Category: English

When the private photos of Lary Croft landed in my hands, I knew he had cheated again. This time, it was with his personal secretary, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to me. I numbly went through the usual motions, offering her money to disappear. But this time, she looked at me, her eyes red with defiance. “Ms. Thorne,” she said, her voice trembling, “do you believe me when I say that if I leave, Mr. Croft and your mother will lose their minds?” She made a bet with me, then intentionally left behind a resignation letter full of feigned humiliation and vanished. At first, I didn’t take her words to heart. Every one of Lary’s mistresses had said something similar, some final act of defiance before they took the money and ran. But this time, when my mother heard the news, her hair turned white overnight. And Lary, my husband of seven years, handed me a divorce agreement. “Ivy was my mother-in-law’s illegitimate daughter, raised outside the family,” he said, his voice flat. “And we have a five-year-old child together. I’ve been with her longer than I’ve been with you.” “She is our life.” My world tilted. It was then I realized the woman’s words were true. Without her, my mother and my husband really would go insane. 1 “Either you tell us where Ivy is, or we sever our mother-daughter relationship.” “Get out of the Thorne family home right now.” My mother’s hoarse voice made my heart skip a beat. I stared at them, my head reeling. For the first time, the world felt utterly absurd. “I really don’t know anything.” My voice was a faint, powerless whisper. It only filled my mother’s eyes with profound disappointment. Lary threw Ivy’s resignation letter at my feet. It was filled with accusations against me and professions of her heartbreak at leaving them. “I don’t care how you treat other people.” “But why did you have to touch Ivy? She and the child have vanished without a trace. Are you telling me you have nothing to do with it?!” Lary’s voice grew louder with each word. He had been searching for her all night, his eyes shot through with red. The man who was always so composed was now a mess of raw panic. I closed my eyes, the simple act of breathing sending a sharp pain through my lungs. “Ivy took my money. She left voluntarily. I don’t know where she is.” Seeing my detached demeanor, Lary’s patience finally snapped. He turned to my mother. “Mother, she’s not going to tell the truth. Who knows what she’s done to Ivy…” “And don’t forget about Lary Junior. The child is missing too. He’s your only biological grandchild.” At his words, my mother slowly rose to her feet. Her bodyguards moved as one, surrounding me. “Lily,” she said, her voice cold and even, “you and Ivy are both my children. If you confess now, I promise I won’t punish you.” “I’m giving you one last chance. Just tell me where Ivy is, and I will forgive you. You will still be the eldest daughter of the Thorne family.” The woman before me blurred with the memory of the mother I once knew. But the warmth in her eyes was gone, replaced by ice. My lips trembled. I tried to speak, but only a choked sob escaped. My mother’s patience wore thin. She waved her hand, and the bodyguards seized my shoulders. “Break her fingers first.” A sharp crack echoed in the silent room. The agony of a broken bone shot up my arm, and the blood drained from my face. I stared at my mother in disbelief. The last flicker of hope in my heart died. I bit down on my lip, sweat dripping onto the floor. One finger wasn’t enough, so they broke a second, then a third… Just as my vision started to go black, Lary’s phone rang, a shrill, urgent sound. “Mr. Croft, we’ve found Ms. Shaw.” The words were my salvation. I was tossed aside, a broken doll on the floor. All ten of my fingers were twisted at unnatural angles, swollen and black. My mother and Lary heaved a collective sigh of relief. The smiles returned to their faces, but they didn’t spare me another glance. As he was leaving, Lary paused. He looked back at me, crumpled on the ground. “Sign the divorce papers today. I don’t want my child to be illegitimate too.” The door slammed shut, the gust of wind it created sending the divorce agreement fluttering to the floor. Lary had already signed his name. The date beneath his signature was from seven years ago. The day after our wedding, he had already prepared for our divorce. I gasped for air, my phone screen lighting up the darkness. A flood of messages. A cold notification from my mother. A social media update from Lary, celebrating the return of his beloved. And one other message, from a stranger who had texted me without fail for seven years. “Lily, I’m coming home soon. If you’re willing, the offer I made seven years ago still stands…” 2 I sat there all night, motionless, until the first light of dawn broke through the windows. Then, I signed my name on the document. The marriage I had carefully protected for seven years had left me with nothing. I took the divorce papers to Lary’s company. As I stepped inside, several employees rushed out of the break room, their faces flushed. They bumped into me, their eyes full of a pity they couldn’t voice. Before I could react, a high-pitched moan echoed through the main office. Everyone immediately lowered their heads, pretending not to hear. My heart sank. I took a step forward, but my assistant quickly blocked my path. “Mrs. Croft, maybe you shouldn’t go in.” A crowd of employees had gathered, their stares burning into my skin. “Is this a first for Mr. Croft? In broad daylight, right here in the office…” “Ivy Shaw quit suddenly yesterday. He was going crazy looking for her. Now that he’s got her back, I guess he just couldn’t hold it in.” “I can’t believe Mrs. Croft is still with him. She has the patience of a saint.” “Well, she’s hopelessly in love with him, isn’t she?” My gaze fell on the office window. The blinds, usually open, were drawn shut. The sounds of their passion were unabashed. Through the slats, I could see clothes scattered on the floor. I slowly lowered my head, my eyes dry and aching. In our world of corporate marriages, there was an unwritten rule. Even after marriage, you could have your own life, your own affairs, as long as you didn’t interfere with each other. I thought Lary was different. But six months into our marriage, he changed. I had fought, I had screamed, I had threatened suicide. It all ended in mutual destruction. “Lily Thorne, not everyone’s heart stays the same forever.” “We’re still husband and wife. You’re free to pursue your own happiness too.” Lary’s words from long ago echoed in my ears. I looked at the closed office door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open. The onlookers scattered. The office was a mess. The framed photo of us that used to sit on his desk was now shattered on the floor. The lust hadn’t yet faded from Lary’s eyes. When he saw me, there was no panic. He kissed the corner of Ivy’s lips, his eyes mocking me. “Didn’t you know someone was in the office? Or do you have a habit of eavesdropping?” His aggressive questioning made my stomach churn. A wave of nausea rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Seeing my silence, Lary grew impatient. He gently pushed Ivy away and straightened his disheveled clothes. The angry red scratches on his chest were glaring. I looked away, my voice hoarse. “We need to talk.” “Sister, am I in your way?” Ivy suddenly interjected. She smiled at me, deliberately revealing the dark marks on her neck. As expected, Lary’s expression soured at her words. “Besides the divorce, we have nothing to talk about. Ivy is your sister. Why do you have to be so hostile towards her?” He rarely protected anyone so fiercely. Now, he was shielding Ivy behind him, his eyes wary. I sighed and placed the signed divorce agreement on the desk in front of him. When he saw my signature, his eyes widened in surprise. He snatched the document, scanned it carefully, and then let out a cold snort. “Good. You know what’s best for you. Even after the divorce, we can still be family.” “Don’t touch Ivy again. You don’t want Mom to disown you, do you?” With that, he took Ivy and left, as if my very presence was something he couldn’t stand. 3 I returned home, exhausted. My eyes fell on the unread message on my phone. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time before I finally typed a reply. “I’m willing.” I had always known who the sender was. Before I married Lary, there was another boy who had followed me, a silent shadow. The day I got married, he left the country. For seven years, the only contact had been birthday and New Year’s greetings. I had stubbornly held onto a failing marriage for seven years, blind to the one who was waiting for me. Suppressing the bitterness in my heart, I contacted a lawyer to start the process of dividing our assets. Not long after, the door was thrown open. My mother stumbled in, her face a mask of frantic anxiety. Before I could react, a heavy slap landed across my face. My mother collapsed beside me, sobbing. “Lily Thorne, you are a monster! Why can’t you change? Why can’t you just leave Ivy alone!” My ears were ringing. My lip was split, and blood dripped onto the floor. Lary grabbed me by the throat, his hoarse roars making my head spin. “Was it you? Did you send people to kidnap Ivy and Lary Junior? I just took my eyes off her for a second, and she was gone!” “What will it take for you to leave them alone?!” My mother held out a small box, her hands trembling. Inside was a severed finger. A child’s finger. It looked like it had just been cut. “Lily, Lary Junior is my only grandson. He’s been raised in secret all his life, bearing the shame of being illegitimate.” “Why can’t you even spare a child?” The lines on my mother’s face had deepened. She looked utterly exhausted. “I can’t let you continue down this path.” Once again, they didn’t listen to a word I said. Once again, they had already decided I was the mastermind behind the kidnapping. My mother called the police. Without a second thought, she had me sent to a detention center. To break me, she had them use “enhanced interrogation techniques.” The electric baton slammed into my body. I convulsed, my eyes rolling back in my head. My mother and Lary watched without a flicker of sympathy. My screams turned to whimpers, and finally to silence, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Then, a message came from the kidnappers. A video. Ivy and Lary Junior, blindfolded and tied to chairs. They were covered in blood. The child looked lifeless. The sight made my mother nearly faint. Lary’s face was ashen. He snarled at the kidnapper on the screen. “How much do you want? We’ll give you anything. Just don’t hurt my son—” The kidnapper laughed. “You want to save your son? Fine. A life for a life.” “Break Ms. Thorne’s legs and bring her here in exchange.” My mother and Lary froze. They both turned to look at me. I could no longer speak, only manage a weak, broken plea. “Mom… it wasn’t me…” A flicker of hesitation crossed my mother’s eyes. But then, Ivy’s desperate cries came from the video. “Mom! Lary! Come save Lary Junior! He’s not going to make it!” “Sister, I’m begging you, he’s just a child!” The hesitation in their eyes vanished, replaced by grim resolve. Lary picked up a nearby chair and advanced on me. My heart plummeted. I looked at him, my eyes pleading. “Lary, you can’t do this to me.” He gritted his teeth and brought the chair down on my knees with all his might. Again and again. My legs were shattered. I collapsed to the floor, a useless heap. Lary pulled me into a tight embrace, his voice trembling. “Lily, forgive me. I can’t live without Ivy. When you come back safely, I will spend the rest of my life atoning for this.” My mother wiped her tears and looked at the kidnapper on the screen. “We’re bringing her to you now. You must let my daughter and grandson go, unharmed!”

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I caught my husband cheating. In my best friend’s bed. And the man who’d supposedly been impotent for three years? He was anything but, tangled up with her in a sweaty, writhing mess. I raised my phone, capturing the whole sordid scene from every possible angle. Then, I bundled up the photos and sent them to her husband. With a little note attached: “Looks like your wife’s a miracle worker. She can even cure impotence.” 1 “Well, honey. You seem to have made a swift recovery.” I leaned against the doorframe, my voice light and breezy. The two figures on the bed froze, turning to stone. My husband, Louis, stared at me as if he’d seen a ghost, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. My dear best friend, Jane, was quicker on the uptake, snatching the duvet to cover her naked body. “Susan… We…” “Don’t rush to explain,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let me get a picture first. This is the first time in our three years of marriage I’ve seen my husband looking so… vigorous.” Louis, jolted back to reality, lunged for my phone. The duvet fell away, and the sight nearly blinded me. “Whoa there, honey, take it easy,” I said, taking a step back. “What’s got you so worked up? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” I paused, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “Oh, that’s right. I guess I haven’t seen it. After all, you’ve been saving yourself for my best friend for the past three years.” Jane’s face was crimson. “Susan, listen to me, it’s not what you think.” I smiled sweetly at her. “What’s there to explain? You sacrificed your own body to help cure my husband’s little problem. I should be thanking you.” My smile widened. “Why don’t you two carry on? I’m just going to give your husband, Paul, a call. I’m sure he’d love to see his wife’s spectacular performance.” Jane’s face went bone-white. You see, Jane was married to Louis’s older brother. She was my sister-in-law. And my best friend. What a goddamn tangled web. “You wouldn’t dare!” Louis roared. I arched an eyebrow. “You dared to do it. Why wouldn’t I dare to talk about it?” Just then, Jane scrambled off the bed and threw herself at my feet, clutching my leg. “Susan, please, I’m begging you. Don’t tell Paul. I know I was wrong.” Looking down at the woman I grew up with, now disheveled and sobbing at my feet, I found the whole situation utterly absurd. “Jane, get up,” I said, patting her shoulder. “The floor is cold.” She looked up at me, a flicker of hope in her tear-filled eyes. I continued, my voice dripping with false concern, “You’ll make my husband worry if he sees you like this.” Then, I turned to leave. Louis grabbed my arm. “What are you doing? Are you trying to destroy this family?” My fists clenched, but my smile never wavered. The sheer audacity of that question. “I’m going to the doctor,” I chirped. “I need to get checked out. Find out why my husband can’t perform for me but turns into a stallion for someone else.” Louis’s face was a furious shade of red. “Susan, stop being so damn sarcastic!” “Don’t get so emotional,” I said, holding up my phone. “Want to see the pictures I took? The composition is great, the lighting is perfect. I bet they’d go viral if I posted them.” Jane lunged for the phone, but I sidestepped her easily. “Oh, and I’ll need a caption,” I mused aloud. “How about, ‘Sweet Moments with My Husband and My Best Friend’?” “You—!” Jane trembled with rage. Just then, my phone rang. Speak of the devil. It was Paul. I put him on speaker. “Hello, Paul.” “I’m downstairs. What’s the apartment number?” Paul’s deep voice resonated from the phone. Jane’s eyes widened in terror, and her body began to tremble uncontrollably. Footsteps echoed from the hallway, growing closer. I settled back into a chair, feeling strangely calm as I pulled out my phone and switched it to video record. The door swung open. Paul stepped inside, his face a cold, unreadable mask. His gaze swept the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on the disheveled Jane before landing squarely on his floundering younger brother. “Paul…” Louis breathed, his voice shaking like a leaf in a storm. Paul didn’t speak. He just turned to me. “Are you recording?” I was momentarily taken aback, then a small, sly smile touched my lips. I gave a demure nod. “I am.” Jane collapsed onto the floor in a heap, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Honey, it’s not what it looks like…” “Shut up.” The two words were spoken so quietly, yet they seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Jane’s throat constricted, and she fell silent. I sat there, watching the drama unfold, a strange sense of detachment washing over me. I was the one who had been betrayed. I should have been the one falling apart. Instead, I felt like an audience member at a particularly trashy play. “Both of you, get dressed,” Paul commanded, his voice like ice. I watched them scramble for their clothes, a hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest. Was this my life, or a scene from a bad soap opera? Once they were decent, Paul grabbed Louis and landed two hard, crackling punches, one after the other, right across his face. He followed it up with a vicious knee strike to Louis’s groin. I watched, grimly satisfied, as Louis crumpled, his face pale and his lips white. He’d pretended to be impotent for years; now, he might just get his wish. My brother-in-law, usually so calm and refined, was terrifying when he was angry. Only when Louis was on the floor did Paul speak again. “How long?” Silence. “I asked you, how long!” he roared, and even I flinched. Jane sobbed. “Th-three years…” Three years. The entire length of my marriage to Louis. So it had all been a lie. From the very beginning. The excuses, the evasions, the so-called health problems—all of it, a complete fabrication. My own voice, laced with bitter irony, cut through the tension. “So, it’s true love, then? You two were together even before we got married?” Louis kept his head down, refusing to look at me. “Look up! Look at us when we’re talking to you!” Paul bellowed. Louis slowly raised his head, his eyes swimming with fear. “Bro… I…” “Don’t call me that,” Paul snarled, his voice raw with fury. “I don’t have a scumbag for a brother.” Louis’s face turned ashen. Jane dropped to her knees again. “Honey, I’m so sorry… I truly know I was wrong…” I couldn’t resist twisting the knife. “Do you know you were wrong, or are you just scared you got caught?” If I hadn’t found out, who knows how long they would have kept playing us for fools. I stood up and faced Paul. “I’ve got all the evidence I need. Let’s go. This place is filthy.” Paul nodded and turned to leave. “Wait! Don’t go!” Louis pleaded, scrambling to his knees. I glanced back, my smile sickeningly sweet. “Why should we stay? To watch an encore performance?” I added, “Besides, isn’t this what you wanted? To be with my sister-in-law? We’re just making it official.” “No! Honey, we can’t get a divorce!” Jane shrieked. Paul was far more successful than Louis, and he’d never been anything but generous with her. The thought of losing that lifestyle was clearly more terrifying than losing his love. It seemed money still trumped passion in her book. “You’re always so busy with work… I was just lonely, I made a mistake! Forgive me this one time, I’ll cut him off completely, I swear!” she pleaded, her face a mess of tears. Paul didn’t even spare her a glance. “Impossible.” 2 “You shameless bitch! Get out here!” The shriek from the front desk echoed through the office first thing in the morning. I was sipping my coffee, and I nearly spit it out when my colleague, Kate, burst in to tell me Jane’s mother was raising hell in the lobby. The plot, it seemed, was thickening with cheap drama. “Susan Miller, you homewrecking fox! You seduce my son-in-law, you destroy my daughter’s family! Have you no shame?” Jane’s mother had a powerful set of lungs, and she was putting on quite the show for the gathering crowd. Kate whispered frantically, “Susan, Jane’s mom is downstairs making a scene, telling everyone you seduced her son-in-law…” I slowly set down my mug. “Oh? Well, I’d better go see this.” I strolled down to the lobby to find her in mid-performance, dabbing at her eyes while loudly recounting my supposed sins. “Everyone, you be the judge! This woman, she was jealous that my daughter married better than her, so she had to stick her nose in, deliberately ruining my daughter’s happy home!” I leaned against the reception desk, a faint smile on my face as I watched the spectacle. The young receptionist saw me and looked immensely relieved. “Mrs. Evans, Ms. Miller is here.” Jane’s mother spun around, and seeing my relaxed demeanor only fueled her rage. “Well, well! Look who dares to show her face!” “Who else would it be?” I arched an eyebrow. “Should I be hiding in a dark room just because someone else did something shameful?” Her face flushed with anger. “Don’t you dare twist the truth! My daughter and her husband were perfectly happy until you came along and destroyed everything!” I cut straight to the point. “I’m sorry, which son-in-law are we talking about? The older one, or the younger one?” She blinked, confused. “What older or younger one?” “Oh, you don’t know?” I feigned surprise. “Let me clear things up for you. Your daughter, Jane, is married to Paul Cole, your older son-in-law. But she’s been sleeping with Louis Cole, your younger son-in-law. So, I’m just a little confused. Which husband’s happiness are we discussing?” A collective gasp went through the crowd of onlookers. The color drained from Mrs. Evans’s face. “You… you’re lying!” I pulled out my phone. “Would you like to see the video? I have a recording of your daughter’s… stellar performance with the younger Mr. Cole.” Panic flashed in her eyes. “You… don’t you dare!” “If you really care about your daughter,” I said, my voice dropping to a serious tone, “you’ll go home and convince her to stop making a fool of herself. The divorce papers have already been filed. What’s the point of coming here to cause a scene?” “My daughter can’t get a divorce!” she insisted. I laughed. “Why not? Are you worried about losing the older son-in-law’s money, or do you just think the younger one isn’t good enough?” She stomped her foot in frustration, but realizing she had lost this battle, she turned and stormed out, defeated. My colleagues stared at me with newfound respect. Kate sidled up to me. “Susan, that was epic!” I just smiled. “Epic? We’re just getting started.” Back in my office, I sent a quick text to Paul. Your former mother-in-law just paid a visit to my office. He replied almost instantly: Do you need me to handle it? No need. Already handled. Good work. I stared at the screen, a wry smile on my face. Life, it turned out, was full of surprises.

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When my wife refused a client’s drink, I smashed a bottle over her head—revenge for my past life. Last time, I drank myself unconscious to save her face. Woke up accused of abusing our daughter Nellie until she jumped off the roof. The suicide note claimed “years of abuse”—a lie. I adored her. But the security footage showed me beating her. Evelyn exposed me as a monster. My mother screamed “You animal!” as my father died of shock. In prison, inmates killed me. Then I woke up—back to Evelyn begging me to drink for her. This time, I’ll make her pay. … “Honey, my stomach is killing me. Can you please take this one for me?” Evelyn’s eyes were wide with a practiced innocence, a performance that was already starting to irritate our client, the overbearing Mr. Cross. “Come on, Ms. Lowell, bringing in a substitute?” he scoffed. “That’s not how you show commitment.” “We’re husband and wife, a team. It’s the same whether he drinks or I do, right, honey?” Those were the exact same words she used last time. And just like last time, Mr. Cross had used her plea as an excuse to pour drink after drink down my throat, insisting a substitute had to drink double. He’d left me completely obliterated. That was how they set the stage for framing me. But I was a good drunk. When I drank too much, I just passed out. I never got violent. And Nellie… she was my only child. I treasured her. The thought of hurting her was impossible. Yet, in my last life, as public outrage reached a fever pitch, Evelyn had tearfully revealed a body covered in bruises, accusing me of being a violent monster who had been secretly torturing her and our daughter for years. She produced the security footage, and that’s what sealed my fate. Remembering the agony of being wrongly condemned, of dying alone and hated, I didn’t hesitate. I snatched a wine bottle from the table and brought it down hard on Evelyn’s head. “You useless thing,” I snarled, my voice dripping with ice. “Mr. Cross is honoring you with his time. Stop playing the victim.” “Ah!” The bottle shattered, the sound echoing in the stunned silence of the room. Red wine and blood streamed down her face. “Whoa, hey, calm down, man! If she doesn’t want to drink, she doesn’t have to. No need to get violent!” I ignored Mr. Cross’s attempts to intervene. Grabbing another bottle, and then another, I relentlessly smashed them against Evelyn, who was now crumpled on the floor, clutching her bleeding head. This time, I’d strike first. Let’s see how she could frame me now. After Evelyn was rushed to the hospital, I walked straight into the nearest police station and turned myself in. With the surveillance footage from the restaurant and a dozen eyewitnesses, including Mr. Cross, they detained me on the spot. Later, my mother came to see me in the holding cell. Her face was etched with worry. “Leo, what happened? You and Evelyn have always been so happy. Why would you attack her like that? Did something happen?” she asked, her voice trembling. “If she did something to wrong you, I’ll support you in a divorce, but you can’t just… beat her, son.” I looked at her, at the silver strands in her hair, and finally asked the question that had haunted me from my last life. “Mom, do you believe me?” “Of course, I do! You’re my only son. I will always believe you!” A wave of relief washed over me. That was the answer I needed. Last time, it was only after seeing the “evidence” and hearing Evelyn’s lies that she had disowned me. This time, if I could gather enough proof, my mother would stand by my side. With that thought, I gripped her hand, my voice tight with urgency. “Is Nellie okay?” My mom looked puzzled. “Nellie? She’s at home, fast asleep. Why are you so worried about her all of a sudden?” I pleaded with her, my voice low and serious. “Please, Mom. You have to watch her. Don’t let anything happen to her. And please, don’t tell Dad about this.” She nodded, though her confusion remained. “Silly boy, of course I’ll take good care of Nellie. You don’t have to tell me that.” She sighed. “And your father… his heart can’t take this kind of stress. I told him Nellie missed me and I was coming to stay the night. He doesn’t know a thing.” I felt a profound sense of peace. After a few more instructions, I urged her to hurry back home to be with my daughter. As she left, the image of Nellie’s broken body from my last life flashed in my mind, a pain so sharp it stole my breath. How could a child so cherished, so protected, end up covered in wounds and driven to suicide? Was Evelyn the one who had hurt her, who had coerced her? This time, I would find out the truth. No matter the cost. … At four in the morning, Evelyn showed up at the station to post my bail. I was told she had come straight here the moment she was lucid. “Leo, I was wrong yesterday,” she began, her voice soft and hoarse. Her head and arms were wrapped in gauze, little spots of blood seeping through the white fabric. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying for hours. “I’ve been so focused on work lately, I haven’t made time for you and Nellie. It’s only natural you’d have some resentment to let out. I’ve already canceled that deal. From now on, I’ll spend more time with you and Nellie, okay?” She sounded so sincere, so broken, as if she was the one who had truly made a mistake. If I hadn’t lived through the hell of her betrayal, I might have actually believed her. Last time, she had deliberately covered herself in injuries and claimed I was the monster responsible. If I let her bail me out now, I knew I’d be walking right back into her trap, branded once again as a violent, abusive husband. I cut her off, my voice cold and flat. “No, thank you. What I did was wrong. I broke the law, and I’ll accept the punishment. You don’t need to bail me out.” Seeing her sweet words had no effect, a flicker of rage crossed her face before being quickly suppressed. She tried every angle, but I stood firm, insisting on staying in my cell. Eventually, my mother arrived and persuaded her to go home and rest. Before they left, Mom assured me that Nellie had slept soundly through the night and had already left for school that morning. In my past life, Nellie never went to school that day. That was the morning she jumped from the rooftop. My heart soared. I had done it. I had changed the timeline. My daughter was safe. Exhausted after a sleepless day and night, I finally collapsed onto the thin cot and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I was woken at three in the afternoon by a familiar, cheerful voice. “Daddy, I came to see you!” Nellie. My daughter, who had died so tragically in my last life, was standing right in front of me, vibrant and alive. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I almost burst into tears. “Daddy, why are you crying?” she asked, her little face scrunched in concern. “Mommy said you were protecting her from bad guys, and that’s why the police have to keep you here for a little while.” Her voice swelled with pride. “You’re a hero, Daddy. Heroes don’t cry!” Her words caught me off guard. Behind her, Evelyn gave me a subtle, knowing look. “Leo,” Evelyn said softly, stepping forward. “Nellie has been asking for you all day. She was starting to think you were mad at her since you weren’t there to take her to school.” My mom chimed in, smiling. “See, Nellie? I told you what Grandma and Mommy said was true.” Nellie nodded, her small hands gripping the iron bars of my cell. “Daddy, I made you a little red flower because you’re a big hero!” A lump formed in my throat. I reached through the bars and took her small hand in mine. As I looked at her innocent, lovely face, the horrific image of her bruised and broken body from my last life surged back. So many of those wounds were old scars, the kind that came from years of beatings. On impulse, I yanked up her sleeve. Her arm was smooth, pale, and perfect. There were no crisscrossing whip marks, no old, faded lines. So, what went wrong in my past life? It was impossible for a child to suddenly develop years’ worth of old scars overnight. My mind racing, I turned her around and lifted the back of her shirt. Again, her skin was flawless, not a single mark. My expression must have been terrifying because Nellie shrank back. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” “Nellie,” I asked, my voice strained, “has anyone been bullying you lately?” She hesitated for a second. “No. Why?” “Did… did Mommy hit you? Don’t be afraid, Nellie. We’re in a police station. You can tell the truth. The officers here will protect you.” She shook her head again, more firmly this time. “Mommy loves me. She would never, ever hit me.” Evelyn covered her face with her hands and began to sob. “Leo… how could you? Did you really think I would ever hurt our daughter? If I was that kind of person, why would I have told her you were a hero? I was just trying to protect her from hating you!” My mom sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. “Son, that’s not fair. We’ve all seen what a wonderful mother Evelyn has been all these years. You shouldn’t accuse her like that.” Just then, a guard came by to say that visiting hours were over. Evelyn scooped Nellie into her arms and left, still crying. My mom lingered for a moment, her voice low with frustration. “Leo, you went too far this time. Evelyn is a good wife. You had no right to hurt her like that based on some wild suspicion.” As I watched them walk away, a fog of confusion settled over me. Could it be? Was my last life, with all its horror, really just a terrible nightmare? My hand was damp with sweat, clutching the little red paper flower Nellie had given me. I glanced down at it. And my blood ran cold. My past life wasn’t a dream. It was real. … That night, staring at the blank wall of my cell, I replayed every single detail of my previous life. Ever since I’d woken up in this new reality, I’d been tormented by the same questions. Why would the daughter I adored write a suicide note condemning me? How did I wake up one morning transformed from a loving father into a reviled monster, without having done a thing? And why would Evelyn, the woman who had always seemed to love me, suddenly turn on me, revealing a body full of wounds and branding me a sadist? The questions were a maze with no exit, each one a dead end that left my head pounding. I desperately sifted through my memories, searching for any clue, any detail I might have missed. It wasn’t until I truly looked at the little red flower from Nellie that the fog finally began to lift. I knew then that I couldn’t just wait for things to happen. I had to take control. At dawn, I had an officer call Evelyn. I told her I had come to my senses and wanted to get out. I apologized, telling her I never should have hit her that night. Through her sobs, Evelyn said she forgave me. She immediately signed the papers, dropping the charges, and I was released. I went back to my old routine, driving Nellie to and from school. The moment she disappeared through the school gates, I made a call to a private investigator. He was fast. In less than half a day, he had answers to all my questions. Staring at the report on my phone, my hands clenched so tightly I thought the screen would shatter. The truth was even more twisted than I could have imagined. There was a secret buried so deep I never would have found it on my own. “I have another job for you,” I said into the phone, my voice low and grim. “I need it done fast. And no one can know.” Two days later, it was Nellie’s birthday. Evelyn, true to her word, had cancelled all her work and thrown a lavish party in our backyard. Despite the summer heat, she wore a wide-brimmed hat and a long-sleeved dress, graciously accepting praise from our guests. Nellie, dressed like a little princess, beamed as she thanked everyone for her gifts. Finally, she took my hand, her smile radiant. “Thank you, Daddy, for always spoiling me. But I have a gift for you, too.” She started pulling me towards the house, towards the stairs. She playfully shooed everyone else away, planting her hands on her hips and declaring, “This is a special secret, just for my daddy!” The guests chuckled at her adorable antics. I smiled, a strange calm settling over me, and let her lead me up to the rooftop. “Okay, Daddy, close your eyes and count to ten. No peeking!” She tied a black blindfold over my eyes, and I heard her small voice begin the countdown. “…three, two, one.” As she said the last word, a sickening thud echoed from the yard below. I tore off the blindfold. The space on the rooftop where my daughter had just been standing was empty. Screams erupted from the party below. I rushed downstairs. There, on the manicured lawn, lay my daughter, facedown, broken. Her death was just as gruesome as it had been in my last life. And on the rooftop, once again, was a suicide note. The words were the same. A heart-wrenching letter from a daughter who called her father a monster. She couldn’t take the constant beatings, she wrote. She was terrified of being alone with me. She didn’t want to live anymore. Evelyn threw herself onto the bloody, mangled body, her wails tearing through the air, a perfect echo of the last time. “Leo! I thought… I thought you only hurt me! I thought you still loved our daughter! I never imagined you were this much of a monster!” With a dramatic flourish, she ripped off her hat and tore the sleeves from her dress, revealing a head and arms covered in ugly, healing wounds. “You were all asking why I was so covered up! It’s because of this! Because of the injuries he gave me!” A collective gasp went through the crowd. Sobbing, Evelyn launched into her story, painting me as a depraved sadist who had tormented her for years. When she told them how I’d smashed bottles over her head in front of Mr. Cross, putting her in the hospital, the mood turned venomous. Mr. Cross himself stepped out of the crowd, his face a mask of fury. He slammed his glass down. “Ms. Lowell begged us to keep quiet to protect you, but I see now we were protecting a demon!” he roared. “We all saw it! He beat her until she was bleeding on the floor!” “And he didn’t just beat his wife,” someone else shouted. “He beat his daughter, too!” The accusations flew, a storm of hatred directed at me. Evelyn’s grief reached a crescendo. “Nellie, my baby! It’s my fault! My silence is what killed you!” My mother rushed forward and grabbed my arm, her own voice shaking. “Leo, I don’t believe it! You were always such a kind boy! Tell them you didn’t do these things! Tell them!” I stared back at her, my face a blank mask. I pulled my arm from her grasp. “I did it,” I said, my voice calm and clear. The world exploded. Someone called the police. Someone else pulled out their phone and started a live stream. “Breaking news! Leo Lowell, heir to the Lowell Corporation, has just confessed to years of abuse against his wife and daughter! His daughter jumped to her death moments ago after leaving a suicide note!” The comments on the live stream flooded in. [HOLY SHIT. I thought he was just some useless husband riding his wife’s coattails. Turns out he’s a murderous psychopath!] [His wife is a saint! She built up his company, gave him a child, and this is how he repays her? He deserves to rot!] [I bet she didn’t jump. I bet he pushed her! They need to investigate!] [Agree! He was alone with her on the roof, right? He totally pushed her!] My mother screamed at them, threatening to sue them for slander. But Evelyn, slowly rising from her daughter’s body, cut through the noise. “Our rooftop has security cameras,” she announced, her voice trembling but firm. “And… and I put a camera on Nellie.” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “Three years ago, I started noticing that every time I came back from a business trip, Nellie would have new bruises. When I asked her, she’d just say she fell while riding her horse. I was terrified he was doing to her what he did to me. So I finally found the courage to confront him.” Her voice cracked. “While he was asleep, I held a knife to his throat. I told him, ‘If you need to hit someone, hit me. But if you ever touch our daughter again, I will kill you in your sleep.’ He was scared. He promised he’d never hurt her again. I actually believed him.” Tears streamed down her face. “But I was a fool. He just found other ways to hurt her… ways I couldn’t see.” She turned to the large projection screen set up for the party and connected her phone. The video that filled the screen was horrifying. It showed me, in my car, my face contorted in a vicious snarl as I jabbed a thin needle into Nellie’s arm again and again. My daughter’s small voice, choked with tears, pleaded, “Daddy, it hurts so much… please, please stop…” “That bastard!” someone in the crowd yelled, hurling a rock that struck my forehead, drawing blood. Evelyn changed the video. Now it was the rooftop security footage. It showed Nellie blindfolding me. She counted down to one. Then, her eyes filled with tears, she looked towards the camera and spoke, her voice clear and chilling. “Daddy, my gift to you is my life… in exchange for your arrest.” With that, she dropped the suicide note and, without a backward glance, stepped off the edge. That was the final blow for my mother. She could no longer defend me. “You monster!” she shrieked, throwing her own phone at my face. It hit my nose with a sickening crunch, and warmth flooded down my lips. “I wish I’d never given birth to you!” She scrambled over to Nellie’s body, cradling it in her arms. “Nellie, my sweet granddaughter… Grandma’s monster is the one who did this to you!” Evelyn’s voice rose in a final, gut-wrenching scream of accusation. “When you were in that cell, you apologized! I thought you were sorry! I was stupid enough to feel pity and bail you out! And you used that freedom to drive my daughter to her death! If you had a problem, you should have taken it out on me! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL MY DAUGHTER?” Amidst the chaos, a cruel smile spread across my face. “She jumped herself. How is that my fault?” That single sentence ignited the crowd. “You inhuman beast! You don’t deserve to be a father! You deserve the death penalty!” A hail of bottles and stones rained down on me. People spat at me. I was bruised, bleeding, but I just laughed louder. Because the only way for the truth to be seen was to make the spectacle as big as possible. “Everyone, stop! The person who killed Nellie Lowell is not him!” The voice cut through the roar of the mob. I knew that voice. The person I was waiting for had finally arrived. The show was about to begin.

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1 On my eighteenth birthday, my stepbrother coaxed me into crossing a line we could never uncross. He whispered promises against my skin, swore that he would take responsibility, that he would love me for a lifetime. In a haze of pain and adoration, I gave him everything. I foolishly thought I had finally caught happiness in my hands. Then came the morning after. My nude photos were plastered across every group chat in our prep school. They called me the “Fifty-Dollar Fix.” A slut. A charity case with loose legs. I went manic. I hunted Hayes down, screaming, needing to know why. He just watched me unravel. He stood there with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing an insect, his expression curdled with disgust. “Because of you, Lily is dead,” he said, his voice flat. “This is your penance.” Lily was his biological sister. And I was the reason she was in the ground. 2 The photos spread like a virus. By second period, everyone had seen them. I found Hayes in the student lounge. I was hyperventilating, my mind a fractured kaleidoscope of panic and confusion. “Hayes, please,” I choked out. “Tell me this is a mistake. Tell me…” “Don’t say my name,” he cut in. The warmth from last night—the heat of his body, the tenderness—was gone, replaced by a glacial hatred. “You don’t deserve to speak it.” He stepped closer, looming over me. “If it wasn’t for you—if your mother hadn’t clawed her way into my father’s house—Lily would still be here. Every time I look at you, I see the life she didn’t get to live. Why do you get to breathe when she’s rotting in a box?” He grabbed my chin, his fingers digging into my jaw with bruising force, forcing me to look at him. “You’re the one who should be dead, Raine.” I stared into his eyes—eyes that, just hours ago, had looked at me with what I thought was love. I remembered his heavy breathing, the way he’d buried his face in my neck and whispered, Raine, I love you. I’ve got you. Was it all a lie? A performance? Tears spilled over, hot and humiliating, landing on his cold hand. He flinched, his grip loosening just a fraction. “Hayes…” I whispered, grabbing the hem of his cashmere sweater like a lifeline. “Did you ever love me? Even a little?” The silence that followed was suffocating. He studied me, dissecting my misery. “No,” he finally said. “Every second I touched you, I felt sick.” The air left my lungs. It was a long con. A meticulously crafted execution. I was the only one who had fallen. “I see,” I managed to say, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry.” He released me abruptly. I collapsed onto the floor, my legs giving out. “Stop acting like a victim, Raine,” he sneered, turning his back on me. “Your real punishment hasn’t even started yet.” He walked away fast, almost as if he were running. I wiped my face, sitting alone in the middle of the hallway. Do you hate me that much, Hayes? I owed Lily a life. If I gave him mine, would that finally balance the ledger? 3 I was seven when I first walked into the Ashcroft estate. I trailed behind my mother, terrified to scuff the marble floors. It looked like a museum, not a home. “Hah.” I looked up to the mezzanine. A boy stood there, looking like a dark prince in a black turtleneck. He was beautiful and terrifying. “So this is the mistress and her baggage,” he said, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. “Dad really scraped the bottom of the barrel.” My mother went pale. I just stared at my shoes, wishing my hair was long enough to hide my face. “Hayes! Don’t be mean!” A girl in a velvet dress burst out from behind him, beaming like a little sun. “I’m Lily,” she chirped, running down the stairs. “That’s my brother, Hayes. He’s grumpy. What’s your name?” I tugged at my fraying sweater. “Raine,” I whispered. She grabbed my hand and dragged me up to the boy. “Hayes, say hi to Raine. Be nice.” Hayes looked at his sister with a softness that transformed his entire face. He sighed, defeated by her joy, and extended a hand to me. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said that.” “It’s okay,” I said. His palm was warm. It made my heart race. With Lily as the bridge, the ice between us melted. Hayes wasn’t just cold; he was protective, intense, and secretly kind. He took us to the coast in the summers. He planted camellias in the garden because I said I liked them. On my birthdays, he arranged fireworks over the bay. I fell in love with him in slow motion, over a decade of stolen glances. Lily knew. She was my biggest cheerleader. “He loves you too, Raine,” she’d whispered, winking. “I’m going to set the stage. You just get dressed up. We’re going to surprise him.” She skipped out the door to buy roses for my confession. She never came back. The police call came two hours later. They found her in an alley three blocks away. She had been assaulted, brutalized, and discarded. Red rose petals were scattered over her body like blood. At the funeral, Hayes didn’t cry. He just vibrated with rage. When he finally looked at me, something in him had died. “Why was she alone?” he asked. “Why was she buying roses?” “Because I wanted them,” I sobbed, falling apart. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry, Hayes.” He stared at me for a long time. Then he asked the question that would haunt us both forever. “Why wasn’t it you?” 4 The school bulletin boards were covered in screenshots. My naked body, printed on glossy paper. People whispered as I walked by. Teachers looked at me with that pitying disappointment that hurts worse than anger. The scholarship kid showed her true colors, their eyes said. I walked to my locker like a zombie. If this humiliation was the tax I had to pay for Lily’s death, I would pay it. My locker was vandalized in red marker: Slut. Trash. Try-hard. When I opened it, the smell hit me first. Garbage. Used condoms. Before I could react, a dead, bloody rat fell out, landing in my hair. I screamed, stumbling back and falling hard. Laughter erupted around me. “Look at her,” someone jeered. “God, she’s pathetic.” “I heard fifty bucks gets you the full tour,” Trent, the captain of the lacrosse team, sneered. He walked up to me, crouched down, and shoved a hundred-dollar bill down my shirt. “Here’s a hundo. Double time tonight?” Rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. I slapped him. Hard. The hallway went silent. Trent’s face twisted. He shoved me backward, and my head cracked against the corner of a trophy case. Warm blood trickled down my neck. “You ungrateful bitch,” he spat. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me toward the boys’ bathroom. He ripped my shirt. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end. “Hayes?” Trent’s voice wavered. “What are you doing here?” I opened my eyes. Hayes was standing there, watching. He looked bored. “Disgusting,” he said. The word pierced me deeper than any knife. “Carry on,” Hayes said, waving a hand dismissively. He turned to leave. “Hayes!” I screamed, crawling toward him, grabbing his ankle. “Please. Help me. Take me with you.” He looked down at me, his eyes devoid of humanity. “I bet Lily wanted someone to take her away, too,” he said softly. “This is what you owe her, Raine. Feel what she felt.” He kicked his leg free and walked away. I collapsed on the dirty tile floor, sobbing until my chest felt like it would cave in. Even Trent stopped, looking unnerved by the sheer depth of my brokenness. I hallucinated Lily holding my hand, Hayes smiling at us. But it was just smoke.

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The robotics competition reached its climax as my daughter Zoe prepared to accept the grand prize. Suddenly, a lavishly dressed woman stood. “This school has a rule,” she declared arrogantly. “A five-million-dollar donation earns ten extra points. This card has five million—the trophy now belongs to my son!” The auditorium fell silent. After a stunned pause, the headmaster nodded. Zoe trembled onstage. “But…I’m the real winner!” Her rival, Caden, sneered. “Try all you want, Zoe Locke. My dad’s loaded. The research lab internship? Mine now.” Tears filled Zoe’s eyes. I took her hand and smiled at the smug duo. “Five million on that card?” I asked pleasantly. “Shall we verify it?” Renee Kauffman nodded proudly. “Of course! My husband has endless money.” My smile deepened. That card? A supplementary on my account—the allowance for my kept husband. 1 Renee shot me a dismissive glance and handed the card to the school’s administrator with a flourish. Someone in the crowd gasped. “Is that… an Obsidian Black Card? You only get one of those with a nine-figure net worth verification!” “Oh my god, Caden’s family must be top-tier elite!” Renee basked in the chorus of awe, her eyes sweeping over the crowd with undisguised superiority. Then, her gaze, a mixture of pity and scorn, landed on Zoe. “Little girl, if you want to blame someone, blame your parents for not being able to cough up five million dollars. No matter how hard you commoners work, you’re just stepping stones for us.” Zoe’s face flushed a deep red. “That’s not fair!” she cried out. “I won first place!” She had loved artificial intelligence her whole life. She’d spent three years preparing for this competition, and the internship was her absolute dream. Murmurs rippled through the parents in the audience. “That’s just cruel to the child,” someone whispered. “But that’s how it works with the super-rich, especially at a private international school like this. Money is power. There’s no such thing as ‘fair’ when you’re up against that kind of privilege. It’s a lesson she has to learn.” Even the headmaster shook his head at Zoe. “Rules are rules, my dear.” Caden’s grin widened into a triumphant sneer. “See? I told you, Zoe, you could never beat me. So what if you’re talented? All your hard work is worthless in front of my family’s money!” He turned to his mother. “Mom, can I go get my prize now?” Renee shot me a victorious look. “Of course, darling.” Zoe’s face crumpled, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she muttered defiantly, over and over, “I won first place… I won first place…” My heart ached for her, but I also felt a dark amusement. I leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes widened in shock. “Mom, are you serious?” I gave her a small nod. “Just watch.” Just as Caden was strutting toward the stage, the administrator hurried back, his face pale. “Mrs. Kauffman,” he stammered. “This card… it’s been locked. It’s unusable!” Renee’s brow furrowed. “What? That’s impossible!” she snapped. “You provincials probably don’t know how to use it!” The administrator, looking helpless, simply held the card reader out to her. She swiped it herself. A crisp, mechanical female voice echoed through the silent auditorium: “Your card has been declined.” “How can that be?” Renee stumbled back a step, her face a mask of disbelief. A few parents in the crowd couldn’t hold back their snickers. “Mrs. Kauffman, did you… find that card on the street?” “If you don’t have the five million, why put on the big show? Aren’t you embarrassed?” Renee’s face was a mottled mess of anger and humiliation. She snatched the card and swiped it again. And again. “Your card has been declined!” “Your card has been declined!” The whispers grew into open laughter and jeers. Caden started to panic. “Mom, what’s going on? I want my prize!” I watched Renee’s meltdown for a moment longer before stepping forward. “Well,” I said with a serene smile, “since it appears Mrs. Kauffman can’t produce the five million, I suppose the first-place prize still belongs to my daughter.” The storm clouds on Zoe’s face instantly cleared. She shot me a quick wink and started to walk toward the awards table. “Wait!” Renee’s voice was sharp. “There might be a problem with the card, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get the money. That prize belongs to my son, and that’s final.” Her eyes, now dark and venomous, were fixed on me. She pulled out her phone and made a call. A moment later, I heard the familiar voice of my husband, Lex, on the other end. 2 After she hung up, Renee’s arrogance returned in full force. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said, beaming at her son. “No one is taking this prize from you today. It’s yours!” She shot me a look of pure defiance. I let out a cold, quiet laugh. Just now, Renee and Lex had put on a sickeningly sweet display of affection over the phone, their lovey-dovey talk loud enough for everyone to hear. A moment later, my own phone rang. It was Lex. He didn’t even say hello, just barked orders at me. “Nina, what the hell is wrong with the card I gave you? Call the bank and unlock it right now. And while you’re at it, raise the limit to fifty million!” My voice, in contrast, was perfectly calm. “What do you need that much money for?” “For business, for entertaining clients! Stop asking stupid questions and just do it!” I lowered my gaze, hiding the icy storm gathering in my eyes. I have been the silent, unseen power behind the Stellar Group for over a decade. Anyone who truly knows me knows that my current calm is a signal—a sign that someone was about to face utter ruin. How utterly pathetic. A kept husband, a man living off my family’s name, daring to keep a mistress under my nose and order me around. It seemed my kindness had allowed him to forget who was master and who was the pet. When I didn’t respond immediately, Lex sent a few angry voice messages and then went silent. It was Renee who made the next move. She held up her phone, displaying her banking app for all to see. The balance: a perfect $5,000,000.00. She wore a prim, polite smile, but her eyes were blazing with smug triumph. “There, Headmaster. Satisfied? As I said, five million is nothing to a family like ours. Fifty million would be just a drop in the bucket. Not like those people who live off a fixed salary, who have to pinch pennies just to scrape together a few thousand.” She threw a pointed look in my direction, then turned to Zoe with a look of feigned sympathy. “Little girl, better luck in the next life. Maybe you’ll be born into the right family, and you won’t have to watch someone snatch away everything you’ve worked so hard for.” Zoe just smiled sweetly at Renee. “Auntie, what’s mine, no one can take away!” I stepped forward, my own smile unwavering. “That’s right. What belongs to my daughter, no one can take.” “It’s only five million, after all.” The well-meaning headmaster hurried over to me. “Mrs. Locke, please,” he whispered urgently. “Five million is no small sum. To them, it’s the price of a handbag, but for a normal family, it’s a fortune. This internship is a great opportunity, but don’t bankrupt yourself and your husband over it.” Other parents chimed in, urging me not to act on pride. The sycophants, however, took the opportunity to sneer. “How much could she possibly make in a year? Trying to play big shot like the truly wealthy. She’s going to lose her house over this!” “Some people just have to put on a show, even when they’re completely out of their league!” It was my own fault, I suppose. I’d always taught Zoe the importance of being low-key. As far as anyone here knew, we were a typical working-class family who had gotten into this elite school on the back of Zoe’s academic merit alone. I glanced around at the jeering sycophants, a mental Rolodex of their employers and business connections instantly forming in my mind. Oh yes, I had plans for them. I turned back to the headmaster with a polite smile. “I’ll do as Mrs. Kauffman did. I’ll wire the money directly to the school’s account.” Ding! A notification sound echoed from the headmaster’s phone. “Five million dollars has been received!” The area fell silent for a beat, and then someone shouted, “Holy hell! Zoe’s mom actually did it! She sent five million dollars!” Renee’s face darkened. She furiously tapped at her own phone. A second later, another mechanical voice rang out. Ding! “Ten million dollars has been received!” The crowd erupted. Jaws dropped. “Ten million?! Is she insane?” “You don’t get it! This is what real power looks like! Mrs. Kauffman is the real deal, you have to respect that!” After three massive donations in as many minutes, the headmaster was visibly sweating. Caden puffed out his chest. “My mom’s the best!” Renee preened under the renewed wave of praise, stroking her son’s hair. “Don’t you worry, my love. Your father said that whatever you want, he’ll support you, no matter the cost. What’s ten million dollars to us?!” Indeed, what was ten million dollars? A kept husband using my money to prop up his mistress and bully my daughter. The sheer, unadulterated nerve. I was suddenly curious. Just how far would Lex go for this woman and her child? And how much money had he managed to siphon off behind my back? Under Renee’s triumphant gaze, I spoke, my voice calm and even. “Twenty million.” 3 Every eye in the room swiveled to me, wide with disbelief. “Has Zoe Locke’s mom lost her mind? Where would she get twenty million dollars?!” Renee gritted her teeth. “Talk is cheap…” Before she could finish her sentence, the now-familiar sound cut through the air. Ding! “Twenty million dollars has been received!” My smile widened. “I don’t mind contributing to a worthy educational cause. Do you want to keep going? I can do this all day.” “Oh my god, the Locke family is not what they seem! Who knew!” The headmaster wiped his brow again, a look of ecstatic glee breaking through his professional demeanor. He turned to Renee. “Mrs. Kauffman, do you wish to raise your donation?” The light in Renee’s eyes faded, replaced by a cold, calculating darkness. She whipped out her phone and called Lex again. A few moments later, the triumphant smirk was back. She deliberately unfolded her high-end foldable phone, making sure everyone got a good look at her lock screen. Someone with sharp eyes shouted, “That man on her screen… that’s Lex Astor! The CEO of the Stellar Group! My God, he’s Caden’s father!” “Look, it’s a family picture of the three of them! I can’t believe it! The man famous for being a brilliant, ruthless businessman can look so sweet and happy.” “Well, that’s it for Zoe Locke. No matter how much money her mom has, no one in this city is more powerful than the Stellar Group!” One of the kinder parents pulled me aside again, her voice urgent. “Mrs. Locke, stop. Please, just let it go. Everyone in this city knows you don’t cross the Stellar Group. If you make an enemy of them, you’ll be ruined. You’ll lose everything!” Renee strode towards me, her chin held high. “I was trying to be discreet,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “But some people are just blind. Now you see, don’t you? You might have a few dirty dollars, but to a truly elite family like ours, you are nothing.” I raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re saying your husband is Lex Astor, the CEO of the Stellar Group?” “Mom, but that’s…” Zoe started to blurt out, but I gently squeezed her hand and gave her a subtle wink. She understood immediately and fell silent. Renee, too absorbed in the fawning admiration of the crowd, didn’t notice our exchange. She nodded at me haughtily. “Now you’re scared. As you should be.” She then gave me a malicious smile. “You’ve offended me today. But I’m a magnanimous person. If you and your daughter get on your knees right now, in front of everyone, and bow to me and my son three times, I’ll tell my husband to let this go.” “Otherwise,” she purred, “my husband will bankrupt your family.” “And you, little girl,” she said, turning to Zoe, “you can forget about robotics competitions. You won’t even be able to afford to go to school!” “You are the most shameless person I’ve ever met!” Zoe snapped, and then she spat right in Renee’s face. Caden, seeing this, lunged at Zoe. “You little bitch! I’ll kill you for spitting on my mom!” My expression turned to ice. In a flash, I moved between them and shoved Caden hard. He tumbled to the ground with a shriek. “Mom! My knee! It’s bleeding, it hurts so bad!” Renee shot me a look of pure hatred. Seeing the bloody gash on Caden’s knee, her eyes became terrifying. “This isn’t over,” she snarled. “My husband is on his way. The Stellar Group’s legal team is no joke. You and your daughter will spend the rest of your lives in prison!” I raised an eyebrow. Well, that saved me the trouble of getting Lex here myself. My executive assistant and my top legal counsel were already en route with divorce papers and Lex’s termination letter. Today was the day this cheating scum would meet his end. The sycophants, hearing that Lex himself was coming, rushed to Caden’s side, fussing over him and shooting me venomous looks. Their taunts grew viler by the second. “Peasants never learn. You can’t handle the wrath of a man like Mr. Astor! Get ready to lose everything!” “You can quit school now, Zoe. Go join your mother picking through trash cans!” “Trash cans? Don’t be silly. Spreading her legs for men is a much faster way to make money! Hahaha!” Just then, a black Porsche Cayenne sped to a halt at the school gate. “That’s a Stellar Group executive car!” someone yelled. “Mr. Astor is such a good husband and father! He got here so fast! The Locke woman and her daughter are finished!” The crowd’s hostility was a palpable thing, their eyes like vultures circling. Renee’s face was twisted in a mask of manic, victorious glee. “You bitch!” she hissed at me. “My husband is here! Your time is up!”

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After six months closing a major deal, my boss promised a promotion. At the company meeting, it went to a new grad instead. Then comments appeared like subtitles: [ML is falling for FL! Giving her the promotion!] [He’s been faithful to FL the whole time!] [He’ll dump the villainess when FL gets hurt!] I stared at my smiling boyfriend of seven years. So I’m the villainess? Fine. I’ll play the role perfectly. … “While Ivy is new to the company, her hard work is plain for all to see,” my boss, Landon, announced. “This promotion is a way to encourage our new talent. For those who didn’t get the opportunity this time, keep up the good work.” He smiled warmly at the new graduate, Ivy. “To celebrate Ivy’s promotion, we’ll be having a company dinner at The Crown tonight at 7 PM. I hope everyone can make it.” Landon’s gaze lingered on Ivy, who returned it with a shy, blushing smile. A few of my colleagues exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting towards me, filled with a pity I didn’t want. My limbs felt like ice. I couldn’t move. Hard work? Did he mean coming in late more than a dozen times a month, and turning in a proposal a week late—a proposal I had to fix for her? Encourage new talent? Did he mean the five years I’d worked here without a single promotion, with him telling me it was a “temporary sacrifice” to protect our secret relationship? As I trembled with rage, more text appeared in my vision. [Look! He’s making eyes at her again! The chemistry is insane. The second they get together it’s gonna be explosive.] [He’s so worried the villainess and the other jealous randos will give the FL a hard time. He’s protecting her in public, even throwing a dinner just for her. He’s so in love. He deserves a wife like her.] I bit back tears and forced a smile. Oh yes. He was so in love. We’d been together for seven years, since college. When he started this company, he asked me to start from the bottom, and for five years, that’s where I’d stayed. He always said the company had a strict no-office-romance policy, and that I had to endure it for a while to avoid suspicion. But Ivy had been here for three months, and she was already my superior. Maybe he didn’t even realize it, but at home, her name was always on his lips. “This new girl is pretty good. You should mentor her. But as her senior, you need to take on more of her workload.” At the office, he was the impartial boss. When I accidentally spilled a cup of coffee, he scolded me in front of everyone: “Be more careful. You can’t do anything right with that kind of carelessness.” But when Ivy lost a contract, costing the company a significant amount of money, he comforted her in private with soft, gentle words. Then he turned to me, his face a stern mask, and said, “Ivy is your responsibility. When something like this happens, you need to reflect on your own failings.” On the night of our seventh anniversary, I waited for him at a restaurant, surrounded by flowers and candles, until midnight. I got a text saying he was working late and couldn’t make it. The next day, I found out he and Ivy had worked so late that they’d fallen asleep together on his office sofa, sharing a blanket. He seemed to have forgotten everything. When he had nothing, I worked myself to the bone, pouring every penny I earned into his fledgling company. I even borrowed a small fortune from my family when we were short on funds. He promised he would marry me. How quickly people change. Or maybe, he never really loved me at all. He just used me. After the meeting, Landon passed by my desk. He squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “You’re in charge of the dinner tonight. Put some effort into it. Make sure it goes well.” I ignored him, a cold laugh echoing in my mind. That night, I didn’t go. [What the hell is wrong with this villainess? Is she sick? The ML told her to do something and she just blows it off? She’s just a tool, why is she so bent out of shape? So lame.] [She embarrassed the ML so badly. He got to the hotel and found out no room was booked. My poor baby FL was standing there, about to cry. The villainess wanted this, didn’t she? So evil. If it wasn’t for her, the ML and FL would have been making out in the private room by now.] [Good thing the ML is rich. He just made a call and the hotel fixed everything. The villainess thinks the world revolves around her. So pathetic.] [Don’t worry, let her act out. She’ll push the ML away eventually. He was only staying with her out of a sense of duty anyway. She really thinks she’s something special.] [Look on the bright side, because of this, the ML spent an hour comforting the FL. That’s some sweet content for us. And when he gets home tonight, he’s definitely going to tear into the villainess. She’s about to get kicked to the curb.] I closed my eyes, shutting out the words. My breathing was ragged. I told myself not to care, but a deep, sharp pain still twisted in my gut. It had been seven years, after all. I’d noticed Landon’s strange behavior over the past few months, had my suspicions. But in the end, my faith in our long history had won out over my doubts. How could it not hurt to finally learn the truth? After what felt like an eternity, my pillow vibrated. I pulled out my phone. A message from Ivy. “Hey girl, truth or dare tonight. I got to kiss the boss. And he picked dare! ;)” “It was a French kiss. He was so into it, his tongue was all over mine. My lips are still sore, lol. So embarrassing, but it felt really good.” Below the text was a video. I pressed play. The two of them were locked in a passionate, desperate kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were breathless, their eyes glazed over, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips. My heart clenched. Tears streamed down my face. Just then, Ivy sent a few more messages. “Oops, sorry, Claire. Sent that to the wrong person.” “Meant to send it to my friend. You’re not mad, are you?” My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles were white. Wrong person? A month ago, I had hinted to her about my relationship with Landon. Even if no one else knew, she should have known. I typed out a furious reply, my thumb hovering over the send button. But I stopped. Her brazen provocation was only possible because Landon gave her the confidence to do it. Responding would only make me look like a pathetic, jealous clown. Forget the woman. It was time to deal with the man. Landon didn’t get home until almost midnight, his face a dark storm cloud. He didn’t go to the bathroom first, as he usually did. He just stood there, looking down at me on the sofa. “You’ve had all evening to reflect. You can explain yourself now.” He spoke as if we were really just boss and subordinate. I smiled and slowly stood up. The cloying scent of another woman’s perfume hit me. I spoke each word with deliberate clarity. “Let’s break up.” The pop-up comments exploded. [Is this villainess crazy? This isn’t in the script! Psycho.] [How serious do you think she is about this breakup? 0%. She’s just throwing a tantrum to get the ML’s attention. She doesn’t realize this will only make him resent her more and appreciate the FL’s maturity in comparison.] [If he actually agrees, she’ll be the one who’s upset.] Landon froze, then frowned, his bright eyes staring at me. “Are you serious?” I nodded. “Perfectly serious.” He let out a derisive snort. “If you’re mad about the dinner, you’re being incredibly petty.” He took a step closer. “I gave you that responsibility because I trusted you. You failed, and I didn’t even blame you, and now you’re the one throwing a fit?” His voice grew colder. “Frankly, you embarrassed me today. And as a senior employee, you showed a complete lack of grace. Ivy is just a newcomer. There was no need to humiliate a young girl like that. What will the other employees think of her now?” I just looked at him, my expression unreadable. “So, let’s break up.” I continued, my voice even. “Because I’m not good enough. Not as good as the newcomer who’s only been here three months.” Landon stared at me for a long moment, then finally dropped his gaze. He gripped my shoulders, but he couldn’t meet my eyes. “Claire, I know you feel wronged,” he said, his voice softening. “But we agreed, didn’t we? We built this company together. No matter what your position is, we’re a team. Half of this company’s success is yours.” He sighed. “As for Ivy… she’s just a kid. To be honest, seeing her reminds me of us when we just graduated. I just want to give her a hand, that’s all. It’s not because I have feelings for her. And she is talented, she just needs time to grow. I’m asking you, please, don’t push her away.” He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading. “But… I’m not heartless. I would never abandon you… Let’s not talk about breaking up.” With that, he turned and went to his room, his back weary and tired. He never once asked if I was willing to continue. As if our relationship was his alone to decide. As long as he said we would continue, it was impossible for me to leave. But, Landon, since you won’t agree… Then you can’t blame me for what comes next. After that night, I didn’t mention the breakup again. I threw myself into my work, acting as if Landon’s words had moved me, ready to sacrifice everything for the company. Over the years, I had learned every inch of this business. How the big contracts were negotiated. Which projects bent the rules. Who our competitors were. I knew it all. When Ivy clicked into the office in her new designer heels, my colleagues oohed and aahed. “Wow, Ivy! Is that the latest bag? It must be worth a fortune!” “Did you get a new boyfriend? Spill!” “Oh, come on, you know who her boyfriend is. Better start sucking up now.” Ivy feigned embarrassment. “Stop it, you guys. Office romances are forbidden, you know. Don’t spread rumors.” She added coyly, “I didn’t even want it, but someone insisted on buying it for me.” She glanced at the cheap trinkets on my desk, her eyes filled with smug satisfaction. It was laughable. When Landon and I were together, we scrimped and saved. After he made it big, he never bought me a single item of clothing that cost more than a hundred dollars. I thought he was just naturally frugal. Turns out, he just didn’t think I was worth it. A dull, persistent ache started in my chest. I forced a smile and walked to Landon’s office. He raised an eyebrow when I entered. I handed him a report. “This is for the Northside development. There seems to be a problem with the funding. I need to see last year’s bidding contract.” Landon’s hand, which had been flipping through a file, paused. He didn’t question me, just stood up and walked to the safe. After all these years, he still trusted me. But only to a point. He would never let me see the combination. Just as I turned my back to wait for him to enter the code, the door was thrown open. Ivy bounced in without knocking. If that had been me, I would have been chewed out already. But Landon just gave her an indulgent look and tapped her on the nose. “You have no manners.” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “Hmph. Just wanted to see what you old folks were up to.” She shot me a hostile glare. She probably thought I was in here to pick a fight over him, and had rushed in to stake her claim. My chest tightened. Seeing my expression, Landon seemed to remember why I was there. “Claire needs a contract from me.” “Oh,” Ivy said, her tone suddenly sweet. “Let me get it for her.” I was about to remind her that the contract was in the safe, when she reached out and casually keyed in the combination. With a soft click, the safe opened. My world plunged into an icy abyss. I stared at Landon, my eyes wide with disbelief. The pain in my heart was so sharp it was numbing. Landon, how could you? [Does anyone else get a rush seeing the villainess’s face in that moment? Like, duh, he’s going to trust my girl over you. What if you took all the money and ran?] [Haha, this part of the plot is so satisfying. I skipped right to it. The ML is so doting!] I started to tremble uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. Landon’s first instinct was to shield Ivy, pushing her behind him. “Go on, sweetie. You can go out first.” Ivy crossed her arms and shot me a timid look before scurrying out of the office. The moment I heard the lock click, I lost control.

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The first year after my death, my daughter was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The director of the children’s home called Lucian Blackwood, telling him they needed half a million dollars for the life-saving treatment. He was holding his childhood sweetheart, his fingers idly twirling a lock of her hair, his face a mask of cold indifference. “Don’t treat her,” he said. “If she dies, she dies. She can go keep her short-lived mother company.” In the end, with no money for treatment, my daughter died in that children’s home. The director called Lucian again. His voice was laced with irritation. “Oh? So she’s really dead this time?” 1 A full day after our daughter died, Lucian finally sauntered into the children’s home. I hadn’t seen him in a year, and the chill in his eyes had only deepened. In his hands, he carried shopping bags filled with high-end baby supplies. A sharp pain lanced through my spectral heart. Of course he was late. His new wife was already expecting. He spotted the director, his expression tightening with impatience. “Where’s the body of that little brat?” he demanded. “You’re the one who kept calling, telling me to come collect it.” The director, who had been wiping away tears, froze. She led him silently to the small, cold room where they had laid our daughter’s body. Lucian strode forward and ripped back the white sheet. He glanced down, and a cold smile touched his lips. “Not bad,” he drawled. “They did a good job on the corpse this time. How much did Janie pay you to help her pull this stunt?” A flash of anger cut through the director’s grief. “Mr. Blackwood, Lily is truly gone. If we didn’t need a parent’s signature for the cremation, I would never have disturbed you.” Lucian ignored her completely, his gaze fixed on the small form under the sheet. “It seems you didn’t mean much to your mother, either,” he said to the body. “You’re dead, and she still won’t even show her face.” A bitter sting pricked my eyes. Lucian, it’s not that I don’t want to appear. It’s that I can’t. I’m already dead. I died a year ago. For some reason, my spirit has been tethered to my daughter ever since. I’ve spent countless nights watching her convulse in pain, watching her kneel on the cold floor and cry out my name, utterly helpless to comfort her. And her father? He was busy making a new life with his precious childhood love. Our daughter wasn’t his flesh and blood; she was a piece of trash he was desperate to throw away. “Since the little nuisance is dead,” Lucian’s voice sliced through my thoughts, “I can take the body, right?” He walked out the main entrance, took a call, and then, without a second thought, tossed our daughter’s small, shrouded body into a nearby dumpster. He didn’t stop there. He instructed his bodyguard to go to a local dog pound and bring back a few starving hounds. I froze, the horror paralyzing me for a moment before I dove into the dumpster, my ghostly hands clawing frantically, trying to pull her body out. He was going to let her be torn to pieces! But no matter how I struggled, I was powerless. I could only watch as the slobbering, desperate animals crept closer and closer. A cruel smirk twisted Lucian’s lips. “Garbage belongs in the trash,” he murmured to himself. “Janie, why would you think I’d want the trash you threw away?” Despair shot through me like a bolt of lightning, from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. I screamed, a silent, spectral shriek. “Lucian, that’s our daughter!” The hounds lunged. As cold blood spattered against the grimy pavement, a flicker of confusion crossed Lucian’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “The props are convincing, I’ll give them that,” he said, his voice hard. “But it’s a shame, really. Even if the little brat were actually dead, I wouldn’t feel a thing.” “Just like her mother,” he added, his voice dripping with venom. “You should have both been out of my life long ago.” He watched, satisfied, until the dogs had left nothing but a mangled, unrecognizable ruin. Only then did he turn to leave. Just then, the director came rushing out of the home, stopping dead in her tracks at the horrific scene. She pointed a trembling finger at Lucian. “You… you…” Lucian’s eyes were like ice. He looked at her with smug certainty. “You tell Janie that if she wants custody, she can stop hiding. This little trick, faking the brat’s death, isn’t going to fool me.” His voice dropped, becoming a low, menacing snarl. “The anniversary of my mother’s death is coming up. If she doesn’t show herself, I won’t mind making this fake death a real one.” He bit down on the words “real one,” the sound chilling to the bone. Anyone else might have thought he was joking. What kind of father could be so monstrous to his own child? But I knew. He meant every word. And in a sick, twisted way, I was suddenly grateful. Grateful that Lily was already gone. Before the director could even form a response, Lucian was gone, flanked by his bodyguards. My soul was dragged along in his wake. 2 The car pulled up to a lavish villa. As they reached the gate, a pregnant woman ran out to greet them, her face alight with joy. The figure was painfully familiar. As she threw her arms around Lucian, I recognized her. Christine. Lucian’s childhood sweetheart. During the years Lucian and I were together, she had humiliated me time and time again, telling me to stay away from him, calling me a low-life whose entire salary wouldn’t cover one of Lucian’s dinners. I ignored her, so she started booking appointments at the hospital where I worked, spreading rumors that I was a quack, even hiring thugs to try and cripple the hands I used for surgery. When Lucian found out, he used his company’s power to crush her family’s business, threatening to bankrupt them entirely if she ever bothered me again. Her father had no choice but to lock her away. And now, here she was. She fussed over him, asking where he’d been. When the conversation turned to our daughter, Lucian’s handsome face turned to stone. “Hah. The bodyguards told me long ago that the brat was perfectly healthy. This is all just a game Janie cooked up with the children’s home to manipulate me.” A flicker of guilt crossed Christine’s face. “But… what if she… what if she really is dead?” she asked, testing the waters. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy fist. I stared at Lucian, waiting. The old Lucian, the man I had loved, would have stayed up all night worrying if our daughter so much as sneezed. He used to say that Lily and I were the most important people in his life. Now, his face was a cold mask. “Then I’ll hire a band,” he said, his tone clipped and annoyed. “We’ll celebrate for three days and three nights.” The next morning, Christine’s water broke. Lucian rushed her to the hospital. After a few hours in the delivery room, she gave birth to a baby girl, whose eyes were a perfect mirror of Lucian’s. His gaze softened as he held the newborn, refusing to let her go for even a second. He looked just like he had when I gave birth to Lily. But now, not even a week after our daughter’s death, he was pouring all that fatherly love onto another child. A phone rang on the bedside table. Lucian answered, and his secretary’s urgent voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Blackwood, my apologies, but there’s an emergency at the office. We need you to come in.” After a brief conversation, Lucian placed the infant gently beside Christine. “Be a good girl,” he cooed, his voice soft. “Don’t bother your mommy, or Daddy will have to teach you a lesson, no matter how little you are.” Those words struck me like a bolt of lightning. My spirit trembled. Christine’s child… was Lucian’s? How could it be? Why Christine? She’s the one who killed your mother, Lucian! I wanted to scream, rushing to his ear to roar the truth. But how could he hear the voice of the dead? Slowly, a cold calm settled over me. Just as Lucian was about to leave, a doctor entered the room, holding a file, his brow furrowed with concern. “Mr. Blackwood,” he began, “after running some tests, we’ve discovered an issue with the baby’s heart. If she doesn’t receive a transplant before she’s three, it’s unlikely she’ll live to adulthood.” He paused, the gravity of his words sinking in. “A suitable heart will be very difficult to find. It has to come from a donor under the age of ten, otherwise, the risk of rejection is too high.” The doctor’s words cast a pall over the room. Lucian’s face was a canvas of shock, which quickly morphed into a chilling resolve. “Leave it to me,” he said, his voice steady. “I have a solution.” After the doctor left, he beckoned a bodyguard into the room. “Bring me that little brat.” I understood instantly. He wanted to take Lily’s heart and give it to this new child. The bodyguard nodded and left immediately. Lucian stared out the window, his expression hardening into something predatory. “Janie,” he whispered to the empty air, “this is what you and your daughter owe me. A life for a life. Fair, isn’t it?” A bitter laugh escaped my spectral lips. When I was alive, I could never convince him I didn’t kill his mother. Why would I hope for him to believe me in death? After all, every piece of evidence in his mother’s death pointed directly at me. And Lucian believed it. The day of his mother’s funeral, he dragged me before her memorial tablet and slammed my head against the floor, again and again. He clutched her memorial plaque to his chest, his eyes bloodshot with hatred as he stared at me. “Janie,” he had hissed, “this isn’t over until one of us is dead.” 3 From that day on, I went from being the woman Lucian loved most to the woman he hated most. He tortured me, and he tortured our daughter, who looked so much like me. At only a few years old, she was forced to do chores, to scrub and clean. The slightest mistake, the smallest sign of imperfection, and she would be viciously punished with a cane. I tried to take her and leave, to file for divorce, but he wouldn’t allow it. He even threatened to break our daughter’s legs if I ever mentioned the word “divorce” again. Seeing the despair in my eyes, he would just smile that cruel smile, tipping my chin up with his fingers. “Hopeless, isn’t it, Janie? You deserve every second of this.” But I didn’t kill his mother. I hadn’t. Even though she never liked me, always believed I wasn’t good enough for her son. Even though she publicly humiliated me, calling me a shameless slut. Even though she once slapped me in front of the media. I never hated her. Because I could never forget that to marry me, Lucian had been willing to break ties with the mother who had raised him all alone. How could he not shatter when he believed that same mother died at the hands of the woman he loved? By evening, the bodyguard returned. When Lucian heard he couldn’t find Lily’s body, he swept everything off the coffee table, sending fruit crashing to the floor. “What?” “The… the young miss… Janie already took her.” My spectral eyes narrowed, fixing on the bodyguard. If I wasn’t standing right here, I’d have no idea how easily they could heap lies upon my name. While Christine was recovering from childbirth, Lucian hired a private investigator to find me. The moment he got a lead, he rushed to the location. He had his men break down the door and then strolled casually inside. “Janie, hand over the little brat now.” When no one answered, he sank onto the sofa and waved a hand, sending his bodyguards to search the place. They all returned empty-handed. His face was a thundercloud. He called the PI immediately. After confirming this was the last place I’d been seen, he gritted his teeth. “She can run, but she can’t hide. Janie, you’d better pray you can live the rest of your life hiding like a rat in the sewer.” I’m not hiding, Lucian. I don’t need to hide! I’m standing right in front of you, but you can’t see me! As darkness fell, Lucian’s face grew grimmer, his eyes glued to the door. Finally, there was a sound. A moment later, Dave’s figure appeared in the doorway. He saw Lucian through the crowd of bodyguards, and a flash of pure hatred crossed his face. “What are you doing in my house?” Lucian let out a derisive snort. “What am I doing? I’m looking for my wife and daughter, of course.” Dave’s expression shifted, and a grim smile spread across his lips. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.” “Your wife and daughter are dead. Oh, that’s right, the daughter died because her loving father, the millionaire CEO, wouldn’t pay the half-a-million dollars to save her. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” “Hah. You think some realistic-looking doll is going to fool me? I’m not an idiot, Dave. Now, hand them over.” A wave of pain washed over Dave’s face. His eyes, once full of life, were now like dead pools as he stared coldly at Lucian. “I told you. Your wife and daughter are dead. You collected your daughter’s body yourself.” Lucian grabbed Dave by the collar, his knuckles white. “Are you taking me for a fool?” he snarled. “That brat was a survivor. She would never just die.” “I’m warning you, get her out here now. She owes me her life, and I’m here to collect!” Just then, his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, Lucian hit the speakerphone button, a mocking sneer on his face. “Janie, what’s the matter? Finally decided to crawl out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding in?” But the voice that answered was not mine. It was the private investigator. “Mr. Blackwood… I have some information. Through a source, I’ve learned that Janie… she died a year ago.”

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At the company celebration dinner, the handsome new intern started charming my wife, Nina. He playfully asked to see the hearing aid in my ear. With a laugh, Nina reached over and pulled it off, handing it to him. The intern, Charlie, glanced at it with a flicker of distaste before casually dropping it on the floor. I lunged to pick it up, but he “accidentally” stepped on my hand. A sharp, searing pain shot through my fingers as the device was crushed under his shoe. When I put the mangled aid back on, a wave of fury washed over me. I turned to confront him, but Nina’s hand cut through the air, slapping me hard across the face. “Elliot, this is a party to celebrate Charlie’s new software. Don’t make a scene!” I looked at my wife’s furious face, then at Charlie, who was smiling at me with open provocation from behind her. A sense of release washed over me. I smiled, a real smile, and plucked the hearing aid from my ear. I dropped it into the nearby trash can and turned to leave. It was the most precious gift she had ever given me, from the day we made our relationship official. But now, her and the crushed hearing aid… I was done with both of them. 1 Under the stunned gazes of everyone in the room, I calmly smiled. “You all enjoy. I’m heading home.” Then, I walked out. My world plunged back into silence, an isolated bubble where sound couldn’t penetrate. I saw the anger on Nina’s face but didn’t care anymore. Once outside the private room, I sent a text to my best friend, Mark. [I’m quitting in a couple of days. I’m coming to join you.] He replied almost instantly, his excitement palpable even through the text. [YES! With you here, we can develop that software together. This is going to be huge!] I was grateful he didn’t ask any questions. In college, Mark and I were both computer science majors, obsessed with coding and software development. We’d teamed up for countless competitions, winning award after award. After graduation, he moved to another city to start his own company. I stayed behind, married Nina, and went to work for her family’s tech firm. Mark’s career took off. Mine stagnated. He often told me my talent was being wasted and urged me to join him, but I always refused, wanting to stay by Nina’s side. But now, she had changed too much, all for a new intern. There was no reason for me to stay anymore. Back home, I took out a spare hearing aid and put it on. My phone buzzed. It was a video from Charlie. I opened it. The lighting was dim, a karaoke bar. Nina was holding the microphone, her eyes looking at the camera with a melting tenderness. “Charlie is an exceptional talent,” she announced. “This song is for him!” Then, the familiar intro to “Prank” began to play. Her voice was beautiful, clear, and full of emotion. My heart seized. Nina was famously tone-deaf. “Prank” was the one song she had practiced for months, the only one she could sing perfectly. She did it for me. Because a childhood illness had stolen most of my hearing, she would lean in close, her voice a sweet, soft whisper right next to my ear, so I could hear every word clearly. Her smile back then was warm and dazzling. “Elliot,” she’d said, “I learned this song for you. And I’ll only ever sing it for you.” That was the moment a string deep inside me snapped, and I was filled with an overwhelming love for her. Now, she was singing it in a crowded room, for another man. Nina had broken her promise. I closed the video, a bitter taste in my mouth. The apartment felt cold, desolate. I opened my closet and began to pack. 2 Nina didn’t get home until almost one in the morning. She saw me sitting calmly on the sofa watching TV, and her face darkened with anger. “I texted you. Why didn’t you come down to meet me?” Whenever Nina worked late, I would always go downstairs to wait for her, to make sure I was the first thing she saw when she entered our complex. This time, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I picked up my phone. The chat log with Nina was a sea of my own green text bubbles, with only a few terse replies from her. The latest one was hers. Four cold, simple words: [On my way home.] I looked up at her, my voice flat. “I forgot to check my phone.” She strode towards me, unleashing a torrent of accusations. “Elliot, what is your problem? Charlie is younger than you, can’t you cut him some slack? He stepped on your hearing aid by accident, and you throw a fit in front of everyone! Did you even for a second consider how that made me feel?” I listened silently to her tirade, my expression unchanging. My eyes, however, drifted to the smooth, white skin of her neck. There, nestled just below her jawline, was an angry, red mark. Noticing my gaze, Nina flinched, instinctively pulling up her collar to hide it. But her tone remained harsh. “The slap was a lesson. Don’t you ever do that again! Charlie is young. You need to be the mature one.” I nodded, not arguing. “I understand. I’m a little tired, I’m going to bed.” I stood up and walked into the bedroom. Behind me, Nina’s face was ugly with rage. I heard her let out a cold, dismissive huff. I lay in bed, my eyes closed, but my mind was a raging storm. “He stepped on your hearing aid by accident.” She accused me of being petty. But that hearing aid was the one she gave me when we first got together. I treasured it, protected it like a holy relic. It was old, but it worked perfectly. I remembered that day so clearly. She had smiled, placing it gently in my ear. In that instant, the muffled world snapped into focus. I heard her voice, crisp and clear. “Elliot, I love you!” It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. But after Charlie crushed it, she dismissed it with a single, careless sentence. It was as if she’d completely forgotten what it meant to me. From the living room, I could hear her laughing, her voice light and flirtatious as she sent voice messages to someone. My phone buzzed again. Another message from Charlie. It was a screenshot of his chat with Nina. They were in the middle of a lively conversation. Nina’s last message was a love-filled “Goodnight.” [Elliot, you and Nina should get some rest too! I won’t bother you anymore ;)] Charlie’s words were pure provocation. I closed my eyes, refusing to look. After her shower, Nina went into the spare bedroom. Ever since Charlie had joined the company and she’d grown close to him, she hadn’t wanted to sleep in the same bed as me. The love I had for her was slowly, painfully, dying. 3 The next morning, I wrote my resignation letter. Then I went to the best law firm in the city and had them draw up divorce papers. Only then did I go to the office to finish my work. Nina was at Charlie’s desk, their heads close together, intimately discussing something. It was strange. Seeing them like that, I felt almost nothing. Charlie’s sharp eyes spotted me. “Elliot, you’re late today,” he called out. “You look awful. Didn’t sleep well?” His eyes danced with triumph as he leaned even closer to Nina. “He thinks just because he’s been here a while, he can ignore the rules,” Nina said, frowning at me without even waiting for my response. “If he keeps this up, he won’t last long in this company.” I offered a faint smile, looking at them both. “I’ll be more careful in the future. Thank you for the reminder, Ms. Vance.” Hearing me call her that, Nina’s expression turned thunderous. I rarely used her last name. My tone was polite, but distant. Ignoring them, I sat at my desk and dove into my work. I was almost finished with my part of the project. Even though I was leaving, my sense of responsibility demanded I see it through. At lunch, Nina pulled her car up to the front of the building. Charlie happily slid into the passenger seat. He saw me walking past and called out, “Elliot! Nina and I are going to that new Italian place. Come with us!” The invitation was empty. He made no move to give up his seat. I shook my head and smiled. “I’m not a big fan of Italian. You two go ahead.” I walked away without looking back. I could faintly hear Nina’s voice drift over. “He’s been in such a mood lately. Don’t mind him. It’ll just be us.” A small smile touched my lips as I pushed them from my mind. While eating, I scrolled through my social media feed and saw Charlie’s latest post. [Boss found out I smoke and got me a designer lighter! Best boss ever, I’d work for her for life!] I raised an eyebrow at the picture. On the table was an exquisitely crafted lighter. The background was unmistakably the Italian restaurant. And in the corner of the photo, you could see Nina’s slender fingers. When Nina and I first got together, I still smoked when I was stressed. She would always pluck the cigarette from my fingers, put it to her own lips, take a huge drag, and dissolve into a coughing fit, tears streaming from her eyes. I’d quickly stub it out and pat her back. Her eyes would be watery, but she’d pout, half-joking, half-angry. “Elliot, I hate the smell of smoke! If I ever see you smoking again, I’ll just do this and make myself sick! Then you’ll feel bad!” She’d shake a tiny fist at me, her girlish charm utterly adorable. I’d laughed, and from that day on, I quit smoking. After Charlie showed up, Nina’s attitude towards me grew cold and distant. I sometimes found myself unconsciously reaching for a cigarette. She would see it and snap at me, her face contorted in disgust, demanding I put it out immediately because she hated the smell. But now, she was buying a lighter for a smoker. I shook my head and turned off my phone, a dull ache spreading through my chest. 4 When I got home after work, I found a custom-tailored suit Nina had ordered for me had been delivered. She loved to dress up, and she loved to dress me up. After we got married, she bought all my clothes. She would watch me try on new outfits, her eyes sparkling, telling me I had a great figure, a natural-born model. Then she would flutter into my arms like a butterfly and plant a kiss on my cheek. She always said I looked best in a suit and had a standing order with a high-end tailor to send me their new seasonal collection. The memory brought a flicker of warmth to my heart. I tried on the new suit, but to my surprise, it didn’t fit. Nina knew my measurements by heart, and the tailor had been making my clothes for years. They shouldn’t have made a mistake. I took off the suit, put it back in the garment bag, and drove to the tailor’s shop. I never expected to find Nina and Charlie there. “Charlie, you look amazing in that suit!” I heard Nina exclaim. “I opened an account for you here. You can come by whenever you want, it’s all on me!” I glanced over. Charlie was standing tall and proud in the season’s new suit. And Nina, her face flushed, was nestled against his side. They were looking at each other, smiling, the air thick with intimacy. “Mr. Fusco, what are you doing here…?” a sales associate recognized me and gasped. The sound was just loud enough for Nina and Charlie to hear. They sprang apart and whipped their heads around to look at me. Anger instantly flooded Nina’s face. She strode towards me, her voice loud and accusatory. “Elliot, what are you doing here? Are you following me? How could you be so shameless!” I looked at her calmly, then at Charlie standing behind her. Charlie’s height, his waist, his shoulder width… I let out a soft, humorless laugh. They had mixed up our measurements. That’s why the suit didn’t fit me. “I wasn’t following you. The suit you ordered arrived, but it’s not my size. I came to return it.” I held up the garment bag, dangling it in front of her. “I’ll just leave it here. I have other things to do, so I won’t disturb you.” I turned to go. A storm of complex emotions crossed Nina’s face, her beautiful eyes glaring at me. “Elliot, don’t take this too far! There’s nothing going on between me and Charlie! Stop thinking such disgusting thoughts!” I shrugged, a careless smile on my face. “I wasn’t thinking anything. You don’t need to be angry.” With that, I turned and walked away. I felt like I was making progress. Seeing Nina and Charlie together like that didn’t hurt as much anymore.

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We held a wedding three years ago, but my husband, a pilot, has canceled our trip to get a marriage license eighteen times. The first time, his female trainee was on a test flight. I waited at the courthouse all day. The second time, he got a call from her, made a sharp U-turn, and left me on the side of the road. Every time we scheduled it, something would happen with his trainee. Finally, I decided to leave him. But when I boarded the plane to Paris, he chased me there, frantic and desperate. 1 We’d been “married” for three years, but Mason Croft had never gotten around to making it legal. Today was supposed to be a milestone—his one-thousandth successful flight. It was also the seventeenth time he had promised we would finally go to the courthouse. But at his celebration dinner, while his supervisor was forcing shots on me, Mason was busy feeding appetizers and trading sips of wine with his trainee pilot. I was burning up with a fever, downing drink after drink until I was nearly unconscious, but he never once glanced my way. I could see the pity in our colleagues’ eyes, the unspoken “you deserve better” hanging in the air. It was obvious to everyone who I was doing this for. But after the dinner, Mason, the man who was supposed to take me to get our marriage license, stood me up again. He pulled his convertible up to the restaurant entrance and put a hand out to stop me from getting in. “Cora drank too much on my behalf,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m taking her home. You can grab a cab.” “We probably won’t make it to the courthouse this afternoon. We’ll reschedule.” He didn’t wait for my reaction. He got out, opened the passenger door, and gently helped his trainee into the seat. We’d been together for eight years, married for three. This was the seventeenth time Mason had postponed our official marriage because of Cora. Usually, this would be my breaking point. I would have dissolved into tears, screaming at him, demanding to know who his real wife was, who had actually been taking drinks for him all night. But this time, I just smiled. “Okay. Drive safe.” Mason froze, clearly taken aback by my calm demeanor. A moment later, his face hardened back into its usual indifference. “I’ll buy you a gift tonight to make it up to you.” He sped off, carefully rolling up the passenger-side window to shield a drunk Cora from the wind. He used to hate the smell of alcohol in his car. Whenever I’d had too much to drink for him, he’d put the top down, even in the dead of winter. He certainly never would have rolled up the window. It hit me then. The rules were just different when it was me in the car. The midday Miami heat was suffocating, but a strange, profound chill settled deep in my bones. I took a deep breath and put my wallet, the one holding my ID for the license, back in my purse. I knew then that our eight-year relationship had to be put away with it. 2 That afternoon, I went straight back to the airline’s headquarters and submitted my resignation. “Does Mason know you’re quitting?” my manager asked, shocked. I was, after all, the airline’s top-rated flight attendant for seven consecutive years. My future here was limitless. A bitter smile touched my lips. “I’ll tell him tonight. Not that he’ll care.” “I don’t understand,” she sighed, her expression full of regret. “You two pioneered new routes together, won ‘Best Crew’ awards together. Three years ago, even the CEO came to your wedding. Everyone was so envious. But now…” She was right. Those were beautiful memories. But memories were all they were. There was no going back. It was after ten by the time I got home. The apartment was dark and empty. Just then, a notification popped up on my phone. A new social media post from Cora, and she had tagged me. “Thanks to my amazing mentor for spending the afternoon with me! As a thank you, I’m taking him to the Jay-Z concert tomorrow! So excited!” I knew then that Mason, who had promised to be home, wasn’t coming home. This had become a familiar pattern over the past three years. I made myself a bowl of instant noodles and opened my laptop. My inbox was full of job offers from airlines around the world. My cursor hovered over the one from Air France, and without a second thought, I clicked “accept.” Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris for two days from now. Five years ago, on a flight to Paris, Mason had experienced the worst crisis of his career. Since then, the word “Paris” had become a taboo. He refused to fly there, and he’d made sure I never did either. Mason, I thought, once I’m in Paris, we’ll never have to see each other again. 3 The next morning, I started packing. I was halfway through when Mason walked in, wearing a crisp, pink button-down. A cloud of rich, floral perfume followed him into the room. The scent hit me, and I froze. He used to despise perfume. Because of him, I hadn’t worn a single drop in years. I’d even thrown away my entire collection. It wasn’t that he hated perfume, I realized. He just hated it on me. He saw the open suitcases and paused. “Cora was too hungover to drive last night. I got a hotel room. That’s why I didn’t come home.” I glanced up at him, surprised. It was the first time in three years he’d bothered to explain himself. I just nodded, not saying a word. He walked over to me, his eyes on the luggage. “Are you packing for a flight?” “Something like that,” I said. He seemed to visibly relax at my answer. “I have to run. I just came back to grab something. Can’t stay for lunch.” “Okay.” I didn’t look up, just kept folding clothes. I had planned to tell him I’d quit over lunch, to finally put an end to our eight years together. It seemed I wouldn’t get the chance. Mason grabbed a red gift bag from the closet, picked up his jacket, and rushed out the door. CRASH! The photo frame that had hung by the door for eight years suddenly fell, shattering on the floor. Glass sprayed everywhere. I looked over. It was a picture of Mason and me at our first concert together, our hands clasped, our faces beaming. He had promised me that day that no matter how busy he got, he would take me to a concert every year. But ever since Cora became his trainee, he had forgotten. The only sound in the empty apartment was the ticking of the clock. After a long silence, I swept up the broken glass. I took the photo, a perfect capsule of our past happiness, and threw it, along with the last remnants of my feelings for him, into the trash. 4 That evening, exhausted from packing, I was lying in bed when my best friend called. “What is wrong with Mason? This is too much! Did you see his feed? He’s all over it, showing off with that homewrecker Cora.” “You guys aren’t even divorced yet! How could he?” As she ranted, I opened my phone. The first post was from Cora. In the photo, she was wearing a new Van Cleef & Arpels necklace, and in her hands was the red gift bag Mason had picked up that afternoon. I finally understood. He’d come home to get Cora’s concert gift. The caption read: “Three years since we met. So lucky to have you, Mason. Happy third anniversary!” My mind went blank. Three years? That’s right. Today was supposed to be my third wedding anniversary with Mason. We had never once celebrated it. I had completely forgotten. I let out a long breath. “He doesn’t need a divorce,” I told my friend. “We were never legally married.” “What?” “You’ve been ‘married’ for three years, and he never got a license with you?” My friend’s shriek was so loud it almost deafened me. Yes. We had a wedding three years ago. And he had canceled on me seventeen times. 5 At eleven that night, Mason came home, a rare occurrence. He took off his jacket and went to hang it on the hook by the door. He stopped, staring at the empty space where our photo used to be. “Where’s our picture?” he asked, walking into the bedroom without even putting his jacket down, a hint of panic in his voice. “It fell. It broke.” He looked towards the trash can by the door, saw the shattered glass, and his shoulders relaxed. He put his jacket aside and pulled out a shopping bag with a new Louis Vuitton purse inside. “I didn’t get a chance to give you your gift yesterday,” he said. “And today is our third wedding anniversary. So… Happy Anniversary.” He placed the bag on the bed. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him. After three years, he actually remembered our anniversary? But then I saw the receipt. The purchase time was thirty minutes ago. Cora’s post must have reminded him. He’d just picked it up on his way home. He didn’t know that I already had two of this exact same bag in my closet. I said nothing, just stared at him. “By the way,” he said, his tone shifting, “the annual airline awards are coming up. Can you… can you step aside this year? Cora’s been in the industry for three years, and her biggest dream is to win ‘Best Attendant,’ just like you. You’ve won it so many times. Can you let her have it this year?” He looked uncomfortable saying it. I had to laugh. So this last-minute gift had a price tag after all. “Fine,” I said calmly. Not just this year. Next year, the year after—I would never compete with her again. Because after tonight, I would be gone. “You… you agree?” My quick reply seemed to surprise him. He kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. “Cora is my trainee. You’re her mentor’s wife. This is how it should be.” He paused, as if just remembering. “Oh, right, you’re flying tomorrow, aren’t you? What time is your flight?” “Three in the afternoon.” I looked at him, deciding to take this last chance to tell him I was leaving. But before I could speak, his phone rang. It was Cora. Her saccharine voice drifted from the phone. She was on her period, had no pads, and was calling Mason for help. He hung up and looked at me, a guilty expression on his face. “Uh… Cora’s in a bit of a jam. She’s all alone, can’t handle it. I should probably go.” For the first time, his voice held a note of pleading. I swallowed the words I was about to say and forced a smile. “It’s fine. Go.” He looked immensely relieved. He stood up, and as he was leaving, he said again, “Your flight is at three, so there’s still time. Tomorrow, ten a.m. Let’s go get the license. I promise, no matter what happens this time, I’ll be there.” A bitter smile played on my lips. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to break up with him face-to-face. The next morning, I finished packing. I didn’t go to the courthouse. I went straight to the airport. By noon, I still hadn’t received a single call from Mason asking why I wasn’t there. As I was boarding my flight that afternoon, I finally got a text from him: “Sorry, Cora wasn’t feeling well today. I just took her to the hospital. We missed our appointment. When you get back from this trip, I’ll take you to the courthouse first thing.” I felt nothing. Of course. The eighteenth time was a no-show too. “Don’t bother, Mason. I’ve quit my job. I’m on my way to Paris. After today, we will never see each other again.” I sent the message, my final message, and prepared to turn off my phone. The next second, the chat window, which had been silent for so long, began to vibrate uncontrollably. 6 The flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, announcing the final boarding call. I ignored the buzzing of my phone, deleted Mason’s contact, and turned it off. From that moment on, Mason Croft and I were finished.

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For years, I sold down jackets in a forgotten corner of this country. Twenty bucks a pop. Then one day, an influencer waltzed in, camera rolling, ready to “expose” me. “This material is garbage, folks, the down fill is pathetic, and the style is just plain ugly! This is trash!” Then, smooth as a snake, she launched her own brand of jackets, even getting the locals to try them on. Feeling the difference, and egged on by the influencer, the townspeople turned on me. They called me a con artist, trashed my shop, and swore they’d only buy her jackets from now on. What they didn’t know was that a single one of her jackets cost four hundred dollars. 1 Winter was creeping in again, and my little shop was open for business, racks lined with down jackets. But today was different. Just as I was setting up, a woman walked in, phone held high, live-streaming her every move. She was a splash of polished city glam against the faded backdrop of my humble store, her meticulous makeup and trendy clothes a world away from the dusty streets outside. She pulled me into the frame of her phone. “Hi, ma’am,” she said, her voice sugary sweet for her audience. “My name is Lexi, I’m a content creator with over a million followers. I was hoping I could review one of your jackets today?” I had no idea what that really meant. I figured she just wanted to have a look, so I nodded. “Sure.” That was my first mistake. She plucked a jacket from the rack, her brow furrowing in theatrical disgust. “Okay, guys, you can see right away this is just cheap polyester. No one uses this stuff anymore for quality outerwear. It’s worthless.” After trashing the fabric, Lexi pulled a small, wicked-looking knife from her purse. With a sickening shh-rripp, she sliced the jacket open. The stuffing, a cloud of grayish down, drifted out. Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of feigned shock. “Oh my God, you guys! Look at this! There’s barely any fill in here, and it’s the absolute worst quality duck down. This jacket is pure garbage.” Watching her performance, a hot spike of anger shot through me. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just come in here and destroy my merchandise!” She ignored me completely, grabbing several more jackets and slashing them open one by one. “Let’s just see about the others,” she narrated to her phone. “Wow. Unbelievable. They’re all the same. All of them are trash.” The sight of my inventory being gutted on the floor sent rage boiling up in my chest. “Are you out of your mind?” I yelled. “You’ve ruined half my stock! How am I supposed to run a business? You’re paying for all of that!” Lexi just laughed, a triumphant, mocking sound. “Did you hear that, everyone? I’m doing a public service, exposing this scammer, and she wants me to pay her.” Just as I was about to let loose a string of curses, one of my regulars, Caleb, walked in. He was a familiar face, a man who’d bought a jacket from me every other winter. “Hey, Ava!” he called out. “Got one in my size?” I turned to help him, but Lexi stepped between us, blocking him. “Sir, please, don’t buy anything from this woman. Her jackets are a complete rip-off.” Caleb just stood there, scratching his head awkwardly, caught in the middle. That was it. I was done being polite. “If you’re not buying, get the hell out of my store,” I snarled at Lexi. “Stop scaring off my customers. I don’t care if you’re some big-shot influencer.” “You’re selling fake, shoddy goods and you don’t want people to talk about it?” she shot back, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stand up for these good people.” And she did. She plopped herself down on a stool right by the door, pulling out a megaphone and announcing to everyone who passed by that my jackets were trash and that I was a cheat. A crowd started to form, drawn by the commotion. I risked a glance at her phone screen, at the live-stream chat. It was a waterfall of hate, all directed at me. “OMG that jacket is so ugly. My grandpa wouldn’t be caught dead in that. Who even buys stuff like this anymore?” “Go Lexi! Expose her! The quality is so bad I’d rather freeze than wear that thing.” As her viewer count soared and the crowd outside grew, Lexi seized her moment. She pulled a sleek, stylish jacket from a suitcase and held it up for everyone to see. “Now, everyone,” she announced, her voice booming. “This is from my own brand. Let me show you what a real down jacket looks like.” 2 The jacket in Lexi’s hands was a thing of beauty, modern and expertly crafted. “This,” she declared, her voice resonating with passion, “is made with premium goose down, a high fill power, and a high-tech, water-resistant fabric. It practically heats itself the moment you put it on.” She beckoned to Caleb. “Sir, why don’t you come and try it on? Feel the difference for yourself.” A little shyly, Caleb shuffled forward and slipped on the jacket. His eyes widened. He gave a huge thumbs-up. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe. “This… this is way better than Ava’s stuff.” A triumphant smile spread across Lexi’s face. “You see? That’s what quality feels like. Anyone else want to try it on?” One by one, people from the crowd stepped forward, each trying on the jacket and agreeing: it was infinitely better than mine. Flushed with victory, Lexi urged them all to buy her brand instead. But then Caleb, ever practical, asked the million-dollar question. “It’s a great jacket, no doubt. But… how much does it cost? It looks expensive.” Lexi chuckled. “Folks, do I look like the kind of person who would rip you off?” she asked her audience, both online and in-person. “Tell you what. This weekend, in my live stream, I’m going to give you all an insane discount. And for everyone watching right now, I’m dropping a fifty-dollar coupon into the stream. A little gift from me to you.” Caleb’s face lit up. “A fifty-dollar coupon? That’s practically a steal!” I rolled my eyes, unable to stay silent any longer. “It’s a classic sales tactic, Caleb. Even with fifty dollars off, I guarantee that jacket is still going to cost a fortune.” Lexi shot me a venomous look. “At least it’s not counterfeit garbage like yours.” That did it. The word “counterfeit” lit a fuse. “Counterfeit?” I spat, grabbing a metal clothing rod from the back room and pointing it at her. “Did I slap a designer label on it? Did I make false claims about what it is? No! Now pay me for the jackets you destroyed and get out of my store!” Lexi didn’t even flinch. She glanced at the eager faces in the crowd and fanned the flames. “Everyone, tell me, does this junk even compare to the real deal?” A resounding “NO!” came from the crowd. “A shop that sells fake goods like this has no right to exist!” Lexi pointed a dramatic finger at my storefront. “Tell you what. If you all help me tear down this sham of a shop, I’ll do a buy-one-get-one-free deal for everyone here on my jackets!” The crowd roared. Panic seized me. I lunged forward and slapped Lexi hard across the face. “Are you insane? I’m just trying to run my business! What is your problem? You want a fight? Is that it?” She didn’t back down. She met my gaze with a defiant smirk. “Bring it on.” So I did. I slapped her again, the force of it leaving a bright red mark on her cheek, and started shoving her toward the door. I saw Caleb hesitate for just a moment, his eyes darting between me and the influencer. Then, his face hardened. “Buy one, get one free!” he yelled to the crowd. “Let’s go, people! Her jackets are way better than Ava’s! We can’t let her keep ripping us off after all these years!” And with that, Caleb, my loyal customer, shoved over my main display rack. It was like a dam breaking. The crowd surged into my little shop, a wave of angry, greedy people. They tore at the shelves, ripped jackets from their hangers, and smashed everything in sight. And through it all, Lexi stood to the side, live-streaming the destruction, a tiny, almost invisible smile playing on her lips. 3 My heart splintered with every crash and shatter. “Stop it!” I screamed into my own megaphone, my voice cracking. “Please, stop! We’re neighbors! Why are you doing this?” “I’m calling the police!” But the lure of a BOGO deal was stronger than any sense of community. They didn’t listen. Left with no choice, I dialed 911. By the time the officers arrived, the shop was a complete wreck. After taking my statement, the lead officer addressed the crowd, his voice heavy with disapproval. “What on earth possessed you all to destroy this woman’s store? A whole mob of you…” Caleb, his face flushed with righteous indignation, stepped forward. “She’s a cheat! She’s been selling us fake, worthless junk for years! We’re lucky we didn’t do worse to her.” Hearing those words from a man I’d always considered a friend, a man whose family I’d helped keep warm for years, felt like a knife in the gut. The officer frowned. “Whether her goods are fake or not doesn’t give you the right to destroy her property. You’re all liable for the damages.” The mention of money instantly doused the crowd’s fiery mob mentality. They grew quiet, a sea of downcast eyes and shuffling feet. That’s when Lexi stepped forward, her voice clear and confident. “How much is it? I’ll pay for everything.” A wave of admiration rippled through the crowd. In their eyes, Lexi was a hero. My jackets were cheap, the shop had no fancy decorations, and the racks were flimsy. The total damage only added up to a few thousand dollars. Lexi paid it without flinching, a small price for the image she was building. After everyone had left, I stood alone in the wreckage and let out a long, shuddering sigh before locking the door for good. Four years ago, I’d seen a story online about an old man in a cold region, too poor to afford a proper coat, stuffing his clothes with straw just to stay warm. The image broke my heart. So I came here, to this struggling town, and opened my jacket shop. My whole reason for being here was to make sure everyone could afford a warm coat for the winter. That’s why I was only open for one season; the rest of the year, I ran my own online fashion boutique to make a living. To keep costs down, the designs were basic and the fabric was inexpensive. But I made damn sure every single jacket was filled with real down. For four years, I sold them for twenty dollars a piece. I wasn’t really making a profit. Most of the time, I was losing money. At first, the townspeople were so grateful. They told me they could finally afford a real winter coat, that their kids wouldn’t be cold anymore. Their smiles were what kept me going. I never imagined that one influencer’s words could turn them against me so completely, that they would look at me with such hatred and call me a fraud. My jackets weren’t stylish, and they weren’t a fancy brand, but they were warm, and they cost twenty dollars. Wasn’t that enough? My heart felt like a block of ice. I closed the shop and decided I was done. That night, I found Lexi’s social media account. She had already edited and uploaded a dramatic video of her “exposing” me and then heroically paying for the damages. The stunt had earned her two million new followers overnight. The few thousand she’d paid for damages was nothing compared to the traffic she’d gained. She played it perfectly. When the weekend came, Caleb and a few others huddled around a single smartphone, ready to jump on Lexi’s big sale, dreaming of the high-quality, affordable jackets they were about to score. Thanks to the drama, her live stream was packed. Virtual gifts and effects flooded the screen. Lexi, looking flawless, spent an eternity hyping up her jacket, spinning tales of its miraculous quality, but she skillfully avoided mentioning the price. Finally, after people in the chat started getting restless, she got to the point. “Alright, everyone, for my top-of-the-line, premium goose-down jacket… we’re not asking for eight hundred, not five hundred… but for you, my family, it’s just $399! Three… two… one… the link is live!” Caleb and the others just stared, their faces frozen. A four-hundred-dollar jacket might as well have been a million. There was no way they could ever afford it.

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