. “Claire? I feel a little sick. Could you… maybe make me some tea?” Her hand paused on the doorknob. She looked back over her shoulder, her expression as gentle, and as distant, as ever. “Just go to sleep, Ethan. You’ll feel better in the morning.” The door clicked shut, sealing off whatever else I might have said. The distance between us was more than just a single door. It was an ocean. 2 Claire and I met on what was supposed to be a blind date. Sort of. My actual date was running late. I was sitting at a small table in a crowded Chicago coffee shop when Claire walked up and sat down opposite me. We’d mistaken each other for our respective dates, but when I saw her, I felt a jolt. She was beautiful in a clean, understated way—a simple floral dress, a touch of makeup, nothing more. After a few minutes of confused pleasantries, she looked me straight in the eye and asked a question that short-circuited my brain. “What’s the absolute soonest you could get married?” Somehow, the words, “Whenever you want,” fell out of my mouth. I didn’t even think to ask her why she was in such a hurry. We met that morning and were at the courthouse by the afternoon. Before my brain had fully processed it, I was a married man. It wasn’t entirely crazy; my family had been pressuring me to settle down for years. Our marriage was… polite. We were like courteous roommates. I told myself it was fine, that we just needed time. In an age of swipe-right dating, horror stories of couples who dated for years only to break up were everywhere. I figured we were just doing it in reverse. But I waited. And waited. I waited until our daughter, Maya, was born. I waited for five years. Nothing changed. One night, a junior colleague from work—one who had a very obvious crush on me—texted me after midnight, asking for a ride home from a bar. Claire was lying right beside me in bed. She didn’t so much as stir. I hesitated, then nudged her, asking if she minded. Her answer was chillingly reasonable. “She’s a young woman out on her own. It can be tough. She wouldn’t ask you, a married man, unless she was really in a bind.” She was giving me permission. More than that, she was encouraging me to go. She knew about this colleague’s inappropriate texts. She’d seen them. But she didn’t care enough to even want an explanation. It was then that the cold truth finally settled in my bones. Claire didn’t love me. We could be married for a hundred years, and she would never love me. 3 I woke the next morning to an empty house. Claire and Maya were gone. I stood barefoot in the living room, looking around at the minimalist, grayscale decor. It felt less like a home and more like a showroom, devoid of warmth or life. Claire never cooked. We either ordered takeout or I ate at the office. For the first time, I asked myself if this was the life I really wanted. All I’d ever wanted was simple: a marriage that didn’t feel like a business arrangement, a partner I could argue with and laugh with. Claire wasn’t that person. Just then, my phone rang. It was work. I had to fly to Paris for an urgent meeting. It was a normal part of the job; our company did a lot of international trade. I sent Claire a text to let her know. Hours passed before a single word appeared in response: Ok. I scrolled up through our chat history. It was a long, one-sided monologue. Me sharing funny stories from my day, asking her questions. Her replies, when they came at all, were usually a single word answering only my last question. Once, when the silence had become too much to bear, I’d confronted her. “Why do you never text me back?” I can still picture her, holding a glass of water, her eyes as calm and still as a frozen lake. “We live together, Ethan. We see each other every day. What is there to talk about?” I was speechless. The truth was, she barely spoke to me at home, either. She only ever responded when my “nagging,” as she called it, became too much to ignore. I put my phone down and laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. As I was about to leave, I realized I’d forgotten my passport. I went to the study to look for it, opening the drawer of the old desk. Tucked away in the back, I found an old iPhone, a model from five or six years ago, preserved with meticulous care. Claire wasn’t a sentimental person; she didn’t keep old things. This was out of character. A flicker of curiosity turned into something heavier as I powered it on. The battery was full. She used this. She used it often. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. I opened the phone. The contacts list had only one entry: The One I Can’t Forget. My hand trembled as I opened the messaging app. There were thousands of texts, all sent from Claire to this number. The earliest was from before we’d even met. Leo, are you okay? I know you’ll never get this, but I have to send it somewhere. I got married today. He’s… a lot. He always wants things from me. Leo, I’m pregnant. It’s funny, isn’t it? We always talked about having a baby together. Another broken promise. There were more. So many more. The words blurred as the blood froze in my veins. I backed out of the messages, my thumb shaking. I didn’t want to see any more of how Claire had spent our marriage confiding in the ghost of her first love. To her, I was just an annoyance. My thumb accidentally tapped on a blog app. The account was anonymous, but the profile picture was a photo of two hands, fingers intertwined. I knew, with a certainty that hollowed me out, that the other hand wasn’t mine. Claire never took photos with me. Not even a simple snapshot of us holding hands. The blog posts were written in plain English, but they were a language I couldn’t comprehend. It was never going to be you. So it didn’t matter who it was. I’ve learned that true peace and true love can’t live in the same heart. With you, my heart was never peaceful. I thank God every day that Maya looks like me. That way, when the three of us are together, there’s no shadow of anyone else.

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I was in the middle of a livestream, matched with some kid who sounded like he’d just started kindergarten, when I decided to run my mouth. “Alright, kiddo,” I said, my voice dripping with gamer-girl sass, “call me Mom.” My brand-new son promptly lost his mind. “Dad! Dad, I found her! I found my mom!” 1. A dozen question marks exploded in my head. Hello? We’re live here, little dude. Eight hundred thousand people are watching. I’m a streamer who built her brand on skill, not on drama and gossip, okay? “Whoa there, little guy,” I said, trying to backtrack. “It was just a joke. You don’t have to call your dad into this.” But my sweet summer child was completely ignoring me. On screen, his little mage character, a bubbly thing called Sparkle, was just running circles around my hero. “Dad, you have to come see! My mom is right here!” I was speechless. A glance at the chat confirmed they were losing it. A waterfall of laughing emojis scrolled by, someone asking if I was hiding a secret love child. Just as I was frantically trying to deny everything, the Silas on our team—the one who’d been all flashy moves and cocky swagger since the match started—inexplicably joined the weird little ritual. He started circling my character right alongside Sparkle. Then, a message popped up in the public chat from him. A simple, quiet sentence. Yeah, she’s beautiful. 2 Excuse me? If I remembered correctly, the hero I was playing was Grizz, a mountain of a man with a beard that could hide a family of squirrels. The chat absolutely erupted. My temples started to throb. This had to be a setup. I was convinced these two were hired by a rival streamer to mess with me. I made my Grizz stomp his feet and leap out of their little circle of crazy. But just as I landed, the enemy team’s vanguard, a real heavy-hitter, seized the opportunity and slammed me, tearing through my health bar. My ultimate ability was still on cooldown. It was life or death, and in that split second, Sparkle somehow found a way to get right back next to me, spinning again. Silas stood beside us both, his character looking infuriatingly calm. He typed again. Son, does your mother need help? Then my “son’s” voice came through my headset, full of childlike earnestness. “Mom, Dad’s asking if you need help.” “…” I’m not blind! 3 I felt like they were humiliating me. Fueled by a surge of pure spite, I made Grizz jump directly into the enemy’s finishing move, basically committing glorious suicide. With its target gone, the little Sparkle character stood there for a dazed moment before the enemy vanguard sent him back to the spawn point, too. Silas, however, got away. He ran, of all places, straight under an enemy tower. Our team had given up three kills in the opening minutes of the match. Our other two teammates were, justifiably, starting to rage. ThirtyEightAndSingle: Are you three putting on a family drama for us? Is that it? BunnyWithAFang: Grizz, do you even know how to play? Did you buy this high-ranked account? I wanted to cry. I was desperate to prove that I deserved my 800,000 followers. I had to win this game. But the moment I respawned, before I’d even taken two steps out of our base, my dear son was on me again. “Mom, we have a parent-child activity day at my kindergarten tomorrow. Are you coming?” 4 I ignored him. He was persistent. “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” “Mom, are you coming?” A vein in my forehead pulsed. “No,” I snapped. After I said it, his little character stopped moving completely. I didn’t think much of it, just relieved that the noise had finally stopped. Until a new sound trickled through my headset. It was the sound of a small child trying very hard to cry without making any noise. It was a tiny, muffled sound, like a kitten whimpering, but it struck a chord deep inside me, sharp and painful. For a flash, I was a little girl again, my small hands clutching the cold wood of a coffin, begging my own mother to please, please wake up. “Hey,” I said, my voice suddenly soft. “I… I can’t tomorrow. I’m busy. But maybe next time, okay?” I figured he was just a kid. He’d forget about it in a few days. The crying stopped instantly. About two minutes later, my son, with his character’s two enormous pigtails swinging, came bouncing back to my side. “Mom, there’s a parent-child sports festival next week. I already signed you up.” “…” Does your kindergarten have a mandatory family event every single week? 5 It was ridiculous, right? And where was this kid’s dad in all of this? Too busy farming minions in the jungle to parent his own child? “Uh, listen,” I started, trying to come up with a good excuse. “I’m in L.A. That’s probably too far. I don’t think I can make it in a week.” My son immediately piped up, “What a coincidence! I live in L.A., too!” I wanted to bang my head against my desk. Of all the cities in the country, really? “Right, but I’m in Culver City,” I pushed on, committed to the lie. “That’s probably really far from you, not convenient at all.” He got even more excited. “What a coincidence! I’m in Culver City, too!” I should have just said I lived on the moon. “Well, it still wouldn’t be right,” I said, pinning my last hope on Silas, the dad who had been silently massacring jungle monsters this whole time. He seemed like he had to be the sane one. “Your dad wouldn’t agree to it.” But then Silas typed his reply. Where do you live? I’ll pick you up next Friday. 6 My brain short-circuited. Was that something a normal human being would say? I pretended I was blind, deaf, and dumb. I couldn’t see the chat, couldn’t hear the kid. I just focused on playing my big, burly Grizz. But Silas wouldn’t let it go. He materialized beside me as if out of thin air. Address. “…” I think I have a pretty good temper. I didn’t curse him out. But my rage had to go somewhere, so I unleashed every single one of Grizz’s abilities on him. After the onslaught, Silas just stood there, completely still. For a second, I thought his game had crashed. Then he typed. I’ve slain dragons with a single glance, yet I am undone by a look from you. My Grizz, not to be outdone, automatically triggered one of his own ridiculous voice lines: “Hahahaha! A real man’s battle is right here, right now!” Silas: I have poetry and strong wine. Come with me. Grizz: “Heheheh, boss, I’ve got a thousand ways to cut your salary!” The fans in my stream chat immediately started shipping them. “…” 7 I was frozen, my character locked in a bizarre staredown with Silas. I knew some heroes had special dialogue triggers with each other, but Grizz and Silas? Seriously? What kind of twisted game design was this? I quickly made Grizz jump backward, terrified that if I stayed any longer, a shower of pink hearts would spontaneously erupt over our heads. Silas went back to the jungle, and I thought, with a sigh of relief, that he’d finally returned to normal. Just then, my stream exploded. Someone had gifted me ten “Titan Tributes” in a row, the highest-tier gift on the platform. The sudden influx of cash and hype shot my stream up to the number three spot on the entire site. I was floored, gushing with gratitude as I thanked the generous donor. “Thank you so much to… ‘MyHusband’… for the ten Titan Tributes!” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. I squinted at the screen name. This guy was messing with me. But he’d just dropped a serious amount of cash on my channel; I couldn’t exactly call him out. While I was torn between defending my honor and keeping the money, Silas drifted back over to my side. You’re welcome. I didn’t get it, but a second later, he made me understand. Another thirty Titan Tributes flooded my stream, all from the same user: “MyHusband.” A cold, dawning horror began to creep up my spine. Sure enough, Silas typed again. What’s mine is yours. 8 Then I heard my son’s voice, laced with disdain. “That’s it? You’ll never win my mom over being that cheap.” “…” So it really was the flashy Silas player who sent the gifts? Just as my brain was about to melt from the sheer absurdity of it all, my stream was hit with another tidal wave. One hundred Titan Tributes. My son’s voice returned, filled with pride. “For you, Mommy. Go buy yourself something nice.” I just sat there, numb. I didn’t know if I was stunned by the father-son duo’s performance or blinded by the fifty thousand dollars that had just been dropped on my stream. Had I stumbled into a match with billionaires? My fans were going even crazier than I was. The chat was a battlefield of theories. Some thought it was the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. Others were convinced the two were shady and had bad intentions. The most ridiculous theory? That I had orchestrated the whole thing myself as a publicity stunt to gain followers. All hell broke loose. Fans started fighting with each other—some defending me, some accusing me, and some just insulting everyone in sight. My chat looked less like a gaming stream and more like a riot. Eventually, a consensus formed. They all demanded that I go to the sports festival to prove my innocence. And at that exact moment, as if on cue, Silas delivered the killing blow. Your son got you a present. He’ll be really sad if you don’t go. Mommy, please come. I haven’t seen you in six years. 9 That father-son tag team took the raging dumpster fire that was my livestream and poured gasoline all over it. I was completely and utterly speechless. There was nothing I could say. Any denial would just make me look guiltier. At this point, the only way out was through. I had to go to this stupid sports day to clear my name. “What’s the name of the kindergarten?” I asked, my voice tight with frustration. I needed to see for myself what kind of institution was raising a child this… talented. DM’d you. See you Friday. I wanted to reach through the screen and shatter his stupid, poetic sword. But the worst was yet to come. The moment I agreed, Silas and Sparkle—that shameless father-son duo—disconnected from the game. They just left. What? What the actual— They left me to face the wrath of my hysterical fans and our two, now apocalyptic, teammates. All by myself. I don’t know what came over me, but for the remaining ten minutes of that doomed match, I found myself apologizing profusely to our other two teammates. None of it was even my fault. What had I ever done to deserve this? To make matters worse, before I could even end the stream, my assistant, clearly afraid I’d back out, posted an official announcement on all my social media. “THIS FRIDAY: TUNE IN FOR A SPECIAL LIVE BROADCAST! DINO-MITE ELLIE AND THE MYSTERY FATHER-SON DUO AT THE KINDERGARTEN SPORTS FESTIVAL!” 10 I stayed completely offline after the stream ended. That night, my parents called me. They said they wanted to see their grandson. Apparently, a gaming streamer making headlines for a secret family was big news. The embarrassment was galactic. After days of agonizing and trying to think of a way out, Friday finally arrived. For the occasion, I’d chosen an outfit consisting of a fluffy, full-body brown bear suit and a giant panda ski mask. To be blunt, I looked like a grizzly bear who had mugged a panda for its face. My agent, however, was ecstatic. He started the livestream the moment we got in the car. It was my first-ever “face reveal,” and after a week of hype, my fans were greeted with the sight of a genetic monstrosity. The chat was not kind. I didn’t care. I was clutching the “treasures” in my bag, my knuckles white, gritting my teeth in anticipation of meeting my so-called son and his father. I was going to give them a welcome they would never, ever forget. 11 The drive was short. The kindergarten was only ten minutes from my apartment. So close, in fact, that I was half-convinced they’d moved there overnight just to mess with me. It’s worth mentioning that the kindergarten had a ridiculous name: The Bumblebee Patch. I’d been sure Silas was punking me, but no, The Bumblebee Patch was a real place. As we pulled up, a man in a full tuxedo approached the car and opened my door. “Miss Ellie, I presume?” he asked politely. “The young master is waiting for you inside.” “…” So, this is how rich people play their games, huh? “How did you recognize me in… this?” I asked, genuinely confused. The butler smiled. “The master said that if someone arrived in a bizarre costume, it would certainly be you.” My agent leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “He knows you that well? Are you sure you haven’t been hiding a man—and a son—from me this whole time?” “…” Honestly? If I weren’t still a card-carrying member of the virgin club, I’d be starting to wonder if maybe I had given birth at some point and, in a fit of madness, abandoned the child. 12 The tuxedoed butler led me, the panda-bear hybrid, into the kindergarten. As soon as we stepped onto the playground, I was mobbed by a swarm of ecstatic children. “Riley, your mommy really came!” “Riley, you’re so cute! Is it because you were born from a panda?” “Riley, where’s your daddy?” “Riley, if your mom is a panda, is your dad a tiger?” “If they have a baby brother or sister, will it be a squirrel?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at their innocent questions. But what I really wanted to know was which one of them was my “son.” The sea of children parted, and a little boy in a tiny, formal suit was pushed forward. He was adorable, but also seriously overweight. A perfect little sphere of a child. Maybe he was trying to match the kindergarten’s name? His cheeks were flushed bright red, and he seemed incredibly nervous. He stammered for a moment before managing a tiny voice. “Mommy, I’m your son. My name is Riley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 13 My heart did a complicated little flip. Looking at this impossibly cute, round child, I had the strangest feeling that maybe I really was his mom. I have zero experience with kids. I racked my brain for something to say. “Do you like lions, tigers, or elephants?” My son thought for a moment. “Elephants.” “Got it.” I nodded, then dug around in my bag. I pulled out a plush, elephant-butt-shaped cushion and plopped it on his head like a hat. “Mommy?” Riley squeaked, confused. “Stand still,” I ordered in my sternest voice. The little guy immediately stood up straight, like a soldier at attention. I was very satisfied. Then, with a twisted grin, I pulled out a giant, inflatable squeaky hammer with “1000 TONS” written on the side and started whacking the elephant butt on his head. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! I chanted as I hammered away. “This one’s for the emotional distress of you calling me ‘Mom’ out of nowhere!” Squeak! “This one’s for all the trouble you caused me!” Squeak! “This one’s for the massive emotional distress of you wasting so much money on gifts for me!” Squeak! “And this one—this is for getting me reported by my own teammates after you rage-quit!” SQUEAK! When I felt I’d gotten most of it out of my system, I saw the poor kid was completely shell-shocked. I quickly took the cushion off his head, patted him gently, and put on my sweetest, kindest smile. “Now, where’s your father?” The boy, ever so honest, pointed towards a large tree in the distance. Only then did I notice a man standing there. Gripping my hammer, I stormed toward him. 14 I swear, my only intention at that moment was to either hospitalize him or, preferably, end him. But as I got closer and his face came into focus—that stupidly, unfairly handsome face—I froze. All the air left my lungs. I spun around and tried to run. I didn’t get far. A hand clamped down on the collar of my bear suit, yanking me to a halt. “And where do you think you’re going?” a voice behind me drawled, thick with amusement. “I-I-I… I have the wrong person.” I struggled, but my collar felt like it was fused to his hand. “No, you don’t,” he said. “I’m Riley’s dad. The ‘Number One Fan’ who you called ‘husband’ on your stream.” I wanted to scream, but I bit it back and forced a strained laugh. “A misunderstanding! It was all a misunderstanding! I’ll give you the money back, right now.” My hands trembling, I fumbled in my bag for the bank card I’d brought just in case and tossed it over my shoulder. A cold chuckle came from behind me. “Trying to pay me off again?” My mind stalled. Again? I wasn’t the one who started this. Before I could figure out what to say, my agent, that beautiful idiot, came charging over with his camera held high. A jolt of panic shot through me. “STAY BACK!” I yelled. But it was too late. He skidded to a stop a few feet away, and the expression on his face morphed from confusion to pure, unadulterated shock. “Holy crap, Ellie!” my agent screamed, his voice cracking. “Your husband is Leo Sterling?!”

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The Instagram post hit my feed with the quiet violence of a car crash. A picture, and a caption. Best boss ever! Thanks for the amazing birthday surprise, E! #workperks #bestbossever The author was Maya, my husband’s assistant. The photo was of her and Ethan, my husband, beaming at a small, candlelit table. Today was Maya’s birthday. It was also mine. I had asked Ethan, begged him, to clear his schedule. Just for one night. To celebrate with me. He told me he was busy. Swamped. I stared at the post, timestamped 1 minute ago, and dialed his number. “Where are you?” The acid was already in my voice. “Are you still mad?” Ethan’s voice was slick with that practiced, patient tone he used when he thought I was being hysterical. “Sloane, it’s just a birthday. You know how crazy things are with the company. I’m in Boston, closing the Sterling deal. I can’t get away.” “Right. You do that,” I said. I hung up, my thumb immediately zooming in on the photo. I knew that place. The grain of the wood table, the specific pewter candle holders. And I knew I had to go there. I wanted to see the look on Ethan Cole’s face when his carefully constructed worlds collided. 1 There’s a discreet door in a West Village mews, unmarked and unassuming. Behind it lies The Reserve, a tiny, private dining room run by a chef named Arthur. It’s not a restaurant; it’s a sanctuary. Our sanctuary. When we were happy, Ethan and I would come here to celebrate. When life felt overwhelming, we’d come here to hide. Arthur’s cooking was more than just food; it was a way of drawing a line between us and the world. This place was our Eden. I never brought friends here. Ethan never brought clients. It was our one, unspoken rule. Tonight, he hadn’t just broken the rule. He’d shattered it. Maya’s Instagram post was a digital postcard from our sacred ground. She was sitting in my chair. I drove downtown, the city lights blurring into streaks of angry color. I saw his Mercedes S-Class parked just outside the alley. So this is Boston, I thought. I sat in my car for a long time, the engine humming quietly. A sharp, cold thing twisted in my gut—part pain, part fury. It was clear now. As the Cole family’s star had risen over the past few years, fueled by my family’s money and connections, Ethan had started to see me less as a partner and more as a stepping stone he’d already used. Fine. Let’s see how he likes the woman he built his empire on when she decides to burn it down. I got out of the car and walked into the alley. “Oh, this is delicious. And this one, too,” Maya’s voice chirped. I paused in the doorway, unseen. She was pointing at dishes scattered across the table. Then, she gestured dismissively at Arthur, who stood by the wall, his arms crossed. “Hey, Arthur? Can you make another round of everything for me to go?” I saw the flicker of annoyance in Arthur’s eyes. Even I, who had known him for years, always addressed him with respect. I would never dream of ordering him around. To Arthur, cooking was an art form, dictated by mood and inspiration. He never made the same dish twice, not exactly. It was his creative process. Arthur looked at Ethan, his face a polite mask. He was holding his tongue for Ethan’s sake. “Maya likes it. Just do it,” Ethan said, his tone flat. “Do what, exactly?” I asked, stepping into the room. Ethan’s head snapped up. The color drained from his face. “Sloane.” “Mrs. Cole,” Maya said, scrambling to her feet. “I was just hoping Arthur could pack some dishes for my mom to try.” I let my eyes drift over her, cold and slow. “And who the hell is your mother that she deserves to taste Arthur’s food?” The air went still. Maya’s face flushed a blotchy red. She shot a desperate, pleading look at Ethan, begging him to intervene. Even Ethan seemed stunned by my tone. He hesitated, then looked at Maya. “Why don’t you wait outside.” Maya nodded, grabbing her purse. “Of course, Mrs. Cole. I’ll… I’ll see you at the office.” I didn’t even look at her. As she scurried out, Arthur met my gaze. “I was just perfecting a new recipe for your birthday dessert. Let me go prepare it.” “I’ll eat in your office, Arthur,” I said quietly. He nodded, understanding. As he left, he pulled the heavy wooden door closed behind him, leaving us in silence. Ethan finally spoke. “Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” I sat down in the chair opposite him, the one Maya had just vacated. “Harsh?” I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You lie about a business trip to celebrate your assistant’s birthday, and you want to talk about what’s harsh? Or do you think harsh is me merely insulting the little tramp you brought into our place?” I leaned forward. “You want to see harsh, Ethan?” “Don’t,” he said, his voice dropping. “It’s not what you think. There’s nothing going on between us.” He launched into a well-rehearsed speech. “Maya… she grew up without a father. Single mother. She has this deep-seated need for male approval, a sort of… absence of a father figure.” He was actually trying to sell me this. “She told me I remind her of the father she never had. That she’s never had anyone make a big deal about her birthday. As her boss, I thought it was a harmless gesture of support. A mentorship thing.” My voice was ice. “So, when you two are fucking, does she call you ‘Daddy’?” “Sloane! That’s a disgusting thing to say.” “You do disgusting things and expect me to use pretty words?” I took a breath, forcing the tremor out of my voice. “Forget it. We’re past words. If this is the kind of thrill you’re looking for, let’s just get a divorce.” The word ‘divorce’ hit him like a physical blow. The anger flared in his eyes. “For God’s sake, I had a meal with an employee! You don’t have to go nuclear.” “It’s my birthday, too, Ethan. You made a choice.” He deflated, his shoulders slumping. He was switching tactics. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” “Fire her.” “What? No. Maya is a dedicated, hardworking employee. You’re the one who’s always telling me to give young talent a chance. I can’t fire her over one dinner. That’s not fair.” “I will handle her performance review personally,” I said. He shook his head, pleading now. “I promise, there will be no more contact outside of work. Strictly professional.” “‘Maya’?” I scoffed. “You two are on a first-name basis now? Does she call you Ethan? Or just E, like in her post?” I stood up, looking down at him. “Tomorrow. Nine a.m. The courthouse.” I knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just about a dinner. When he chose to be here with her, on this day of all days, he had made his decision. He chose her over me. And now, he was defending her. A marriage can’t survive that. “I’m just trying to cultivate a promising employee,” he insisted, standing to block my path. “I’ll transfer her to a subsidiary. But I can’t fire her. If I do, what will people say? It will just confirm that there was something inappropriate going on. Think of the optics.” He reached for my hand. “You’re overthinking this. I swear. I just… I felt sorry for her. We don’t have kids yet. I guess my paternal instincts are kicking in.” He tried a weak, pathetic smile. “Maybe… maybe we could go home and make a baby tonight?” “I’m not in the mood.” “What do you want from me, Sloane? You’re really going to end our marriage over one dinner? Is that all the trust you have in me?” “Trust?” My voice was dangerously low. “Do you know what this place is? No one has ever set foot in here but us. This was our world. Our escape hatch. A place where nothing and no one could touch us. And you brought her here. You didn’t just cross a line, Ethan. You desecrated something.” “I’m sorry,” he whispered, finally sounding genuine. “I wasn’t thinking. Please, don’t be angry. Arthur is making your dessert. Let’s just… go try it. I promise. I will never bring anyone here again. I swear it.” Arthur’s saffron pear tart was, as always, exquisite. But it couldn’t soothe the rage burning in my chest. I felt like a predator whose territory had been invaded, restless and violent. I sent Ethan away; the sight of him made me sick. Arthur sat with me, and we shared a glass of whiskey in silence. “If you’ll forgive me for overstepping,” Arthur said finally, his voice gentle. “The rumors about your family’s company… they’re getting louder. You should be careful right now. If Bishop Industries is really in trouble, you’ll need the Coles to help pull you through.” I took a long swallow of whiskey. “Arthur, why do you think he feels brave enough to do this now?” Arthur didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. We both knew. The whispers on the street were that the Bishop empire was crumbling. Ethan was showing his teeth. “If those rumors were confirmed tomorrow,” I said, looking into my glass, “he wouldn’t have apologized tonight. And I wouldn’t be the one asking for a divorce.” Arthur just refilled my glass. He knew I was right. “The world’s gone rotten,” he murmured. “If it weren’t for your family dragging the Coles out of the gutter, they’d be nothing.” I managed a thin smile. “The family I pulled up, I can just as easily push back down.” He gave me a sad look, the kind you give someone clinging to a fantasy. The entire world was waiting for the Bishops to fall. I didn’t bother explaining. A decision was solidifying in my mind, cold and hard. Let Ethan be the catalyst. Let the world watch and see if the House of Bishop truly falls. … When I got home, Ethan was waiting. He was wearing a pair of silk pajama pants I’d bought him years ago. He’d always refused to wear them, claiming they were undignified for a man. Tonight, he wore them like an offering. I felt nothing. In the first year or two of our marriage, he was endlessly inventive in his efforts to please me. Back then, his family was desperate, and they needed the backing of my father’s corporation. But in the last two years, as the Cole name clawed its way out of the mud and began to climb, he’d stopped trying. He was always too busy, too tired. I had thrown myself at him, only to be met with a cold, passive body. I had started to hate myself for it. It’s easy to forgive yourself, but so much harder to forgive someone else. The resentment had been building for years. Tonight was just the final crack in the dam. I walked right past him. I went upstairs to the master bedroom and locked the door. Lying in bed, I realized with a jolt that we’d been sleeping in separate rooms for nearly two years. The memory of the last time we’d been intimate was a hazy, six-month-old ghost. It used to be his door that was locked. Tonight, it was mine. In the morning, he’d made breakfast. Another first. He sat at the table, waiting for me, a hopeful look on his face. I ate two bites of toast in silence and left for work. Around noon, his mother called. It had been too long, she chirped, and we absolutely had to come for dinner tonight. My parents would be there, too. An invitation I couldn’t refuse. I knew Ethan had arranged it, a pathetic attempt to use our families as a bandage. But this was more than a cut. The rot went down to the bone. The dinner with Maya was just the spark. The kindling had been drying for years. Still, I’d been awake all night. Was one dinner, however symbolic, really grounds for divorce? It felt… impulsive. I decided to wait. To watch. That evening, at the dinner table, Ethan slid a binder across the table to my father. “Dad, this is the proposal for the Southport project.” My father put on his glasses and began to read. “Impressive,” he murmured after a few minutes. “Very ambitious. If you follow this plan, the profit margins could be enormous. I’ll take this home, give it a closer look.” Ethan smiled, a picture of filial devotion. “More than a look, I hope. We can’t get this project off the ground without Bishop’s full support.” And there it was. My family still had value. There was one last thing he could squeeze from us. That’s why he couldn’t let me go. Not yet. I said nothing for the rest of the meal, playing the part of the dutiful wife. The dinner was loud, the atmosphere warm. Only Ethan and I knew we were strangers sitting side by side. I had a little too much wine. He drove us home. “That proposal,” he began, his eyes on the road. “Maya wrote it. Your father himself said it was brilliant. She’s a real talent, Sloane. A genuine asset. That’s all my dinner with her was about. Securing that talent for the company. There was nothing else to it.” “I thought tonight was about us,” I said, my voice flat. “About fixing things. But it was about saving your assistant, wasn’t it?” “You’re twisting things! I’m trying to keep a valuable employee from getting poached by our competitors. She may be fresh out of college, but every firm in the city is trying to get her. You have to offer special treatment for talent like that.” “And if she told you the only way she’d stay is if I gave you to her, would you expect me to do that, too?” “You’re being irrational,” he snapped, his face hardening. “If I fire her, we can’t use her proposal. I don’t know how I’d explain that to your father. So you can be the one to tell him.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. So that was his move. Talent? What a joke. A new crop of brilliant graduates floods the market every year. This city isn’t short on talent. It’s short on opportunity. If Ethan wanted to play games, it was time I reminded him just who he was playing with. It was time to see how much power I still held in the face of the mighty Cole family he thought he’d built. The next morning, I went to the office. If he wouldn’t fire Maya, I would. At 9:30 a.m., I was sipping tea in my office, enjoying the panoramic view of the river, when my door was thrown open. Ethan stormed in and slammed a termination contract on my desk. “What the hell is this, Sloane? I told you, she’s a talent! I already showed her proposal to your father. Why would you fire her?” “Ethan, do you really think I’m that stupid?” I pushed a different document across the desk toward him. “You showed my father that proposal, but you never mentioned Maya’s name, did you? You let him think it was yours. And let me tell you something. Because you are the Bishop family’s son-in-law, my father would have praised that proposal if it were written in crayon. You actually thought it was good?” He picked up the document. It was the Southport proposal, the one he’d given my father. It was covered in red ink. “The red lines are for revision,” I said calmly. “The parts circled in red are, to put it bluntly, complete bullshit. They run contrary to the entire strategic goal of the Southport development. You were proud to show that to my father? Every proposal you’ve ever shown him has come back to you revised, hasn’t it? That was me, Ethan. I was the one fixing your work. My father gave this to me to fix for you, too. So maybe Maya’s a talent, maybe not. But your competence as CEO? That’s definitely up for debate.” He stood his ground. “Even if it’s not perfect, her ideas are innovative! The company needs that fresh perspective. Sloane, I want you to hire her back. And don’t forget, you may be a Bishop, but this is the Cole Corporation. I am the CEO. You are the Vice-Chair. You do not have the authority to fire my personal assistant.” “And what if I don’t hire her back?” I asked, my voice soft, my eyes locked on his. The new money and influence had clearly gone to his head. He was testing the limits. I waited to see if he would say the word again. Divorce. He didn’t. He just turned and stormed out. Just as I thought. My family still had use. He wasn’t ready to give that up. But he wasn’t going to let me win, either. Instead, he escalated. He found a way to hurt me that was more deliberate, more cruel, than anything before. Another Instagram post from Maya appeared. It’s official! A real vote of confidence from the boss. #fulltime #careergoals The picture was of her newly signed, official employment contract. The location tag was unmistakable. The Reserve. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had taken her back there. To our place. This time, I didn’t call him. You only make that mistake once. The first time, I had a sliver of hope. Now, there was none. I didn’t have to call. My phone rang. It was Arthur. “Sloane,” he said, his voice heavy. “I wasn’t going to call. But I have to tell you. I’m leaving.” “Leaving? Arthur, what do you mean?” “I’m tired, kid. I want to see the world. Someone else will be taking over The Reserve.” “Arthur, I understand,” I said, my voice tight. “What they did to you… I’ll make it right.” “It’s not what you think,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. “I’m just tired. Don’t let this affect your relationship with Mr. Cole.” After we hung up, I drove straight to The Reserve. I found Maya there alone. She jumped up when I walked in. “Mrs. Cole! Mr. Cole said my proposal was excellent. He insisted on making me a permanent employee. It wasn’t my idea, I swear. There’s nothing going on between us.” Her posture was submissive, but her eyes held a glint of victory. I ignored her. “Where is he?” “Arthur was… unhappy. He said he wouldn’t cook for me and left. Mr. Cole said he would cook for me himself. I tried to stop him.” Ethan, cooking for her. The pretense was well and truly over. Just as I was about to go to the kitchen, I heard the sound of leather shoes on the hardwood floor approaching from behind. “Mrs. Cole, I’m sorry! I know I was wrong! Please don’t hit me!” Maya suddenly cried out. She snatched a wine bottle from the table and smashed it against her own forehead. Blood trickled down her temple. She’s committed, I’ll give her that. “Sloane, that’s enough!” Ethan yelled, emerging from the kitchen holding a plate. He saw the blood and his face contorted with rage. “Apologize to Maya. Right now.” “‘Maya’,” I repeated softly. He knew how I hated it. He was doing it on purpose. Did he really think I was that easy to break? I walked over, picked the unbroken part of the wine bottle off the floor. CRACK. I brought it down hard on her other temple. “Now you can scream.” “Sloane, have you lost your mind? You’ve gone too far!” Ethan shouted, rushing to Maya’s side. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cole, I’m so sorry,” Maya whimpered, leaning into Ethan and playing the part of the terrified victim. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ethan cooed, helping her up. “I’m taking you to the hospital. And trust me,” he said, glaring at me, “this is not over.” I sat alone in the desecrated sanctuary and dialed my father’s private number. “Dad,” I said, my voice shaking with contained fury. “I’m a little choked up.” My father said nothing, he just listened. “For the past two years, as the Cole business has grown, my marriage has withered. A few days ago, on my birthday, he spent the evening celebrating with a female subordinate who shares my birthday. I made a scene. Today, he cooked for her in my place. I think the Coles’ wings have gotten a little too strong.” “What do you want me to do?” My father’s voice was calm, steady, and lethal. A real smile touched my lips for the first time in days. “Break their wings. Let them fall.” It wasn’t long after I hung up with my father that Ethan called. He told me to meet him at the courthouse. Half an hour later, we stood on the steps. He’d changed into a sharp Italian suit. I hated him, but I had to admit he looked impeccable. Polished. Powerful. Maya was there beside him, a crisp white bandage on her head. Her eyes, however, were full of undisguised triumph. In the battle for Ethan’s affection, she believed she had won. But a man like Ethan is never truly driven by affection. He looked down at me, his expression one of magnanimous condescension. “Sloane, you don’t seem to grasp the situation. The Bishop family is finished. I’m going to give you one last chance. Kneel down, right here, and apologize to Maya. Do that, and I’ll reconsider this divorce.”

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In the tenth year of our marriage, my husband, Adam, had an affair. He brought his mistress’s two children to me. He said the children were pitiful and needed a father. My own daughter begged him not to leave, but he was unmoved. I didn’t fight him. I took our daughter and left. Fearing she would be mistreated by a stepfather, I never remarried. Years later, my daughter found a good man. My granddaughter was adorable, and I spent my days caring for her. Life was happy and peaceful. On my sixtieth birthday, my daughter and son-in-law said they were swamped with work. My granddaughter had a last-minute tutoring session. They promised to celebrate with me the next day. But that night, I came across a local video on my phone. In a luxurious private room at a hotel— My daughter and her family were standing with Adam. And his mistress’s two children. The six of them were gathered together, singing “Happy Birthday” to the other woman. And my daughter called her, “Mom.” 1 My daughter insisted that my sixtieth birthday had to be a grand celebration. I told her not to spend so much money. “No,” she said. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked all these years. This has to be a proper celebration.” Her words warmed my heart. I was deeply touched. All these years, I had raised her alone. I watched her grow up, get married, and have a child of her own. My son-in-law was a good man, treating me like his own mother. My granddaughter was a sweet, lovely child who called me “Grandma” in the most adorable voice. I was happy. The pain of Adam’s betrayal had slowly healed over the years. So, when my daughter brought up the idea of a big party, I was genuinely moved and looked forward to the day. When you get older, you crave the liveliness of family, the feeling of being surrounded by your children and grandchildren. It gives you something to look forward to. On the day of my birthday, I woke up early. I tidied myself up, took my granddaughter, Rebecca, to school, and left breakfast on the table for my daughter and son-in-law before they left for work. My daughter, Eva, had promised they would finish their work in the morning and come home early to start the party. I stayed home, cleaning the house, waiting for them. But I waited and waited. The agreed-upon time came and went, and Eva still wasn’t home. Worried something had happened, I was just about to call her when my phone rang. It was her. “Mom, something important came up at work, for both me and Will. It’s so sudden. We can’t get away. I don’t think we can celebrate your birthday today…” Her voice was full of guilt. I was disappointed, but their careers were more important. I tried to sound cheerful. “It’s okay, dear. Work comes first. You two focus on your jobs. I’ll go pick up Rebecca from…” “Oh!” She cut me off before I could finish. “Mom, it’s your birthday. You should take a break. A friend of mine is passing by the school this afternoon and will pick Rebecca up and bring her to my office. You just stay home and rest.” Thinking of how hard Eva was working, and how young Rebecca was, I protested. “Let me get her. You’re so busy, and she’s at that rambunctious age. She’ll distract you from your work.” At that, Eva sounded agitated, her voice rising. “No, really, it’s on my friend’s way. Mom, don’t worry about it. Just rest at home. I have a meeting soon, so I have to go.” She hung up before I could say another word. Listening to the dial tone, I sighed. Eva had been working so hard lately, she’d lost weight. I went back into the kitchen to stew a chicken for her and Will, to help them regain their strength. The chicken needed to cook for a long time, and I had already finished the housework. So I sat on the sofa, took out my phone, and decided to rest for a bit. When you’re older, you find simple pleasures in things like scrolling through videos. I opened the app, swiped through a few, but nothing caught my eye. Just as I was about to close it, I accidentally tapped on the “Local” feed. And I saw her. I recognized the back of her head instantly. It was my daughter, Eva. 2 The video had been posted half an hour ago. I tapped on it. The scene was a private room in a hotel. My daughter stood at a table, my son-in-law beside her, holding Rebecca’s hand. All three of them were smiling. Eva turned her head slightly, and the camera panned. And then, I saw Adam. If there was one person in this world I hated, it was, without a doubt, Adam. We had fallen in love when we were young. I thought we would have a lifetime of happiness together. But in the tenth year of our marriage, his first love’s husband died in a car accident, leaving her a widow with two young children. Such a pitiful sight. At first, he helped them secretly, behind my back. When I found out, we had a huge fight. His face was red with fury as he called me heartless. Then, he came to me, with his first love’s two children in his arms, and handed me the divorce papers. “Leo and Violet are too young,” he said. “They can’t be without a father.” So he was divorcing me to be with his first love, to become a father to these two children. As he said this, our own daughter, then named Amy, clung to his leg, sobbing, begging her daddy not to leave. But Adam turned and walked away without a second glance. I didn’t prolong the agony. I took most of his assets and left with our daughter. I changed her surname to mine, Wang. From Amy, she became Eva. Fearing she would be mistreated by a stepfather, I never remarried. I devoted my life to her, watching her grow, go to university, fall in love, get married, and then have the adorable Rebecca. And through all of this, Adam never once appeared in our lives. I heard rumors that he and his first love never had children of their own, that they raised her two children as their own, tirelessly and without complaint. Eva had once told me that she hated Adam as much as I did. I thought that she, who had memories of the divorce, would remember my pain and shun them like the plague. But I never imagined they were still in contact. Not only that, in the video, Eva and Adam stood side by side, heads bowed in conversation, with not a trace of hatred between them. Eva was even leading the “Happy Birthday” song. My son-in-law and Rebecca clapped along, and the mistress’s two children, now grown, joined in the singing. And the woman in the center of their circle, the star of the show, was Adam’s first love, Sophia. She was as radiant as ever, dressed in a beautiful gown, still treated like a princess. She and I share the same birthday. And the cruelest joke of all— My daughter, Eva, the light of my life, after the song finished, walked up to Sophia, hugged her, and called her, “Mom.” 3 My phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor, the video still playing on a loop. My chest ached, but more than the pain, there was a sense of disbelief. I tried to find an excuse, any reason to make it not true. My daughter, who had been my whole world, who had witnessed her father’s cruelty, who had seen how Sophia played the innocent victim while destroying our family—how could she call that woman… Mom? I sat on the sofa for a long time, numb, until the acrid smell of something burning pulled me back to reality. The chicken soup had boiled dry. I rushed to turn off the stove, my mind in a turmoil. I reached for the pot with my bare hands, searing my fingers. A large red welt immediately appeared. Just as I was about to treat the burn, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a delivery man holding a cake. The cake I had ordered for myself. A small one. When you’re old, you tend to get sentimental. After Eva’s call, I had gone online and ordered a small cake. A celebration for one is still a celebration. I placed the cake on the coffee table and stuck a few candles in it. I clasped my hands together and closed my eyes to make a wish. I had had my wishes all planned out. I wish for my precious daughter to have a happy and smooth life. I wish for my son-in-law to love my daughter forever. I wish for my adorable Rebecca to be healthy and smart. Those were the wishes I had intended to make. But now— When I closed my eyes, all I could see was Eva lying to me about working late, then taking her husband and child to celebrate Sophia’s birthday. In the video, Sophia was surrounded by people, her birthday celebration so lively. They looked like a real family. Unlike me, alone and cold, a clown, a joke. The child I had given birth to had become a knife plunged into my heart. The pain was unbearable. Tears, useless and unwelcome, streamed down my face. I wiped them away and made a new wish. “I wish… that for the rest of my days, I will be happy.” That’s right. For so many years, all my wishes had been for my child. Never for myself. And now, I saw how little it was worth. I took a couple of bites of the cake. It was too sweet, cloying. I glanced at the time. It was already eleven at night. Usually, by now, I would have finished all the housework, put the child to bed, and gone to sleep myself. But tonight, I couldn’t sleep. A moment later— I heard a noise at the front door. Eva tiptoed in, but as she passed the entryway, she saw me sitting in the living room. She froze, a flicker of panic in her eyes. My son-in-law and Rebecca followed behind her, chattering about the birthday party until they saw me and fell silent. Rebecca, trying to act innocent, blinked her big eyes, held out her arms to me, and said she missed her grandma and wanted a hug. But as she ran towards me, I didn’t scoop her up with my usual affection. This child, from the moment she was born, I had poured all my love into her, just as I had with Eva. My son-in-law had no parents, and they were both so busy. In this big city, expenses were high. I had taken care of Rebecca so they could work without worry. But she, so young, had also betrayed me, just like her mother. Eva walked towards me, still trying to pretend nothing was wrong. She rubbed her shoulders and complained about how busy her day had been, promising to make it up to me tomorrow. Her eyes fell on the small cake on the coffee table, and she paused. “Mom, you bought yourself a cake?” Maybe it was because my cake was so small, or maybe because the one they had for Sophia was so large, but the guilt in her eyes deepened. I saw no point in beating around the bush. I asked her directly, “Eva, where were you today?” She froze, her eyes searching my face, as if looking for something. In the end, she chose to play dumb. “Mom, what are you talking about? I was at work.” She glanced at Will and Rebecca. Will nodded quickly. “That’s right, Mom. I was swamped today. My back is killing me.” Rebecca, mimicking her father, shook her head like a bobblehead doll. “Grandma, we didn’t go eat cake today, we didn’t—” Children are not very good at lying. The more they talk, the more they reveal. Eva didn’t even have time to cover her mouth. She could only offer a strained smile, her eyes darting around as she tried to come up with another lie. “Mom, don’t misunderstand. Rebecca was getting restless at my office, so I bought her a small piece of cake.” The flimsy lie was a deep disappointment. I took out my phone, found the video, and tossed it in front of her. She froze, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to explain. But in the end, she sighed, flopped onto the sofa beside me, and adopted a defiant tone. “Oh, Mom! It’s been so many years! I know you hate Dad, but he and I are related by blood. For your sake, I’ve barely seen him all these years. Isn’t that enough? You’re so old now, what grudges can’t you let go of? Even if you can’t, don’t drag me into it! Have I ever missed one of your birthdays? Aunt… Sophia has the same birthday as you. She never says anything, but I know she wants the family to be together. I figured, since we live together, we can celebrate your birthday any day. So I celebrated with her first, and I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. What’s the big deal? Mom, you’re not a child anymore. Stop throwing tantrums! Will and I are exhausted from work every day. Being with Dad is actually relaxing for me. Can’t you just try to see things from my perspective for once?” Her whining words chilled my already cold heart. “So,” I asked, “you’re blaming me for keeping you from your father?” I looked at Eva. She didn’t resemble Adam at all; she looked more like me. That’s why, when we divorced, Adam had poured all his fatherly love onto Sophia’s two children, especially her daughter, Violet. The first time I saw her, she was only six, but she was the spitting image of Sophia. Adam adored her. Back then, Eva had cried hysterically, curled up in my arms, asking me over and over, “Mommy, why doesn’t Daddy want me? Why is he going to be someone else’s daddy? Doesn’t he love me anymore?” Seeing her cry broke my heart. The child I had carried for ten months, saddled with such an irresponsible father. It was a tragedy. But now, it all seemed like a joke. Eva, oblivious to the change in my tone, started to whine like she always did. “Mom, that’s not what I mean. But think about it, Dad is getting old. No matter what, I have his blood in me. After so many years, shouldn’t the hatred have faded? And Aunt Sophia… she’s actually a very nice person. She only stole Dad away because she was worried Leo and Violet wouldn’t have a father. She even apologized to me and buys me gifts, treats me like her own daughter. Whatever happened in the past, you’re old now. Why do you have to keep clinging to that old baggage?” Her complaints were laughable. The father who had abandoned her without a backward glance, the father she had cried for in the middle of the night, asking me why he didn’t want her. And Sophia, the other woman, who had bought her a few gifts and was now forgiven? I shook her hand off me. “Eva, so in your eyes, my not forgiving Adam and Sophia is me being unreasonable?” She nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course it is! I was young then, I’ve forgotten most of the bad stuff. When I close my eyes now, all I remember are the good times with Dad when I was a little girl. We were so happy then. So, Mom, I hope you can forget too. We can be a family again, like before. Aunt Sophia is really nice, you two could probably be like sis… ah!” Before she could finish, I slapped her across the face. She shrieked, jumped to her feet, and clutched her cheek, yelling at me, “Mom, what did you hit me for?! With a temper like yours, it’s no wonder Dad prefers gentle, quiet Sophia!” With that, she ran into her room, crying. My son-in-law and Rebecca followed, trying to comfort her. The door was left ajar. I could vaguely hear their voices. “…getting old and senile…” “…holding a grudge for a lifetime…” “…cranky old woman…” “…so annoying…” And more. These were the words of the daughter I had loved for half my life. In that moment, my heart truly died. I stood up, went to my room, packed my bags, and left the homeowners’ association group chat on my phone. Eva and her husband had worked hard for years, but the housing prices in the capital were astronomical. They were still paying off their mortgage every month. I had felt sorry for them, so I had been supplementing their income with my pension and paying their mortgage, as well as their utilities, groceries, and even Rebecca’s tutoring fees. Now that I was leaving, I would no longer be contributing. Whether they could afford it on their own was no longer my concern. Besides that, I had another property that no one, not even Eva, knew about. I had bought it as a precaution against my son-in-law, in case he turned out to be like Adam. The property was in my name, and I had planned to transfer it to Eva after I was gone. Now, it seemed, that was no longer necessary. That property would be my new home. With a handsome pension every month, I could live quite comfortably on my own. When I left my room, Eva was still crying. The cake was still on the table. Everything was a mess. I dragged my suitcase and left without a second of hesitation.

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His childhood sweetheart was trapped in an elevator shaft for half an hour. In a blind rage, my husband shoved me into a suitcase and zipped it shut. “You will suffer double what she suffered,” he snarled. Curled in the suffocating darkness, I gasped for air, my tears and apologies met only with his cold reprimand. “Take your punishment. A good lesson will teach you to behave.” He locked the suitcase, with me inside it, in the wardrobe. I screamed. I struggled. Blood seeped from the seams of the case, staining the floorboards. Five days later, in a moment of fleeting pity, he decided to end my punishment. “A small lesson to teach a greater one,” he mused. “I’ll let you off this time.” But he didn’t know. He couldn’t have known. My body had already rotted into an unrecognizable sludge. … 1 “That jealous shrew… has she learned her lesson yet? Why hasn’t she been causing trouble the last few days?” “See? A little punishment is all it takes to make her understand her place.” His assistant’s face suddenly went pale. “Mr. Briggs… about your wife… I… I don’t think she’s been let out yet.” A tremor went through Gabriel’s hand, but he quickly suppressed it. “A few more days of reflection won’t hurt her.” His assistant hesitated, then spoke again, his voice trembling. “Sir, a… a terrible smell is coming from the room where you locked Mrs. Briggs. Perhaps… you should go and see?” Gabriel’s voice turned to ice. “A smell? Of course there’s a smell. A woman like her, so desperate to cling to life, she’d do anything to survive. She’s probably eating her own waste. What do you expect?” The assistant tried to speak again, but Gabriel cut him off, his face a mask of disgust. “Enough. I’ll let her out tomorrow. A few days should be enough to teach her some manners. When she comes out, she will apologize properly to Evelyn, and we can put this all behind us.” Just as he finished speaking, Evelyn appeared in the doorway, barefoot and ethereal. Gabriel’s expression melted into one of profound tenderness. “Evie, are you still having nightmares? Don’t worry, I’ve punished Claire severely. I’ll make her pay a thousand times over for what you went through.” He swept her into his arms, his fingers gently tracing the line of her hair. “Gabriel, you’re the best to me,” Evelyn murmured into his chest, her voice a sweet, childish purr. “I’m sure Claire knows she was wrong now. I only wanted an apology, I never wanted her to be punished. She won’t blame me, will she?” Watching their cloying display of affection, I couldn’t help but laugh. A silent, hollow laugh that disturbed nothing. I was already dead. In the last, suffocating moments of my life, my soul had drifted free from that cramped, terrifying suitcase. From this third-person perspective, I could see the dark, crusted stains of blood that had soaked through the fabric. The wardrobe that held my tomb was secured with a heavy padlock, as if to ensure its prisoner would never, ever escape. Even as a spirit, the sight of that scene, the memory of the airless dark, made me want to shut my eyes. Meanwhile, Gabriel was whispering sweet reassurances to Evelyn. “Another nightmare? Don’t be afraid. I’ll always be here to protect you.” He gently stroked her cheek. “You’ve been through so much, my poor Evie.” His voice hardened. “Do you know what she’s like? She’s so desperate to live, she’d even… she’d consume her own filth. A person who values her own life so much, yet she dared to harm you. I’ll make her pay.” I hovered there, stunned into a state beyond tears. Gabriel was right. I did desperately want to live. The suitcase was too small. To make me fit, he had bent my arm back until the bone snapped. I had endured the searing pain, tried to find a way to escape, and when I realized it was hopeless, I focused on conserving my energy, on trying to last as long as possible. But he had forgotten. He had forgotten that when he forced me into that box, I was pregnant. The prolonged, contorted position put unbearable pressure on my belly. A sharp, stabbing pain made me lose control. I thrashed, but it was useless. In the final moments of my life, a primal, desperate will to survive took over. I screamed, I clawed at the zipper with my toenails, fighting for one last sliver of hope. His only response was a cold, merciless judgment from the other side of the door. “You’re this terrified? Imagine how helpless Evie must have felt. You stay in there and feel the pain. It’s the only way you’ll learn.” I had confessed. I had admitted to crimes I didn’t commit, begging him to let me out. Then, a warm gush of blood spread from between my legs, and my strength finally gave out. Through a haze of fading consciousness, I heard his final verdict. “She’s too loud. Still doesn’t know the rules. Lock it up. Let her reflect in silence.” I tried to plead, my voice a strangled rasp, but I could do nothing but listen as the heavy padlock clicked into place, extinguishing the last sliver of light, and my life along with it. 2 “Go and let Claire out. Tell her to clean herself up before she comes to apologize. I don’t want her stinking up the place and offending Evie’s eyes.” Gabriel’s tone was dismissive. The assistant nodded uncomfortably. Evelyn’s eyes sparkled as she clung to Gabriel’s arm. “Gabriel, when Claire comes out, you have to be nice to her. Don’t be angry anymore. You two are married, after all. You shouldn’t fight so ugly.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Gabriel’s face, but his hand gently kneaded her fingers. “She wouldn’t dare be angry. Because of her carelessness, you were trapped in that elevator for half an hour. I can’t even imagine how scared and helpless you must have been. Evie, you’re just too good, too kind. That’s why she takes advantage of you.” His voice was thick with repressed rage, as if he were afraid of frightening her. But to my ears, his words were a symphony of mockery. A week ago, while Gabriel was in a board meeting, Evelyn had come to our apartment to provoke me. “So what if you’re pregnant? He’ll never love the baby. It will be just as pathetic and unloved as you are.” I didn’t bother to argue. I just told her to get out. But on her way down, the elevator malfunctioned. She got stuck between floors. Trapped, she sent a long, dramatic farewell text to Gabriel, saying she probably wouldn’t make it out alive. “I know Claire doesn’t like me. I just hope that after I’m gone, she can take good care of you in my place.” “Gabriel, my love, perhaps we’ll meet in the next life.” The moment Gabriel saw the message, he abandoned his meeting and raced home like a madman, mobilizing every emergency service in the city. He finally found her, unconscious, in the elevator shaft. I had stood nearby, watching him cradle her in his arms, his anguished cries echoing in the hallway. “Evie, don’t leave me…” At the time, I thought they were ridiculous. Trapped for half an hour, and they were acting like it was a life-and-death tragedy. It was only when Gabriel grabbed me by the hair and brutally folded me into the suitcase that I understood. The love was for them. The tragedy was for me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he had roared, his face contorted with rage. “Evie has claustrophobia! You almost killed her! Even if she survives, she’ll be scarred for life!” “Claire, I’m going to teach you that you can’t just do whatever you want because you’re my wife. If you don’t admit you were wrong, you are never getting out of there.” And now, he was still waiting, his face a cold mask, for me to come crawling back to him, begging for forgiveness. Too bad for him. That was never going to happen. “Sir… Sir! Mrs. Briggs… she… she’s not breathing! There’s no sign of life!” Gabriel froze for a second. I watched him closely, thinking, hoping for at least a flicker of remorse. He just laughed, a casual, dismissive sound. “She’s acting. The wicked live long. You think she’d die that easily?” He tapped his fingers on the desk, his voice detached. “If she’s dead, call the crematorium. Have them come and get her. If she loves pretending to be dead so much, let’s show her the consequences.” He turned to his assistant, his voice sharp. “Go and tell her she has half an hour to get cleaned up and come here. If she doesn’t, the punishment continues until she learns to stop her games.” The assistant was trembling, but before he could speak, Gabriel snapped, “Still standing there? Do you want to be punished too?” He wrapped his arm around Evelyn, his voice softening. “Evie, when she comes, you can’t be soft on her. You have to be strong. I’m going to make her kneel and apologize to you. That’s her punishment. You can’t feel sorry for her, do you understand?” Evelyn looked at him, her eyes wide with feigned compassion. “Oh, Gabriel…” I couldn’t even summon the energy to hate them anymore. But for some reason, my soul felt tethered, unable to leave. I was forced to watch as Gabriel mocked me, laughed at me. 3 This was the man I had loved for ten years. Three years of high school, four years of university, and three years of dating and marriage. What I never knew was that from the very beginning, he saw me as nothing more than a stain on his life. I had followed him like a shadow for seven years, believing my devotion could melt his icy exterior. The day he accepted my confession of love, I was so happy I couldn’t sleep. What I didn’t know was that he only agreed to marry me because his company’s funding had dried up, and he needed an infusion of my family’s capital. In our two years of marriage, I had poured everything I had into supporting his career. I took care of him, catered to his every need, tried to win him over. And slowly, he seemed to change. He started waiting up for me, making me breakfast, gently massaging my stomach when I had cramps. I almost, almost believed I had finally won his love. The day I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic, practically dancing around him. But his reaction was ice cold. “Claire. You’re saying you’re pregnant?” I didn’t hear the suspicion in his voice. I just nodded eagerly. “Hah,” he scoffed. “But I have a low sperm count. It’s nearly impossible for me to father a child. You know where that baby came from, don’t you?” I desperately tried to prove my innocence. I relayed the doctor’s words to him. “After nine weeks, we can do a test. I would never, ever betray you.” What I didn’t know was that on the very day I discovered my pregnancy, Evelyn had returned to the country. He had told her about my pregnancy, treating it like a joke. The iceberg I had spent a decade trying to melt had refrozen in an instant. Can a soul feel heartache? All I knew was that I couldn’t breathe. The suffocating despair of the suitcase washed over me again. Gabriel, still holding Evelyn, grew more and more agitated. “Why is she taking so long? After all this time to reflect, she still hasn’t learned her lesson? Is she trying to spite me?” He muttered under his breath, “Your bones better be as hard as your head, Claire.” I watched him, a cold spectator. His hand, which had been calmly playing with a string of prayer beads, was now fumbling, his movements agitated. A flicker of unease crossed his face. “Evie, I’m going to see what she’s up to. Don’t worry, I’ll make her come and apologize to you.” He stood up and strode toward the room where I was confined. As he neared the door, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What is that smell?” The assistant stood behind him, his shirt soaked with cold sweat. “Mr. Briggs… you should see for yourself.” I didn’t know what to feel. My spirit tensed. It would take courage to face the gruesome reality of my own death. Gabriel pushed the door open. The suitcase had been dragged out of the wardrobe and thrown onto the floor. The zipper was partially open, then hastily covered again. He stared at it, annoyed. “Claire, I let you out, and you’re still hiding? You plan on living in there forever?” Was it that I didn’t want to come out? I had fought until my last breath, just for one more glimpse of the sun. But there were no more chances. “Still throwing a tantrum? I give you an inch, and you take a mile, is that it?” He walked over to the suitcase. The stench was so overpowering it made his eyes water, but he didn’t stop. He lifted his foot and kicked it. “You stink! Go and clean yourself up! Who are you trying to disgust?” He kicked it hard. The suitcase toppled over, the lid flying open. And there I was, in all my horrifying glory. The body inside was twisted into an unnatural shape, my arm bent back at a ninety-degree angle. The look of terror was frozen on my face, my eyes and mouth stretched wide, my eyeballs bulging. My lower body was caked in a dark, dried crust of blood. Gabriel stumbled back, his voice shaking. 4 “Who put this… this dead thing in here to scare me? Where’s Claire? Find her! Does she think she can just plant a mannequin here and escape? I’m not an idiot! Find her, now!” I laughed until spiritual tears streamed down my face. What was this act of feigned ignorance? I was lying right there, my body rotting. Where else was he going to find me? “Mr. Briggs, your wife… she’s dead! The body is decomposing!” the assistant stammered. Gabriel glared at him. “You’re lying! You’re helping her trick me? Do you think I’m a fool? That I’ll see a smelly mannequin and believe she’s dead? I’ll tear this city apart, but I will find her!” He stormed out, ordering the room to be locked again, and sent his men to search for me. Evelyn saw his grim face and hurried to his side, wrapping her arms around his neck. “What’s wrong, Gabriel? Did Claire make you angry again? Don’t worry, Evie’s here for you.” He picked her up and sat on the sofa, his voice still trembling. “She’s gone too far this time. Faking her own death to run away! But no matter where she goes, I’ll find her. She still owes you an apology, and I’ll make her say it to your face.” So, even after seeing my corpse, he refused to believe it. Was it just because he needed me alive to apologize to Evelyn? I felt a wave of pathetic, self-deprecating humor. He pulled up the security footage from the room. The video clearly showed me being locked in, my struggles, my screams, and then… the gradual silence. But Gabriel still wouldn’t believe it. “The footage is the same at the end. It would be easy to edit. Claire, you really are a master of deception.” He slammed his fist into the computer monitor. Evelyn yelped, startled by his sudden violence, and clung to him, her eyes wide. Gabriel immediately softened, his voice turning gentle again. “It’s okay, Evie, don’t be scared. I’m just angry that she’s so irresponsible. Trying to just run away! Don’t you worry. I’ll have her back here before your birthday. And then, I’ll make her kneel before everyone and beg for your forgiveness!” A triumphant gleam appeared in Evelyn’s eyes. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. It was a fleeting touch, but it made Gabriel blush. Even I felt a little embarrassed for them. Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude on your little moment. I had always known about Evelyn. I knew about her from the moment I first fell for Gabriel. His social media profile picture was a childhood photo of the two of them. In it, a tiny Evelyn beamed at the camera, and he looked at her with an adoration that was impossible to hide. Some people’s love is just like that: blatant and unapologetic. Just like mine.

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