Category: English

Mona, the internet’s self-proclaimed vigilante, built a ten-million-follower empire on one thing: punishing the rich. She smashed supercars, slashed priceless paintings—the more expensive, the better. I’d always dismissed her as another fame-hungry clown, a sideshow for the perpetually online. Then I realized the mansion she was currently trashing on her livestream was mine. By the time I rushed to our estate, the damage was apocalyptic. The custom-ordered European crystal chandelier was a glittering ruin on the marble floor. A masterpiece worth millions, shredded into canvas ribbons. An antique vase valued at a fortune, now just a pile of porcelain shards. When she saw me, her chin lifted in a gesture of pure arrogance. “Not bad on the props,” she sneered. “Thirty grand should cover this pile of junk, right?” I surveyed the wasteland that was once my living room, a knot of fury tightening in my chest. I simply signaled for my butler to begin calculating the losses. When he finally told her she owed me one hundred and eighty million dollars, she pissed herself. 1 “My payment info. Now.” Mona lounged on my bespoke sofa, her tone dripping with disdain. When I didn’t move, her patience seemed to snap. She shot to her feet, planting herself in front of me. “What? You think thirty grand isn’t enough?” she demanded. “Look, I’ll admit the props were convincing this time, but I never asked you to go this over-the-top. Do you have any idea how much effort it took to smash all this? How much of my time you wasted? I should be charging you for the trouble. Don’t push your luck.” She settled back, preening. In her world, a world of ten million followers, people paid for the privilege of her attention. She’d never encountered someone who didn’t immediately bow down. I ignored her rant, my gaze fixed on the wreckage. I just waited, my patience a thin veneer over a core of white-hot rage, as Peterson, my butler, continued his quiet assessment. Mona’s foot began to tap impatiently. “What’s taking so long? Thirty grand is more than generous. You should be thanking me for paying that much for this heap of garbage. If you keep this up, you’re going to find out what happens when you get on my bad side.” A flicker of genuine malice crossed her face. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I was almost curious to see what “her way” of dealing with me looked like. Seeing my lack of reaction, she switched to a boastful tone. “Do you even know how many fans I have? Do you know how much my top donors gift me every single day? All I have to do is cry a little on camera, and they will cyberbully you until you want to kill yourself.” Cyberbully me? If she could actually pull that off, I might almost be impressed. “Miss Mona, please, be patient,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Since you’re so powerful, why don’t you stick around and hear what this ‘pile of junk’ is actually worth?” Just then, Peterson finished his calculations and approached, whispering the final figure in my ear. One hundred and eighty million. A nice, round number. “Peterson,” I said. “Please inform the lady.” My butler straightened his tie and turned to Mona, his voice ringing with crisp, professional clarity. “Ma’am, based on our initial assessment, the damages total one hundred and eighty million dollars. How would you like to handle the payment?” For a split second, raw panic flashed in Mona’s eyes. Then, she leaped from the sofa as if it were on fire. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? One hundred and eighty million!” she shrieked. “Do you even know how many zeros that is?” 2 As she was screaming, the team I’d called in earlier was already documenting the scene, their camera flashes illuminating the destruction. “Of course I do,” I replied smoothly. “The real question is, are any of your ‘top donors’ willing to foot the bill?” To my surprise, Mona burst out laughing—a wild, unhinged sound. Has the shock broken her brain? I wondered. “Miss Mona,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Playing dumb won’t do you any favors here. You need to start thinking about how you’re going to pay me back for my ‘pile of junk’.” I spat the last words out, each one a testament to the fury I was barely containing. Only I knew the truth: every shard on the floor was a stab to my heart. That goddamned Mona. She’d used a bottle of vintage wine worth over a hundred thousand dollars for a fucking bath. The painting she’d shredded was now nothing more than a glorified dishrag. And worst of all, the Ming Dynasty cloisonné vase. It had been a birthday gift from my grandfather last year, something he’d spent a fortune on at auction. If I didn’t make her pay for this, I wasn’t a Price. Mona, however, was still full of bravado. “You lowlifes are just trying to extort me because I’m a famous influencer, aren’t you?” she sneered. “Fine. I’ll add another twenty thousand. Fifty K total. That should be enough for you greedy pigs. This is blackmail, you know. I could call the cops.” Wow. The sheer audacity to twist reality like this was almost impressive. I still had no idea how she’d even gotten into my house, and here she was, painting herself as the victim. Some people truly have no shame. My upbringing, however, demanded I maintain a shred of composure. “Since you brought it up,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face, “why don’t we? You trespassed, destroyed my property… by all means, let’s get the police involved.” I nodded to Peterson, who immediately reached for his phone. “Wait!” Mona yelped. The bravado was gone, replaced by a flicker of fear. “What’s wrong, Miss Mona? Afraid?” I purred. “You seemed so confident a moment ago. Let’s let the authorities sort this out. I’m quite sure my security cameras recorded everything. Or perhaps you could tell them you were sleepwalking? Possessed by a demon, maybe? Otherwise, you’d better get used to the color orange, because you’re going to be wearing it for a long, long time.” The seriousness in my expression finally seemed to penetrate her thick skull. A flicker of doubt crossed her face. Could I have really… smashed the wrong house? Just then, her phone rang. 3 She snatched it up, and her furious screech echoed through the cavernous room. “Leah! Where the hell are you!” “You need to get your ass over here! Now!” “Avalon Estates, Number 17! You told me this was all handled! Now these people are trying to shake me down for 180 million! They’re threatening me!” “What the hell am I paying you for? If you can’t do your job, you’re fired!” A muffled voice on the other end murmured placatingly. “Mona, calm down. I negotiated the price beforehand. If they’re giving you trouble, I’m on my way with backup right now,” Leah’s voice promised. “Avalon Estates, Number 17. Give me twenty minutes.” Hearing that reinforcements were coming, Mona deliberately switched her phone to speaker. A smug, triumphant look returned to her face. “You hear that?” she said, her voice dripping with renewed arrogance. “Apologize to me right now, throw in a million or two for my emotional distress, and I might just let this go. Otherwise… I promise you, your life is over.” My life is over? She really was a first-class moron. I wanted to crack her head open and see if there was anything inside besides air. Yes, this was the Avalon Estates. Except I live at goddamn Number 18. To wreck the wrong house and still act this high and mighty… she hadn’t grasped the reality of her situation at all. You don’t get to act like a queen in my kingdom. Even God himself would have to bow before walking out of here. Her voice was starting to give me a headache. I took a slow sip of tea. “Since you’re so confident, Miss Mona, let’s just wait for your people to arrive.” After that, I tuned out her stream of curses and insults. Leah and her crew were surprisingly fast. As they strode into the room, I saw Leah’s eyes widen in confusion. This opulent disaster zone was clearly not the cheap prop house she had arranged. But she quickly masked her unease, stepping forward with a dozen thuggish-looking guys behind her. “So you’re the one trying to scam us?” she said, her eyes raking over me with contempt. When I didn’t reply, she continued, “You look the part, I’ll give you that. But you’d better not get so lost in the role that you forget what you really are. Do you know who we are? Do you know how many fans Mona has? One word from her, and you’ll drown in a sea of their hate.” She took another step closer. “Now, you’re going to get over here and apologize to Mona. If you beg nicely, maybe I’ll put in a good word for you. Otherwise…” I’d heard enough. Was everyone in her line of work this delusional? “Otherwise what?” I interrupted, my voice calm. “I’m sitting right here. Let’s see what you can do to me.” My composure must have pushed Mona over the edge. Seeing her backup had arrived, the last of her sanity seemed to snap. “What are you waiting for, talking to her?!” she shrieked at Leah. “Did you bring all these guys just for decoration? She thinks she’s so tough? Grab her! I’m going to personally smash her face in and see if she can still talk so big!” Leah, still retaining a shred of sense, hesitated. “Mona, I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if she really calls the cops? It’ll get messy.” In response, Mona spun around and slapped Leah hard across the face. 4 “You traitorous bitch!” Mona screamed, her face contorted with rage. “Have you forgotten who signs your paychecks?” “I have millions of fans! So what if I beat her to death? A piece of trash like her dares to defy me? I’m going to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget, right here, right now!” I watched as Leah’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. So, not the most loyal of relationships, then. Mona ignored Leah’s silent fury and barked orders at the hired muscle. “What are you idiots waiting for?! Grab her! Maybe when I’m done with her, I’ll let you boys have some fun.” She shot me a disgusting, leering smile. At that, the men’s faces lit up. The leader, a greasy-looking thug, cracked his knuckles. “Your mistake was pissing off the wrong person, sweetheart,” he sneered. “But don’t worry. We’ll make sure you have a real good time.” They started toward me, a predator’s grin on their faces. I snapped my fingers. In a blur of motion, my security detail emerged from the adjoining rooms. It was over in seconds. They were professionals, and these were street thugs. The greasy leader who’d insulted me was the first to go down, a single punch shattering his nose and sending a couple of teeth clattering to the floor. He lay there, howling in agony. Did she really think I’d be unprepared? The moment I saw the damage, I’d called in my own people. I rose from my chair and walked slowly toward Mona, the sound of my heels clicking on the marble. “So, Mona?” I asked, my voice soft. “Any other brilliant ideas on how to ‘deal’ with me? If not, you’d better start thinking about that 180 million. Because until that’s settled, you’re not going anywhere.” I turned to my butler. “Peterson. Call the police.” The show was over. I was done playing games.

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My husband, a notorious neat freak, suddenly developed a passion for second-hand goods. He even joined our neighborhood’s online buy-and-sell group. He spent his days rushing to other people’s apartments, collecting all sorts of used baby items. From diapers to strollers, he crammed them into the nursery until it was overflowing. He was so obsessed that when I collapsed from a sudden, sharp pain in my abdomen, he couldn’t even be bothered to come home. “Honey, I’m in the middle of haggling with someone,” he’d said over the phone. “Just grab an Uber to the hospital, okay?” That was the last straw. After I was discharged, during a family dinner to discuss baby names, I announced I was getting an abortion and a divorce. Ethan slammed his hands on the table, sending dishes crashing to the floor. He proceeded to smash everything within reach. “Just because I was haggling and didn’t drive you to the hospital? You want a divorce over that?” he roared, his face contorted with rage. “I bought all that second-hand stuff for you! Why else would I be pinching every penny like that?” I watched him calmly, a cold smile touching my lips. “Since you love second-hand so much,” I said softly, “I’ll do you the favor of becoming your second-hand wife.” 1 “You’re looking down on me for buying used things, is that it?” “Do you have any idea how much a baby costs? Or your own recovery fees? Where do you think that money is coming from!” “Besides, the stuff is practically new. I’ll sanitize everything if you’re so worried.” His eyes were bloodshot as he screamed the words at me. Beside him, his mother shot up from her chair, her face a mask of anxiety, and grabbed my arm. “Oh, what’s all this nonsense? We’re a family. No need for such angry words.” She turned to her son. “Ethan, you shouldn’t argue with a pregnant woman. They get emotional. You have to be more understanding.” I coldly shook her hand off me. “I am not joking. I’m serious. Let’s get a divorce. There’s no point in us staying together anymore.” His mother dug her nails into my arm. “Now you’re just pushing it! Ethan is doing all of this for you. I’ve seen the things he brought home—they’re all top brands!” “Besides,” she added with a sneer, “you were a bargain yourself. We got you for a bride price of ten grand, you can’t just up and leave.” Even my own mother sided with them, her voice pleading. “Eva, don’t be childish. You and Ethan were together for seven years before you got married. You have a baby on the way. How can you talk about divorce?” “Your hormones are all over the place. Why don’t you come stay with me for a few days?” My expression remained unchanged. “The courthouse, tomorrow morning. To file the papers.” The entire family erupted in anger, accusing me of being impulsive and irrational. Only Ethan seemed to realize I was serious. His tone softened, and he tried to apologize. “I’m sorry, Eva. I lost my temper. If you want to go stay with your mom, I understand.” “Just… don’t talk about divorce so lightly. You know how hard it was for us to get here. You said it takes seven years to truly know someone, so I gave you seven years. That time, that energy… that’s a huge investment for anyone.” I scoffed internally. I thought seven years was enough to see through a person. I was wrong. “In that case,” I said, my voice flat, “it’s best to cut our losses now. Let’s not waste any more time.” The words had barely left my mouth when my mother, who had always been so gentle, slapped me hard across the face, her own face flushed with fury. “Eva, I have spoiled you rotten! I’ve let you become this selfish brat.” “Have you forgotten who bought you medicine every time you had a stomach ache? When you said you wanted a baby, Ethan immediately started consulting with doctors. I’m your mother, and even I wouldn’t go to those lengths for you!” “If you get a divorce now, what about the baby? You’ll raise it yourself? Don’t think for a second I’m going to help you clean up this mess.” Ethan immediately rushed to my side, gently guiding me to the sofa and pressing an ice pack to my swollen cheek. He frowned at my mother. “Mom, you can’t just hit her! It’s my fault, I’m the one who made Eva upset.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. This gentle act of his had fooled me for seven years. It had fooled our entire family. The sight of it made me want to vomit. I wanted to scream the truth, but the thought of my mother’s heart condition held me back. “I’ll get an abortion,” I said, my voice hollow. “I don’t want my child to be born into a loveless home.” Ethan froze, staring at me in disbelief. “What did you just say?” “You’ve always wanted a child. I… I’ve already bought all the baby supplies. I even booked a spot at that exclusive postpartum wellness retreat. How can you just… give up on it?” “Eva, take your anger out on me, but don’t hurt the baby.” Even his mother was panicking now. “Eva, we can argue, but don’t do something so drastic. Ethan went to so many doctors to help you conceive this child.” “Even if you two have fallen out of love, think about us! We’re old, we’re just waiting to hold a grandchild.” My mother was also terrified by my words. “Don’t scare me like this, Eva. An abortion is so damaging to your body. Don’t do something foolish.” Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, Ethan dropped to his knees and began slapping himself across the face. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry I didn’t take you to the hospital that day.” “But I saw this amazing breast pump, it was brand new, and I was trying to talk the price down… I just lost track of time.” He was crying as he spoke, as if this were all my fault. The family’s gazes turned on me like daggers. “Eva, what is there to be so angry about?” his mother chided. “Ethan was doing it all for you. Besides, it’s not like you couldn’t have called someone else. What if he wasn’t home? Would you have just stayed there and not gone to the hospital?” 2 Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was Raelyn, the young widow from the building next door. She stepped inside, her expression timid. “I heard people saying you two were fighting, so I came to see if everything was okay.” Her eyes fell on Ethan kneeling on the floor, and she quickly added, “Ethan was at my place picking up the breast pump that day. That’s what delayed him. Please, don’t get a divorce over this.” I stared hard at Ethan. Sure enough, the moment Raelyn walked in, a flicker of panic had crossed his face. His mother scowled at me. “Eva, you heard her. Raelyn came all the way here to explain. There’s no point in dragging this out.” “Besides,” she continued, “Ethan has to work and he has to manage your moods. As the old saying goes, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. As a wife, you should be a little more considerate.” I took a deep breath, my voice firm and serious. “Ethan, I don’t want to make this ugly. If you won’t come to the courthouse, then just sign these divorce papers.” To my shock, Raelyn snatched the papers from my hand, clutching them to her chest. “I won’t let you two get divorced,” she said stubbornly. “Eva, just blame me. It’s my fault for giving him the breast pump and making you late for treatment.” “I’ll move out tomorrow. I’ll never bother you again. And I’ll give you back all the money for the other things. You can just have them.” As she spoke, she sank to her knees in front of me, tears streaming down her face in a show of false sincerity. Ethan immediately pulled her into his arms, a protective gesture laced with anger directed at me. “Eva, this is between us. You don’t need to bully someone else. Raelyn is a widow, where is she supposed to go? And she’s helped you so much, you should at least show some gratitude.” Tears welled in Raelyn’s eyes as she put on a magnanimous front. “Eva, Ethan is a really good man. He was even asking me questions about pregnancy, all so he could take better care of you.” “I’ve been married before, and now I’m alone. I know how precious it is to have someone by your side. You’re pregnant, for heaven’s sake. That’s a blessing some people would kill for.” “If you’ve fallen for someone else out of a moment of impulse,” she said, her voice dripping with concern, “please, think it through. Good men like Ethan are hard to find.” She had turned the tables, pointing the finger directly at me. My mother-in-law grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at me. “I knew it!” she shrieked. “I knew there had to be a reason you’d want to divorce a man as good as Ethan. You’ve got some other man on the hook!” “Let’s get the divorce then! Our family doesn’t want a cheap slut like you! And you can walk away with not a single penny!” “Plenty of women would be thrilled to have him. I think Raelyn here is a much better fit.” At that, a blush crept up Raelyn’s cheeks. Ethan didn’t deny it. His silence was an admission. His own eyes grew red as he put on a heart-wrenching performance. “Eva… tell me it’s not true. What does he have that I don’t?” I glanced at my mother, swallowing the rage that was threatening to boil over. “You know exactly what the truth is.” With that, I turned to leave. But as I moved, Raelyn’s hand shot out, reaching for my stomach. On pure instinct, I shoved her hand away. But she used the momentum, collapsing dramatically to the floor. “Raelyn!” Without a second thought, Ethan lunged at me, shoving me hard. My head spun. A sharp, searing pain shot through my abdomen, and I felt a warm gush of blood between my legs. “Someone call an ambulance!” my mother screamed in panic. 3 When I woke up, the first thing I felt was a dull, aching emptiness in my belly. Something was gone. Ethan was slumped in a chair by my bed, dark circles under his eyes. He saw me awake and immediately started fussing. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” I looked straight at him, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “It’s better that the baby’s gone.” “Ethan,” I said, my voice cold and clear. “Are you still going to pretend with me? Even now?” He blinked, then put on a confused expression. “Eva, what are you talking about? I don’t understand. Whatever I did wrong, just tell me, and we’ll fix it together. Don’t be like this.” I was about to lay out all his disgusting secrets when the older woman in the next bed cut me off. “You young girls,” she clucked, “you’ve all been poisoned by the internet. Always threatening divorce. Who would want to live with that?” “Besides,” she added, gesturing at Ethan, “I saw this young man sit by your side all night long. A man that good is a rare find these days.” Just then, my mother-in-law pushed the door open. Seeing me awake, she rolled her eyes. “Ethan took care of you all night. The least you could do is be grateful.” “I’ve been thinking,” she continued, her voice dripping with malice. “Letting you leave with nothing is too easy. Who’s going to compensate my son for the seven years he wasted on you?” “Here’s the deal. You tell us who your lover is, and then you give us a grandson. Then we’ll call it even.” Ethan clearly agreed with this plan. “We’ve been together so long,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “How could I bear to let you leave with nothing?” “Who is he? Don’t worry, you can tell me. I won’t cause any trouble for him.” Something inside me snapped. “How many times do I have to say it? I just don’t want to be with you anymore! Is that so hard to understand?” “You accuse me of cheating? Why don’t you take a good look at yourself first?” The room fell silent, everyone stunned by my outburst. Only Ethan had the nerve to reach for my hand, his voice laced with false concern. “Don’t get excited, Eva. Just calm down. You just had a miscarriage.” I yanked my hand away. “Stop acting. You make me sick.” He froze, at a loss for words. After a moment, tears started to well in his eyes. “Eva, I know I’m not perfect. I know I neglect you sometimes. But for all these years, my love for you has been real.” “In school, I let you copy my homework. After we started working, I bought you designer bags. When you got pregnant, I rubbed stretch mark oil on you every night. Whenever you had a craving for something sour, I would…” I cut him off. “Are you done? The homework you let me copy was all wrong. The purse was a cheap knockoff. And you didn’t even know the right way to apply the stretch mark oil.” “Let’s just end this. I’m tired. Since you won’t agree to a divorce, I’ll see you in court.” Ethan was silent for a long moment. Then he said one last thing before he left. “You really don’t have a heart, Eva. I guess it makes sense. You never had a father, after all.” My face remained a placid mask, but under the thin hospital blanket, my hands were trembling. A little while later, my mother came in with a fruit platter. “Eva,” she began hesitantly, “I heard what was said. Ethan asked me to come take care of you. How can you divorce such a good man?” “They’re all gone now. You can be honest with me. Did you fall for someone else? It’s okay, I won’t blame you.” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh and turned my head away. “It’s not working out. It’s just not working out. Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?” That was the breaking point. My mother’s long-suppressed anger finally exploded. She swept the fruit platter to the floor and started hitting me, tears of rage streaming down her face. “Eva! I raised you all by myself, and for what? So you could throw a tantrum and get a divorce?” “Do you want to end up like me? Alone for the rest of your life?” “You go and apologize to Ethan right now! If you don’t, I will never acknowledge you as my daughter again!” She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

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1 In the fifth year of my marriage, I did something incredibly stupid. I sent Simon’s precious little canary packing—all the way out of the country, hoping he would finally come back to me. But when he found out, he said nothing at all. Instead, in the blink of an eye, he brought my family’s business to ruin, forced my father to his knees, and turned my mother’s hair white overnight. And now, here he was, his face a thunderous mask, ready to make me pay. “Kara,” he said, his voice a low growl, “I suppose I was too good to you. It made you forget your place.” “Now, it’s your turn to taste what it’s like to wish you were dead.” … When those words left his lips, I finally lifted my head to look at him. We’d been in love for four years, married for five. We had given each other the best years of our youth. I never imagined it would come to this. My hand drifted to my stomach, where our child had been growing for nearly three months. But it was as if Simon couldn’t see it, his eyes burning with a single, obsessive question. “I’ll give you one last chance. Where is she?” A bitter laugh threatened to escape, but I choked it down. My one act of rebellion had already cost my family everything. “Let my parents go,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “And I’ll tell you.” Simon nodded slowly. He closed the distance between us, and before I could react, his hand shot out, clamping around my throat. He forced my head back, leaving me no choice but to stare into his eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Kara.” “Finding Mia is just a matter of time. What makes you think you’re in any position to bargain with me?” A violent wave of suffocation seized me. I gagged, my face flushing a deep crimson as the veins in my neck bulged. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at me. I bit down hard, but through the terror, I managed to rasp out the words. “And that gives you the right… to force my father to his knees?!” “He’s my father!” Simon’s expression remained a blank, chilling mask, his grip unyielding, his strength terrifying. Tears streamed from my eyes, but my gaze was locked on his. His pupils were dark pools of madness. I had no doubt he would kill me right here, right now, for another woman. Just as my vision began to tunnel, he released me, flinging me back against the sofa. I gasped for air, my body trembling with the aftershock of fear. I curled into a ball, and in that single, fractured moment, our past flashed before my eyes—all the love, all the promises. A sob tore from my throat, raw and uncontrollable. I wept for the past we could never get back, for this hopeless, devastating marriage. And most of all, I wept for the pathetic woman I had become. Simon just stood there, watching me, his heart a stone. He didn’t even give me a moment to breathe before he grabbed my chin again, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. “I’ll ask you one last time. Where did you send my Mia?” He was gone. The moment I gave him the information, he bolted from the room. I saw it clearly—the wave of joyous relief that washed over his face. My husband was truly, utterly mad for another woman. Wiping my tears, I called my parents, telling them to pack. We had to leave tonight. I expected my father to scream at me, to blame me, but instead, his aging voice cracked with unshed tears. “Our dear Kara, you’ve suffered so much. Daddy doesn’t blame you. We’ll just… we’ll leave.” After hanging up, I was swallowed by a tidal wave of guilt and despair. Simon and I had met in college and married right after graduation. His family, the Stantons, were a dynasty. Marrying into their world was something my father could never have dreamed of. He’d worried, of course, that I would be bullied, that with my family’s modest standing, I’d have no one to back me up. But I had promised him, with all the certainty of a girl in love, that Simon adored me. He would never let me suffer. 2 He used to shower me with gifts for every occasion and proudly introduce me to all his friends. Whenever we were apart, he’d text me a hundred times a day saying he missed me, his eyes turning red with jealousy if another man so much as looked my way. “You know, Kara,” he once whispered, “the Stantons are all twisted monsters. You’re the only one who ever taught me what love is.” He was deeply insecure, constantly seeking reassurance of my love. I would hold him for hours, stroking his hair until he finally fell into a peaceful sleep in my arms. I thought we would be like that forever. So when his affection vanished, falling off a cliff without warning, I panicked. Mia was a fresh college graduate. I first heard her name from Simon’s executive assistant, who mentioned it as a joke. “These young girls have no imagination,” she’d laughed. “The whole ‘accidentally spilling coffee on the CEO’ cliché? It’s been done to death.” I dismissed it as office gossip. But it wasn’t long before Mia, against all company policy, became Simon’s personal assistant. He took her horseback riding. When she admitted she didn’t know how, he lifted her into the saddle in front of him, his arms wrapped around her as they ambled along on a single horse. She was clueless about the nuances of the business world, so Simon patiently mentored her, even personally teaching her how to prepare his tea just the way he liked it. Once, a crass business partner made a suggestive joke about her. Simon, always so cool and composed, beat the man so badly he ended up in the hospital. He made no effort to hide it. His infatuation with Mia was an open secret. By the time the stories reached me, they were already attending galas as a couple, kissing amidst the teasing laughter of the crowd. When someone sent me a photo, I confronted him, losing my temper with Simon for the very first time. He just sat there in his leather throne of a chair, watching me silently, his eyes seeming to accuse me of being irrational. “Kara, you’re almost thirty. Why are you competing with a young girl?” “When you were in your early twenties, I doted on you just the same, didn’t I?” In that instant, I felt like I’d been plunged into ice water. I finally understood. Simon’s love was loyal, in its own twisted way. He only loved young women, and I had aged out of the role. I was ready to file for divorce, but then I found out I was pregnant. For my child, for the family I still wanted to believe in, I decided to fight. I asked my father to use his connections to send Mia abroad. The result was a catastrophe. After nine years together, I meant nothing to Simon. I had lost, utterly and completely. My father told me to give him three days. Having made an enemy of the Stantons, there was no place left for us in this country. I used that time to schedule an abortion. If the love was gone, there was no reason to keep Simon’s child. There would be plenty of younger girls to bear his children. But the doctor informed me that the pregnancy was too far along for a simple procedure. It would require an induction, which meant a hospital stay. With only three days left in the city, I had no choice but to put it off. On the way back, I tried to consult with a lawyer about the divorce. But the moment they heard the name Simon Stanton, they all backed away. “Mrs. Stanton,” one of them said apologetically, “Mr. Stanton’s firm has a team of the best lawyers in the country. We… we wouldn’t stand a chance.” I understood. I didn’t push it. After marrying Simon, I had become a full-time homemaker. He said he didn’t want me working, and like a fool, I had listened for five years. Now, my entire social circle was curated by him; I had no one to turn to for help. It didn’t matter. Once he had his precious Mia back, I was sure he’d grant me a divorce easily enough. 3 I started sorting through our things at home. I left anything of value, taking only some seasonal clothes and my personal documents. The pregnancy made me constantly tired, and that evening, I fell asleep on the sofa while packing. The next morning, the sound of the front door opening startled me awake. I shot up from the sofa, my heart pounding. I never expected him to be back so soon. It was Simon. And he was holding a young woman’s hand. It was Mia. She was even more beautiful in person, a delicate flower that photos couldn’t do justice. She clutched several shopping bags from high-end luxury brands, and the diamonds on her stilettos caught the light, nearly blinding me. Clearly, he had already won her back. A cold dread settled in my stomach. I couldn’t believe how quickly he’d returned. My hand instinctively went to my neck, the phantom sensation of his grip returning. I was afraid of him. Truly afraid. I forced myself to my feet. Simon led Mia to stand directly in front of me. He smiled at her, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then turned to me, his expression instantly cooling. “Kara. Apologize to Mia.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Even after he’d destroyed my family, after he’d tried to strangle me just yesterday—I thought he’d reached the pinnacle of cruelty. But now he wanted me to apologize to his mistress? Seeing my stunned silence, Simon’s fingers dug into my jaw, forcing my head to face Mia. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, apologize to Mia.” He was a businessman. He knew exactly how to shatter a person’s spirit, even if that person was the wife who had loved him for years. Mia, for her part, hadn’t so much as glanced at me since she walked in. She kept her eyes downcast, her lips pressed into a faint pout. She didn’t have to say a word to look like the picture of a wronged, pitiable victim. “Simon, please, you don’t have to do this,” she murmured. “My position is… awkward, I know. It’s only natural for your wife to hate me.” Though her words were placating, I caught a quick, venomous glance she shot in my direction. Then she tugged at Simon’s sleeve, her voice a soft whine. “Simon, I’m a little tired. Can I go rest?” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, his voice dripping with tenderness. “Of course. Go on, get some rest in the bedroom.” Mia’s wide eyes flickered toward me. “But this is your house. Where should I go?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Simon led her toward our master bedroom. The implication was a slap in the face. My entire body was shaking. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, fighting the urge to scream. I took a deep, ragged breath, watching as he settled her into our room. Only when the door was closed did I finally speak to his back, my voice a raw whisper. “Simon, let’s get a divorce.” “You’ve trampled on my dignity like it’s trash. You’ve destroyed my parents’ life’s work.” I stared at him, my eyes red-rimmed but my voice steady. “This was all my fault. My mistake was being blind enough to fall in love with you in the first place.” At this, he actually raised an eyebrow. He sauntered back over to me, his hands in his pockets, leaning in until his handsome face was inches from mine. His expression was a mix of malice and something else, something I couldn’t quite decipher.

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My father is a fool for love. He only ever loved his childhood sweetheart, never my mother or me. Growing up, I was the ghost in our own home. Bullied by classmates, abused by the staff—my father saw none of it. Or chose not to. Then came my eighteenth birthday. It was also the anniversary of my mother’s death, and for the first time in years, he came home to have dinner with me. After the meal, he slid a document across the table. A severance agreement. “I’ve provided for you for eighteen years,” he said, his voice flat. “My obligation is fulfilled.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just signed my name and walked away to start a new life. Months later, on a different birthday—mine—he found me, holding a strawberry cake. He pleaded, his voice a whisper, “Sophie, please… come home with Dad.” I just shook my head. “No.” … My memories of my father are a hazy blur, distant and cold. When I was four or five, I’d tug on his coat, begging him to pick me up. He never did. Then my mother died. I was hysterical, my world collapsing, but he just had the nanny cover my mouth to stifle the noise. As I got older, he washed his hands of me completely, leaving me to the care of housekeepers and nannies. I missed him, so I’d sneak out to his office, once trailing him all the way to a charming little house in the suburbs. A mother and daughter lived there. My nanny told me, with a cruel little smile, that they were my father’s true family. And I was nothing. He was a phantom at every school play, every parent-teacher conference. To the outside world, I was no different from an orphan. So, when he showed up today to visit my mother’s grave with me, I was stunned. The story I’d always been told was that my mother was just a girl from a small town, working a dead-end job in a hotel. She was uncultured and plain, and I was an accident that trapped her into becoming Mrs. Reed. The marriage, starved of affection, crushed her. She fell into a deep depression after I was born and faded away a few years later. My father only ever showed a flicker of emotion for her on two days: their wedding day and the day she died. Otherwise, she was a stranger to him. His heart, his entire being, belonged to his true love, Sylvia. I’d met Sylvia many times. She was the epitome of grace and intellect, beautiful and poised. In her youth, she was the daughter of a prominent politician, but her world crumbled when he was disgraced in a corruption scandal. My father couldn’t marry her, so he kept her sheltered in his heart, a treasure to be protected at all costs. Sylvia was the moon—a celestial, untouchable beauty. My mother and I? We were weeds, left to the wind and rain. Whether we thrived or withered was of no concern to him. That’s why he knew my mother was sick, just as he later knew the staff tormented me. But he never lifted a finger. I was the product of an accident, a child who never should have carried his blood. My very existence was a constant reminder of his betrayal of Sylvia. The night he presented the severance agreement, we had just finished dinner. Pizza and pasta. It was the favorite of Sylvia’s daughter, Grace. My father, in his distant way, probably assumed all teenage girls loved pizza. I actually hated it. But to make him happy, I ate two-thirds of it, wiping the grease from my mouth and telling him it was delicious. When the papers landed in front of me, I felt like a sewer rat caught stealing scraps, instantly thrown back into my place. “Sophie, you’re eighteen now. You’re an adult,” he said. “I’ve done my duty by you.” He wasn’t wrong. He was rich. Impossibly rich. He hired people to look after me, to drive me to and from school, to prepare my meals and give me an allowance. This was his version of fatherhood for a daughter he didn’t love. For Grace, he filled an entire room with dolls. He was by her side for every holiday, no matter how busy he was. Before she was even fourteen, they had traveled the world together, photos of their trips tucked neatly in his wallet and displayed in his car. That was his version of true love. “I know you must resent me, but you can understand, can’t you?” He sighed, and for the first time, I noticed a few silver strands at his temples. His voice was laced with a strange, self-inflicted sorrow. “I can honestly say I never let you want for anything—food, clothes, a roof over your head.” He paused, his gaze distant. “But Sylvia… she’s stood by me for half her life with no title, no security. I can’t let her live in the shadows any longer. I have to take responsibility. Give her a home. Make it official.” The pen was smooth, the paper crisp. In less than a minute, I had signed both copies. When I handed them to him, his face was a wooden mask. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved or just numb. “You should check to make sure everything is in order,” I said. He glanced down at the signatures, then back at me, his expression unreadable. “You’re not going to make any demands?” “In your presence,” I said, my voice steady, “I’ve never had the right to make demands.” The Reed inheritance, the house, the money—I couldn’t touch any of it. The slightest hint of greed from me would have upset his other daughter, Grace. Even without a drop of his blood in her veins, she received a universe of love and affection that I could only dream of. Knowing my place was the only dignity I had left. “Right,” he said, a visible wave of relief washing over him. “Your grandfather left you a considerable trust. That should be more than enough to keep you comfortable for the rest of your life.” I didn’t argue. “I’ll be staying in the school dorms from now on,” I said calmly. “I don’t have much here. I won’t be coming back.” I fished the house key from my pocket and placed it on the table. “I’ll ask the housekeeper to delete my fingerprint from the door lock.” Perhaps my composure unnerved him, because his resolve seemed to soften just a fraction. “You can continue living here if you want. It’s not like I’ll be back.” I stood and slung my backpack over my shoulder, rejecting his final, pitying offer. “I have to get back to school, Mr. Reed.” The name slipped out easily. When I was a child, he’d forbidden me from calling him ‘Dad’ in public, always introducing me as the child of a friend. This agreement didn’t change a thing. “I’ll drive you,” he offered, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “It’s a long way from here.” “No, thank you,” I said with a polite, practiced smile. “The subway is convenient. I’m used to it.” In truth, the subway ride was two hours, a miserable commute. But Grace had long since moved into a condo in a top school district near campus, with Sylvia living there to look after her. I’d seen them more than once near the school, a perfect little family. I once followed them to their building, slipping past the strict security guard behind another resident. I sat on a bench across the street for a long time that day, watching the silhouettes move behind the lit window. I painted a picture in my mind where I was one of them, eating dinner together, then watching TV and sharing fruit. In that fantasy, my dad remembered what I liked to eat, called me ‘Soph’ affectionately, and reminded me to wear a coat if it rained. He’d care if my grades were slipping and hire a tutor for me. Then the light went out. The curtains were drawn. And just like that, I was alone again in the world. I had spent my childhood trying to earn his love with a self-destructive desperation. I’d clung to him, begging him not to leave. As I grew older, I’d mimic scenes from movies, getting myself sick or hurt, acting out like a delinquent just to get his attention. I’d tried charming my grandfather, even the nannies, hoping they’d put in a good word for me. But nothing I did ever changed a thing. Only now, in the act of disowning me, did he seem to feel a sliver of guilt. But only a sliver. The next day, I saw his car parked outside the school gates. He was there for Grace. He looked dapper and energized, wearing a handsome tie, not at all like a man in his forties. His face was lit with a smile of pure relief, a smile I’d never seen before. It froze for a split second when he saw me. I started to turn away. My presence was clearly a blight on his newfound happiness. I buried my head and walked against the flow of students, trying to ignore the happy reunions all around me. But Grace wouldn’t let me escape. She ran over and grabbed my arm. “Doesn’t your family ever come to pick you up?” I knew she wanted to see me hurt. I gave her what she wanted, nodding calmly. “I don’t have a family anymore. Not a single person.” My mother was dead. My father had abandoned me. She feigned a gasp of surprise, then, loud enough for everyone to hear, she called out to my biological father. “Dad! Let’s have Sophie eat with us tonight. She’s all alone, the poor thing.” “Poor thing?” my father shot back, his eyes sweeping over me with cold indifference. “She has plenty of money. She won’t miss one meal. Let’s go, Grace. Your mother is waiting.” His reaction didn’t surprise me. It wasn’t the first time. My grandfather once told me that, besides the nurses, my father was the first person to hold me when I was born. The first word I ever spoke was “Dada.” They say blood is thicker than water, but for him, romance was a flood that washed away all kinship. Maybe he had loved me when I was an infant, a helpless creature dependent on him. But as I grew, as I learned to fend for myself, his sense of love and responsibility evaporated. That severance agreement was the inevitable result. “It’s okay, Dad,” Grace pressed, still clinging to his arm. “Sophie is your daughter, too.” “She is not.” He took Grace’s hand, his gaze fixed forward, refusing to even look at me. He completely erased me. “From now on, Grace is my only daughter. Come on, we’ll be late.” As he led her away, Grace glanced back over her shoulder, sticking her tongue out and winking at me. The look was pure provocation, a silent taunt: See? You can be his real daughter, but he’ll still choose me over you. Grace knew exactly how to twist the knife. We’d been in the same class from middle school through high school. She couldn’t stand me, largely because we shared the same father. She was doted on, loved, and raised in a world of sunshine and positivity. She was cheerful and outgoing to everyone but me. With me, she was a viper. For six years, any classmate who dared to befriend me would inevitably become her new best friend. Grace forbade anyone in our class from speaking to me, from acknowledging my existence. I was a ghost. Years later, I learned the word for it: social ostracization. It leaves no physical scars, but the damage to the soul is fatal. But now, I was beyond caring about such petty cruelties. I just had to get through the next three months, and then I would be free of this place, free of this man who was my father in name only. I turned my back and walked away, a lone figure moving against the tide. Behind me, I heard Grace’s sweet, cloying voice. “Dad, what are you looking at?” “Nothing. Let’s go.” After moving out of the mansion, I settled into the dorm. It was small, but clean. The single bed was narrow, but it was truly mine. It was nothing like the house I grew up in—so vast and tall that I felt like a speck of dust inside it. The tiles were cold, the air was silent. I’d often wake up from nightmares into a pitch-black emptiness, so profound that I’d wish for a ghost to keep me company, just to have someone to talk to. But even ghosts have companions. I only had my reflection in the mirror. The dorm lights went out at ten-thirty sharp. As I lay in the dark, my phone buzzed on the pillow. It was an old model, not like Grace’s, which was replaced with every new release. Mine was slow, the memory always full, so it took a moment to open the new message. It was from an unknown number. “Sophie, why didn’t you come back to the house?” The tone was unmistakable. It was my father. It was almost funny. In all my life, I had never had his contact information. I’d once snuck a look at my grandfather’s phone, memorized the number, and, with a trembling heart, called it from a public payphone. I was eight. It was raining outside. Inside the booth, a woman’s voice answered. It was Sylvia. “Hello?” she’d asked. In the background, I could hear my father’s laughter. “Come on, get up here. Time to give my little princess a piggyback ride.” I hung up. The next time I called was after a particularly brutal incident with the nanny. I was crying, desperate, but all my father said was, “Sophie, where did you get my number?” Soon after, he changed it. In my most helpless moments, I would still dial the old, disconnected number and pour my heart out to the silence. But now, he was the one texting me. And I felt nothing. “Yes,” I replied. He seemed displeased. “We may have severed ties, but that’s no reason for you to run away from home.” Run away? Where was I supposed to go? He didn’t want me, yet he wouldn’t let me leave. Did he expect me to stay trapped in that cold, loveless cage for the rest of my life? Where could I possibly go that wouldn’t be an eyesore to him? “Sophie, stop being so dramatic. This won’t do you any good. If you think this will earn my sympathy, you’re being childish.” How novel. My father was actually lecturing me. Where was this paternal concern when the nanny stripped me naked and whipped me with a clothes hanger, while I clawed at the door until my fingertips bled, begging for a piece of bread? Where was it when her boyfriend she brought home almost assaulted me, and afterward, she slapped me across the face, calling me a little whore just like my mother? In those moments of pure agony and despair, I would have given anything for him to show up. Even if it was just to call me a coward. As long as he was there. But he never was. My pleas never reached him. He brought me into this world but refused to raise me, yet he expected me to be as proud and well-adjusted as Grace. My father was a greedy man. “Your sympathy is worthless to me,” I typed, my fingers steady. “And my life is no longer your concern.” After hitting send, I dragged his number into my block list without a second thought. There was no point in staying connected to someone who had already cut me out of his life. After her victory in front of my father, Grace was ecstatic. Her campaign against me, once subtle, became overt and relentless, especially at school. My desk was in the back corner, an island of solitude. No one dared to be my deskmate. From my seat, I had a clear view of Grace’s back, always surrounded by a buzzing swarm of admirers. She held up her wrist, showing off a new bracelet. “Isn’t it beautiful? My dad flew abroad just to buy it for me.” “I know that brand! It’s insanely expensive.” “I’m so jealous. I wish my dad was that generous.” “Grace, your dad is the best.” Since signing the severance agreement, I’d lost all interest in my father’s life. What new clothes or jewelry he bought for Grace meant nothing to me anymore. But Grace still wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t know how her brand-new bracelet ended up in my backpack, but when she stood there, tears streaming down her face, accusing me of being a thief, I almost laughed. She was still so childish. The same tired tricks, year after year. Grace’s tears were all it took for the head teacher to pronounce me guilty. “Sophie, stealing is a serious offense. I have no choice but to call your parents.” I didn’t have parents. My only living parent was standing right next to Grace, listening to the teacher’s account with a grim expression. He was here to defend his daughter. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Sophie not only stole Grace’s bracelet, but she also broke it? Is that correct?” It was phrased as a question, but just like the teacher, he had already reached his verdict. I didn’t answer him. Instead, I turned to face Grace. “Grace, your father is asking you a question. Is that correct?” “I’m asking you!” he thundered, his voice suddenly booming through the quiet office. His composure had finally cracked. Was it because this involved Grace? This man, who had remained a stone-faced statue through my mother’s death and my grandfather’s funeral, was actually showing emotion. So, he wasn’t a robot after all. “Why are you asking me?” I said, turning my gaze back to him. “If Grace claims I stole her bracelet, she should provide proof. When did it go missing? It was on her wrist all day, how could I have possibly taken it?” I stared directly into his eyes, eyes that were so unnervingly similar to my own. When I was little, my mother would trace the shape of my eyes when she missed him, her tears falling onto my cheeks. I had inherited her gentle nature, but life had taught me to be hard. “There are security cameras in the classroom,” I continued, my voice gaining strength. “I haven’t been anywhere near her all day. How could I have stolen it? Did I develop telekinesis?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. The lie was so flimsy, so transparent, yet both the teacher and my father had chosen to believe it. At this, the teacher’s expression faltered, but my father’s reason was once again clouded by a single, theatrical sob from Grace.

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1 To save my boyfriend, the man with the failing heart, I worked myself to the point of collapse. I juggled multiple jobs, scrimping and saving every penny for his treatment. I was so broke I couldn’t even afford medicine when I got sick myself. So when I heard about the “Gold Dust Challenge”—a publicity stunt where you could literally scramble for gold flakes on the ground—I signed up without a second thought. I was on my hands and knees, scrambling through dirt and gravel like a feral dog, desperate to find enough “gold dust” to exchange for cash. For his life. I was led inside to a back office to cash in my findings. And through the thin wall, I heard his voice. A reporter was interviewing him. “Mr. Schwimmer, you spent over three million dollars on this event, all to bring a smile to Miss Isabelle Vance’s face. Your devotion is truly something to be admired.” A familiar, chillingly casual voice replied. “It’s nothing. If it makes Isabelle happy, then letting these desperate people grovel for it is the most value they’ll ever provide.” I clutched the three thousand dollars I had just earned, the irony a bitter pill in my throat. … My boyfriend, Patrick Schwimmer, was a poor kid with a congenital heart defect who couldn’t rub two pennies together. That’s what he’d told me. So my first reaction was denial. It couldn’t be him. The man who couldn’t afford a thirty-dollar co-pay couldn’t possibly be the one who just dropped three million on a party. Besides, my Patrick was in the hospital right now, his heart too weak to leave his bed. It had to be a coincidence. Someone who sounded like him, who also happened to be named Schwimmer. But the next sound shattered that fragile hope. A woman’s delicate laughter, a sound I recognized with a sickening jolt. “Oh, Patrick,” Isabelle Vance cooed, “they look just like little puppies, don’t they? It’s hysterical! Especially that one who looks a bit like your girlfriend, Leah. Look at how hard she’s trying. She must be desperate for the money.” I heard a sharp intake of breath. On the other side of the wall, Patrick’s eyes were glued to the monitor displaying the live feed of the event. He quickly typed something on his phone. A second later, my own phone buzzed. [Baby, where are you? Don’t push yourself too hard. Rest if you’re tired.] A bitter laugh escaped my lips. My hand trembled so badly I could barely hold the phone. [Don’t worry, I’m resting now. I found a great gig today, made a full three thousand!] He sent back a kissing emoji. [That’s my girl. Another few days of hospital bills covered.] How utterly laughable. A grotesque smile stretched my lips, but tears streamed down my face like pearls from a broken string. Convinced the pathetic creature on the screen wasn’t me, Patrick relaxed. He chuckled. “On all fours like that,” he said to Isabelle. “They really do look like dogs begging their master for a bone.” The room erupted in laughter. “Look at the way she’s sticking her butt in the air! It’s like she’s wagging her tail!” “People like that would do anything for money. I bet if you told her to lick your shoes, she’d do it without a second thought.” “Mr. Schwimmer’s shoes are custom-made, worth millions! Letting trash like her lick them would be an honor!” On my side of the wall, I stared down at my own worn-out sneakers, my big toe poking through a hole. In that moment, my dignity shattered into a million pieces. 2 I took the money and turned to leave, but I ran straight into Patrick. He saw me, and for a fleeting second, panic flashed in his eyes. Then his gaze fell to my tattered work uniform, and his expression soured with a subtle, unmistakable disgust. He rounded on the security guard. “How did a participant get in here? What are you people paid for?” The event coordinator quickly stepped in. “Mr. Schwimmer, my apologies. This participant needed cash immediately for a medical bill, so we brought her backstage. We’re leaving now.” I stared at Patrick, dumbfounded. He stood there, impossibly handsome and regal in his bespoke suit, looking nothing like a sick man. The fabric was so fine, woven with threads of gold that I could spend a lifetime scrambling for and never afford. My throat was raw. I couldn’t tell if my voice was trembling or if I just couldn’t speak at all. “Patrick,” I finally managed to whisper. “Are you going to pretend you don’t know me?” Before Patrick could answer, the people behind him, the same ones who had just been mocking me, looked horrified. “Is this the famous girlfriend? But… her clothes…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Everyone was thinking it. My face was sallow, my skin rough, my clothes practically rags. I was the woman who had just been crawling on the ground for money. I looked like I was one step away from starving. How could I possibly be Patrick Schwimmer’s girlfriend? Patrick’s face was a mask of fury, the veins on his arm bulging. He looked at me with cold, hard eyes, as if my very presence was a source of profound embarrassment. Isabelle, standing beside him, let out an exaggerated yawn. “Oh, not this again. Another desperate woman trying to get Patrick’s attention. I’ve heard this line so many times it’s boring.” It was the out Patrick needed. He stepped around me without a flicker of recognition. “A rather pathetic attempt at getting my attention,” he said coolly. The bitterness in my mouth was suffocating. My mind flashed back to college. Freshman year, the student council had hazed me, forcing me to run five miles. I refused, and they dumped a bucket of toilet water on my head. They made me stand in the blazing sun for two hours until I finally collapsed. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Patrick scooping me up and rushing me to the infirmary. He told me my defiance, the look in my eyes, shone like a star. From that day on, he was my protector. He stood up for me, even when it meant being punished and humiliated himself. He never cared if my clothes were dirty or if I was a mess. His love felt so real, so true. It was why I had chosen to stay with him, even after he told me about his “heart condition.” The man from my memories and the man standing before me now were two different people. I don’t know where the courage came from, but I lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The expensive fabric wrinkled, leaving white marks from the dust on my fingers. His eyes flashed with irritation. “I doubt you could afford to replace this if you sold everything you own.” I cut him off. “Since you’re not sick, and you’re not poor… can I have my money back?” Because I’m the one who’s sick now. With a single look from Patrick, the people behind him tactfully withdrew. “I faked being poor and sick to test you,” he said, his voice low and cold. “To see if you were like all the other women, just after my money.” “It seems you’re all the same.” I didn’t argue. I just looked at him and repeated my question. “Can I have my money back?” He yanked his arm away with such force that I stumbled and fell to the floor. “You dirtied my clothes, and you have the audacity to ask me for money?” 3 He saw my tear-filled eyes, and his tone softened slightly. “Don’t go to work for the next few days. Get some rest. I’ve scheduled some appointments with a few stylists. We’ll give you a makeover.” He paused, looking down at me. “Until then, let’s just pretend we don’t know each other, okay?” It was as if I hadn’t heard him. I enunciated each word with chilling clarity. “Give. Me. My. Money.” His patience snapped. His eyes darkened, and he ground out the words through clenched teeth. “If you just behave, I’ll give you any amount of money you want.” He said it as if he were making a great concession. “Even if you only got close to me for my money, fine. I accept it.” I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall freely. “Patrick, let’s break up.” He laughed, a smug, knowing sound. “Afraid I’ll think you’re a gold digger, so you’re preemptively breaking up with me? Is that the game?” “You knew my identity all along, didn’t you? You deliberately joined this event. Even crawling on the ground… you did that for us to see, didn’t you?” I stared at him in disbelief. I had never known him to be so delusional. “Patrick, how did I never realize how disgusting you are?” I spat. “If you hadn’t faked being sick, would I have had to work myself to the bone? My life would be better without you.” He sneered. “Still pretending?” “Without me, do you think you would have graduated? Without me, do you think you would have landed a job at a Fortune 500 company right out of college? You’re nothing without me!” I turned my back on him, no longer wanting to waste another breath. His voice, dripping with certainty, followed me. “You won’t last a week. You’ll come crawling back to me.” The next few days were a living hell. One by one, my part-time jobs suddenly “no longer needed me.” Then, my corporate job fired me, offering a generous severance package just to get me out the door. The moment the money hit my account, long-lost relatives I’d never met materialized, claiming my parents owed them money. After everything, all I had left was the three thousand dollars from the Gold Dust Challenge. I clutched my chest, each breath a struggle. Three years of sleeping only five hours a night had taken its toll. My body was shutting down. After buying my medication, I didn’t even have enough left for rent. Every company I applied to rejected me the second they heard my name. Just as I was about to lose all hope, I got an offer for a one-day gig. When I arrived, I realized my employer was Isabelle. She poured a glass of water on the floor and ordered me to clean it up on my hands and knees. One of her friends poked me with a stick, tsking theatrically. “You stink,” Isabelle said with a laugh. Then she kicked me into the swimming pool and watched me struggle to stay afloat, plastering hundred-dollar bills to my soaked, semi-sheer shirt. When I remained silent, she seemed to lose interest. “Don’t you have any dignity?” I gathered the wet bills, tucking them carefully into my pocket. “Dignity is a luxury for the rich. You’ve never been poor. You wouldn’t understand.” She smiled. “What about this? Does this mean anything to you?” I looked at the necklace in her hand, and my world stopped. It was the only thing my mother had ever given me. I had given it to Patrick on his birthday. The last thread of my sanity snapped. I lunged at her, but a strong hand caught me mid-air. Patrick held me back easily, looking at me like I was a misbehaving pet. “Isabelle has a weak heart,” he said calmly. “Just let it go. How much is the necklace worth? I’ll buy it from her for you.”

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Our honeymoon abroad was shattered by a violent uprising. To give his precious Bianca a better chance to escape, my new husband shoved me out of the car. I spent the next week in a war-torn hell, a living nightmare. On the brink of collapse, it was my childhood friend who descended like an angel and saved me. He helped me heal, he proposed, and when he learned I was pregnant, he was ecstatic. But at the peak of my happiness, I overheard him talking to my ex-husband. “Grace’s pregnant now,” he said. “Once the baby is born, we can use the cord blood to save Bianca.” My ex asked him, “Was it worth it? Marrying and having a child with a woman you don’t love, all for Bianca?” My friend gave a bitter smile. “You were willing to risk your life for her. I’m willing to sacrifice my own.” “As long as Bianca can be healthy and happy, I’d do anything.” And just like that, I understood. This beautiful, happy marriage was a lie from the very beginning. Both of my husbands, the men I had given my heart to, had only ever loved one woman: Bianca. If that was the case, there was no reason for me to cling to a loveless marriage. But why, after I left, did the man who swore he never loved me descend into madness, crying out my name? 1 Clutching the positive pregnancy report, I couldn’t wait to share the wonderful news with John. But outside a VIP hospital room, I saw something that stopped my world. My ex-husband and my current husband were both gathered around a hospital bed, fussing over Bianca. John, a man I’d always known to be cool and reserved, was looking at Bianca with a tenderness so profound it was practically liquid. “Bianca, don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’ve already arranged for the best medical team. As soon as the baby is born, we’ll do the surgery.” “But… will Grace agree?” Bianca’s voice was frail. “What happened before hurt her so much. I’m afraid if something else goes wrong, she might…” “You’re too kind, Bianca,” John murmured, gently stroking her hair. “You don’t need to worry about her feelings. If it weren’t for you, she never would have experienced my love in the first place. She should be grateful to you.” Inside the room, a picture of tranquil devotion. Outside, I was drowning in my own tears. My mind flashed back to the day my ex-husband, Damien, abandoned me. In a foreign country ripped apart by war, at my most desperate and helpless moment, it was John who had walked against the tide of fleeing people, who had held me tight amidst the thunder of artillery. “Don’t be afraid,” he had whispered, his eyes full of a deep, sincere emotion. “I’m here.” “To the ends of the earth, from this day to our last, as long as I’m alive, I will protect you with my life.” In that moment, I had naively believed I’d found true love. I saw John as my salvation. Who could have known he was the one who would truly push me into the abyss? Saving me, marrying me, having a child with me—it was all for his beloved Bianca. The stream of tears washed away the last vestiges of affection I had for John. I turned, found a doctor, and said, my voice hollow, “Please schedule an abortion for me. I want to terminate this pregnancy.” The doctor stared at me, shocked. “Are you sure? When your husband heard you were pregnant, his eyes were red with joy. If he finds out…” “He is not my husband,” I cut her off. He’s a liar who has ruined my life. The doctor sighed and said no more. After the procedure, I sat in the hallway, my face a ghostly white. John came rushing over, a box of fruit in his hands. “Grace, sorry to keep you waiting. I went to get you your favorite cherries. How did the check-up go? Is the baby okay?” He looked at me with such genuine concern. A bitter smile touched my lips. I had seen that same box of cherries in Bianca’s room. This “special gift” was just her leftovers. As for the baby… he was fine. He would be reborn into a family that would truly love him, not brought into a world of lies and deceit. Lost in thought, I barely noticed when John took my hand and gently rested his head against my stomach. “Grace, you have no idea how happy I am. I swear, after the baby is born, I will spend the rest of my life making you both happy.” Was this ‘happiness’ born from love, or from the guilt and compensation of a man who knew he’d done wrong? I didn’t know what to say. Claiming I was tired, I gently pushed him away. As soon as we got home, John received a text and rushed out the door. I went to his study. The bookshelves, his computer—everything was filled with research on leukemia treatments. This man, so proud his entire life, had humbled himself, begging and pleading for the sake of a sick Bianca. The safe didn’t hold company secrets. It held a notebook, detailing all of Bianca’s preferences. “Bianca has a sensitive stomach. Low-oil, low-salt meals. No spice.” “Bianca loves roses. The rose manor outside the city will be finished by the end of the year. I hope she’ll be happy when she sees it.” “Sweets improve her mood. She studied in France, so French pastries should suit her palate.” He had spent a fortune on jewels for her, built a fairytale manor for her. Every word was a testament to his deep, abiding love for Bianca. There was not a single mention of me, his wife, his childhood friend. The love I had prided myself on was not worth a fraction of what Bianca received. After a moment, my tears flowing freely, I dialed a number. “Hello, I’d like to arrange a faked death service.” “Three days from now. A car accident. One car, two bodies.” 2 After finalizing the details, I sent them the video I had secretly recorded at the hospital, instructing them to release it after my “death.” Then I printed a copy of the divorce papers and waited for John to come home. He didn’t return. By noon the next day, he was still gone. I was about to call him when I saw his face on the television. “John Cross, CEO of Cross Industries, kneels up 9,999 steps to the grand temple, praying for the safety of his beloved.” In the video, John’s knees were raw and bloody, but he ignored everyone’s pleas to stop, bowing his head with every agonizing step, his face a mask of pious determination. He told the reporter interviewing him, his voice thick with emotion, “As long as the one I love is safe, I would give up everything I have.” The interview went viral. Messages started pouring in. “Oh my God, Grace! He’s willing to do that for you when you’re just pregnant? Imagine how he’ll spoil you when the baby comes! I heard he invested tens of millions in the hospital just to ensure you have a safe delivery. He’s so devoted!” “I’m so jealous, Grace! You have a husband who loves you so much. You must be the happiest woman in the world.” Reading the messages, I felt a bitter, ironic twist in my gut. Once, I would have believed it. I would have thought I was the happiest woman in the world. But now, I knew the truth. This profound love belonged to Bianca. I was just a tragic prop in their grand, romantic drama. I cleared my message history and went to the hospital with the divorce papers. The moment John saw me, he became visibly agitated. He ignored the pain in his legs and rushed towards me. “Grace, what are you doing here? I’m so sorry, I must have worried you…” “Where’s the jade amulet?” John’s eyes flickered away. “I… I lost it. I’ve sent people to look for it. If they can’t find it, I’ll get you an even better gift.” How could he not find it? I had seen it hanging around Bianca’s neck when I passed her room earlier. I didn’t expose his lie. I handed him the last page of a document. “No need to wait. I’ve found a house I like. You can buy it for me.” “Of course!” he agreed, signing his name without a second thought. I frowned. “Aren’t you going to look at it? What if… what if it’s very expensive?” “As long as you like it, the price doesn’t matter.” His eyes were bright and sincere, without a trace of deception. I couldn’t help but marvel at it. To love someone so much that you would do anything for them. It was just a shame that the person being loved wasn’t me. I put the signed paper—the final page of our divorce agreement—in my bag and prepared to leave. But John, worried about me traveling alone while pregnant, insisted on taking me home. As we reached the hospital entrance, his assistant whispered something in his ear. John’s face changed dramatically. He grabbed my arm and pulled me in the opposite direction. 3 He pushed me into a room and forced me into a chair. “She’s O-negative! Take her blood!” Before I could react, a sharp needle pierced my skin. They drew six hundred milliliters of blood before they finally stopped. I was dizzy and weak, unable to stand. I heard a doctor say to John, “Don’t worry, sir. Miss Sterling will be fine.” Hearing this, John finally relaxed. He noticed me staring and offered a guilty explanation. “Grace, I’m doing this to build up good karma for our child. Even if it wasn’t Bianca in danger, we couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.” I was too sick to listen. I just nodded numbly. “I understand. It’s fine. You should stay and take care of her. I want to go home and rest.” “Don’t be silly. You’re my wife. Of course I’m staying with you.” John blew gently on the puncture mark on my arm, his face full of concern, and started to lead me home. On our way out, we ran into Bianca. “Grace, thank you for donating blood for me,” she said with a bright smile. “Let me treat everyone to dinner as a small token of my appreciation.” Before I could speak, John had eagerly agreed. At the restaurant, he ordered with practiced ease. He placed a glass of mango juice in front of me. “Bianca doesn’t like this. You have it. It’s good for the baby.” I smiled, a sad, weary thing. He remembered all of Bianca’s preferences but had forgotten my severe allergy to mangoes. Love and the lack of it are hidden in the details. It was painfully true. While John was in the restroom, Bianca casually revealed the jade amulet from under her collar, a smirk on her face. “Grace,” she said, her voice a saccharine whisper, “they say a woman who gets fooled once is a fool. What do you call a woman who gets fooled twice?” “Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with you.” I had no interest in her provocations. But she suddenly ripped the amulet from her neck, smashed it on the floor, and then slapped herself hard across the face, twice. “John!” she shrieked as he returned, “Grace still won’t forgive me! She said I was trying to seduce you and threatened to scratch my face!” She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. Seeing the red marks on her cheeks, John didn’t hesitate. He shoved me, sending me sprawling to the floor. “Grace! How can you be so vicious? How could you attack a sick person like that?!” The ringing in my head, the pain in my body—it all came rushing back, dragging me back to that week in hell. The foreign streets, the constant explosions. I was a leaf in a storm, tossed between life and death. And the man who had pulled me from that inferno, the man who had promised to love me for a lifetime, had now, for Bianca, used that same hand to push me into an even deeper abyss. The pain of the past and present collided. I began to tremble uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. John, snapping back to his senses, was startled by my state. He started to stammer an explanation. “Grace, don’t cry, I didn’t mean it. I just… I lost my temper…” Beside him, Bianca’s eyes also reddened. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t be here, getting in your way. Grace, I’m married now. I know I did things that hurt you in the past, but now I just want to live a quiet life with my husband.” “Since you hate me so much, I’ll just disappear from your life forever!” With that, she ran directly into the bustling street. John looked at me, his face a mask of conflict. After a brief hesitation, he chased after her. I swallowed my heartbreak and wiped my tears. Ignoring the strange looks from the people around me, I got up and left. On the way home, I received a text from John. “Grace, don’t be angry. Bianca is an important client. I only gave her the amulet to secure our future partnership.” “I didn’t mean to push you. I just saw things wrong. Bianca’s not well. Please, don’t hold it against a sick person. I’ll make it up to you when I get home.” Pathetic excuses. A dismissive attitude. It was all I needed to know that he didn’t care about the pain he had caused me. He was so sure of my love for him, so confident that I would believe anything he said. But how can a dead heart love again? Damien’s betrayal had tortured my body and soul. John’s lies had killed my heart completely. At this point, I didn’t even have the strength to cry. I stared out the window at the fleeting scenery, a single thought in my mind. John, I hope when you see my ‘body’ tomorrow, you can be just as indifferent as you are right now.

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1 The first thing the renowned actress Ava Aniston did upon her return to this life was march into her agency and terminate her contract. “Ms. Aniston, the Starlight Gala is just around the corner. Are you certain you want to proceed with a forced termination now?” the agent asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “Once terminated, the stage name ‘Ava Aniston’ will be legally voided. You’ll vanish from public records, untraceable.” Ava didn’t hesitate. She pulled a black card from her purse and settled the exorbitant cancellation fee. “I’m certain.” “The termination is successful,” the agent said, a note of finality in his tone. “The paperwork will take ten days to process.” Ten days. The exact date of the Starlight Gala. In her last life, she had been desperately in love with her husband, Michael Croft. A year later, after a devastating car crash, she watched him pull her lead surgeon away from her operating table to save the life of another woman—the one who held his heart. Given a second chance, she wanted nothing more to do with him. Outside the office, Ava bought a one-way ticket to New York, departing in ten days, then wrapped her fur coat tighter and stepped into the waiting car. A blizzard was raging. Wind and snow battered the windows, a chilling draft seeping through the seams. She rubbed her icy fingertips together, her gaze landing on the massive digital billboard in the city square. A new face smiled down from the screen, a high-end luxury ring prominently displayed on her ring finger. A week ago, that billboard had featured Ava, the industry’s youngest Best Actress award winner. But her boss, her husband, Michael Croft, the CEO of Aura Entertainment, had personally ordered it changed. It now featured Seraphina Moss, the internet’s latest sensation, and the woman he truly loved. Ava’s eyes stung. She looked away, opening her phone. Her last social media post was a photo of her and Michael, their hands intertwined. The caption read: “To have and to hold, one heart, until we grow old.” Michael had been the first to ‘like’ it. The comments below were a tidal wave of blessings, all celebrating their picture-perfect love. “Knew I’d see a pic of the boss here! His own feed is a ghost town.” “Goddess-level beauty! And Mr. Croft is so handsome! But why is he in a full suit on a tropical island? Isn’t it hot?” “You must be new. Eight years ago, the Croft mansion caught fire. Michael was already out, but when he heard Ava was still inside, he ran back in to save her. She was fine, but he suffered major burns. He hasn’t worn a short-sleeved shirt since. Always buttons it to the top.” “Who doesn’t know he’s the ultimate husband? He bought her a two-hundred-million-dollar private island in the tropics just because she gets cold easily. I’d light incense every day if my husband was half as good.” “Other celebrity couples might fail, but not these two. He’s obsessed with his wife.” Ava’s lips twisted into a self-mocking smile. Obsessed? Michael had been cheating for six months. Countless nights he’d claimed to be “working late” were spent at Seraphina’s apartment, while Ava foolishly believed he was building a future for them. Her finger paused, then exited the comments. Her gaze fell on that last post, the one he had liked. He never knew that the classic poem she quoted had a devastating first line: I hear you have a second love, and so I have come to break it off. The car pulled up to their villa. The storm was fierce. Even with the butler holding an umbrella, snowflakes found their way to Michael’s eyelashes. The icy specks couldn’t hide the warmth in his eyes. “Ava, you’re back.” He reached for her hand to warm it, but she saw a woman’s hair tie on his wrist—one that wasn’t hers. A chill washed over her. Before she could refuse, his hand was already covering hers, his thumb gently stroking the back. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he murmured. “I decorated the house. Come see if you like it.” The living room doors opened to a scene of calculated romance. The lighting was dim, the air filled with the scent of expensive candles. Ava walked to the dining table, but instead of her usual red wine, she asked the butler for sparkling water. Michael looked puzzled. “A change of taste?” Ava lowered her gaze, her eyes flickering for a split second towards her stomach. “Nothing. Just wanted to try something new.” Suddenly, Michael’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it and quickly declined the call. But it buzzed again, relentlessly. He shot Ava an apologetic look before answering. His face changed. “Sorry, Ava. Something urgent came up at the office.” Ava sipped her water. It tasted bitter. “It’s fine. You should go.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’ll handle it quickly.” She watched him disappear into his study, her eyelashes trembling. She knew what “urgent business” this was. In her past life, she had caught a glimpse of his phone that night: it was a picture of Seraphina, dressed in a nurse’s uniform. 2 Ava silently opened her laptop and navigated to Seraphina’s livestream. A comment flashed across the screen: “He’s still not answering? Babe, you sure your man isn’t with someone else?” Seraphina reapplied her lipstick, then stood to show off the curves accentuated by the tight nurse’s outfit. She smirked. “He’s probably just held up by some stray dog on the road. Can’t be helped, he has such a big heart.” As if on cue, a username—ForSera—appeared in the chat, gifting 100 virtual “castles.” A message followed: “Darling, don’t wear that for the stream.” The word “darling” felt like a boulder crushing Ava’s chest. Seraphina’s face lit up with a coy, triumphant smile. “I just wanted to make you jealous,” she pouted. “Besides, you didn’t spend Valentine’s with me. You can’t blame me for a little revenge, can you?” Michael said nothing more. Instead, ForSera gifted 9,999 of the most expensive “Cosmic Hearts.” Then, another message: “There’s one more gift. Look outside your window.” A series of deafening booms echoed through the night as fireworks exploded, illuminating the sky. Ava could see them from her own window. Seraphina’s livestream ended with her beaming, basking in the glow of a love that gave her the confidence to be reckless. “Sorry, everyone! My boyfriend is a little too possessive. Gotta go!” Back in the dining room, the steak grew cold. The candles were nearly burnt out. As Ava finished the last of her sparkling water, Michael finally emerged from the study. “That was Director Hayes,” he said. “I’ve secured the lead role for you in his new film.” Director Hayes was a legend, known for his critically acclaimed art-house films. A role in his movie was a guaranteed award. If she hadn’t just watched the livestream, she might have actually believed him. Ava was silent for a moment. “His films are mostly arthouse. They often have nude scenes. You don’t mind?” Michael paused. “Of course not. I’m not that petty.” No, she thought. You save all your possessiveness for her. The death of love always begins with the death of jealousy. “Tell him I’m passing,” Ava said, her voice flat. “I want to take a break for a while.” “Alright,” Michael replied, his tone gentle again. “We’ll find you something else next time.” There would be no next time. In ten days, she would be gone forever. That night, Michael held her as they slept, warming her cold hands and feet as he always did. The image of Seraphina’s billboard flashed in her mind. “Seraphina has only had a couple of minor roles,” Ava said, feigning casualness. “She’s barely transitioned from being an influencer. How is she getting so many major endorsements?” Michael’s body tensed. “Her boyfriend must be promoting her,” he said smoothly. The words “her boyfriend” were a sharp, physical pain in Ava’s chest. She gripped the corner of the duvet. “Is it really a good idea for Aura to sign her? What if she wants to get married, or have a baby? Can she afford the breach of contract fee?” “Her boyfriend loves her so much,” Michael said without hesitation, “he would definitely pay the fee for her. And marry her.” He paused, perhaps realizing how certain he sounded. “I’ve met him,” he added. So that was it. That was his real plan. All Seraphina had to do was say the word, and he would abandon everything to be with her. What, then, was their history? A ten-year dream? Ava said nothing more. In the darkness, silent tears traced a path from her eyes to the pillow. Once Michael’s breathing evened out, she slipped out of his arms and went to the study. Moonlight streamed in, casting a lonely glow on her frail figure. Her eyes fell on their university graduation photo on his desk. A bitter laugh escaped her. From the time she was a little girl, her goal was clear: become the most famous actress in the country. It meant being beautiful, talented, and fit. No scandals, no romance. She had been disciplined for eighteen years, ready to dedicate her life to her art. Michael was the one exception she had made. The day they got together, he’d told her, “Ava, I’ll never make you regret this. I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world.” Apparently, that promise had a ten-year expiration date. Ava opened a drawer and pulled out the divorce papers. With a steady hand, she signed her name. Michael, she thought, when you realize in ten days that you can never find me again, will you feel even a flicker of regret? 3 The next morning, Ava went to the city’s most private hospital. Michael called. “The driver said you went to the hospital. Are you feeling unwell?” “It’s nothing. Just my usual cycle issues.” Ava closed her eyes and tore the paper in her hand into tiny pieces, dropping them into the trash. On one of the fluttering scraps, two words were printed in stark red ink: Pregnancy Confirmed. After hanging up, Ava’s hand instinctively went to her stomach, and memories flooded back. When they were young and struggling, Michael had acted as her manager, drinking with investors until he vomited blood just to get her a ten-minute supporting role. She had spent three days filming in freezing water, her body aching, but she never gave up on the chance he had fought for. That night, in their tiny, cramped apartment, he’d shaken her awake, his face filled with a panic she’d never seen before, not when investors belittled him or his family berated him. “Ava, you’re bleeding.” They had lost the baby. A doctor told them the fetus had already started to form. Their tears fell together. “I’m so sorry, Ava,” he’d sobbed, holding her tight. “It’s all my fault. I promise, it will never happen again.” The second time she got pregnant, she told him the good news. His response was two cold, emotionless words. “Get rid of it.” Seeing her shock, he’d added, “Ava, you’re at the peak of your career right now. We’ll have one next time.” But “next time” never came. “Ms. Aniston, are you sure you want to terminate?” The doctor’s voice pulled Ava from her memories. He frowned at the test results. “The fetus is developing very healthily. But your body is quite weak. If you terminate this pregnancy, you may never be able to conceive again.” Ava’s heart stuttered. In her last life, Michael had brought her to this same hospital. He’d told her the fetus was unhealthy, and the doctor had recommended an abortion. After that, she was never able to get pregnant again. It was the biggest regret of her life. She looked down at her still-flat stomach. She could feel a life growing there. Heaven had given her a second chance, and with it, this child. This time, she wouldn’t let go. The snow outside had stopped. Sunlight filtered through the clouds, but it couldn’t illuminate the desolation in her eyes. “Thank you, doctor. I’m keeping it.” New York, she thought, must have plenty of single mothers. The next day at the office, her manager, Catherine, rushed over, beaming. “Ava, Mr. Croft got you the Velocity endorsement!” Velocity was a high-end sportswear brand. The campaign would involve intense physical activity. Ava’s face hardened. She went straight to the top floor, to Michael’s office. But she froze at the door. Seraphina was just coming out, a small, red mark visible on the pale skin of her neck. “Ava,” she purred. “Ava, what are you doing here?” Michael sounded flustered, quickly buttoning his collar. There was an edge of blame in his tone. Ava’s breath hitched. She pushed past Seraphina. “Turn down the Velocity deal. I’m not taking any new projects for a while.” Michael frowned. Ava was a notorious workaholic. Even when “resting,” she only ever paused film projects, never endorsements. “Ava, are you sure it’s just your cycle? Are you hiding something else from me?” She froze, but her voice was steady when she replied. “It’s nothing, really.” He finally relaxed, taking her hand. “You should stop taking those birth control pills, then. Let your body recover. If you get pregnant, we’ll have the baby. I’ll take good care of you both.” Ava nodded silently. He had said the same thing in her past life. But when she was actually pregnant, he had dragged her to the hospital without a second thought. Michael, do you have any idea that I took eleven bottles of birth control pills last year alone, all for you? You’re the one who forced me to abort our child. You don’t deserve to be a father. 4 There was a knock on the door. Seraphina’s manager came in. “Mr. Croft, Seraphina’s schedule needs your signature.” “You go ahead,” Ava said. “I’m going home.” Halfway to the elevator, she realized her left earring was missing. She retraced her steps back to Michael’s office. Through the heavy wooden door, she heard his irritated voice. “I told you not to bother me when Ava is here.” Seraphina’s voice was a playful pout. She was sitting on his lap. “Michael, don’t be so harsh. She’s the one who interrupted our fun.” Her voice turned sultry. “I wore this especially for you. Don’t you want to see?” There was a pause, then the sound of a sharp intake of breath, followed by soft, heated moans. The cold metal of the door handle seeped into Ava’s palm, spreading through her veins until it reached her heart. Even knowing what he was, hearing it with her own ears was like a knife twisting in her gut. Her fingers turned white as she pulled out her phone and dialed his number. The phone inside the office rang for half a second before being silenced. No hesitation. Ava’s heart went numb. She walked away, a zombie in her own life. Two hours later, he called back. “I was in a meeting. What’s up?” The lie was so blatant it was almost funny. “Nothing,” she said, her voice smooth. “I dropped an earring, but I’ve found it now.” You’re the better actor, Michael. The awards should all go to you. Two days later, at a family dinner, Michael’s mother deliberately turned the lazy susan just as Ava reached for a piece of fish. “You eat so much, but you still haven’t produced an heir. Even a dog would have had a litter in ten years.” “Do you know what they used to call ‘stars’ in ancient times?” his father chimed in, his disgust unconcealed. “Actors. Performers. Things to be gawked at. Your priority should be to quit your job and give this family a son!” “I will,” Ava said finally. “I’ll be retiring.” And in five days, I’ll be leaving with my baby forever. Michael squeezed her hand. “Dad, Mom, don’t pressure her. We’ll figure out the baby situation.” Just then, Seraphina appeared at the door, holding a bottle of expensive ginseng wine. “Mr. and Mrs. Croft,” she said, beaming, “I felt such a connection with you both. If you don’t mind, I’d love to be your goddaughter! Ava is so busy, not like me. I just want to be here for you.” Michael’s eyes went cold, but his father laughed. “I wish I had a daughter-in-law as thoughtful as you! Not like some people who can’t take a hint!” His mother patted the seat beside her. “Come, dear, sit with us.” In ten years of marriage, they had never once invited Ava to sit beside them. “This is a family dinner,” Michael said, his voice dangerously low. “You shouldn’t be sitting there.” Tears sprang to Seraphina’s eyes. She shot Ava a resentful glare and left. Michael looked like he was about to follow, but seeing Ava still quietly eating, he stayed, though his attention was clearly elsewhere. His parents’ criticisms rained down on her again. Finally, Ava stood up. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going home.” She left so quickly Michael didn’t see the look on her face. It wasn’t until she had locked herself in a bathroom stall that she finally let herself collapse, the tears she’d been holding back breaking free. She dug her nails into her palms. Don’t listen. Don’t look. Don’t care. The doctor said stress is bad for the baby. They don’t want you. It doesn’t matter. The baby is your only family. Suddenly, a notification popped up on her phone. Seraphina had posted a photo from the dinner, tagging Ava. Having dinner with my boyfriend’s family and ran into my idol, Ava Aniston! What a coincidence. Though no faces were fully visible, Ava recognized the private room, the table setting, the back of Michael’s head.

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The husband I’d buried seven years ago was standing in my living room. And he hadn’t come alone. He’d brought a woman with him, and he expected me to step aside, to simply hand over my life as his wife. “Jade almost lost her eyesight saving me,” he said, his voice laced with an infuriating mix of arrogance and impatience. “I’ve already promised to marry her. If you sign the divorce papers without a fuss, I’ll… let you keep living here.” I let the silence hang in the air for a beat before I spoke, my voice a calm, level thing. “Actually, I’m already married to someone else.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stubborn, Nora. Everyone knows you’re head-over-heels in love with me.” 1 But I wasn’t the Nora from seven years ago. I was no longer that girl who had worshipped the ground he walked on, the girl who had debased herself for even a scrap of his affection. “I have no reason to lie to you. I’m married,” I repeated. Tony shot me a look of pure contempt, a sneer twisting his lips. “Nora, cut the act. I’m not here to ask for your permission. I’m telling you. Whether you like it or not, I’m marrying Jade.” The woman, Jade, tugged at his arm, her voice dripping with a cloying, false innocence. “Tony, honey, please don’t fight with… her. It’s my fault, I’m just bad luck. You should just send me back.” She made a show of turning to leave, but her hand remained firmly clamped on his arm. Her eyes, when they met mine, held a flash of triumphant possession. Just as she’d intended, Tony’s expression softened instantly. “Jade, don’t say that. You promised we’d be together forever.” He then shot a confident look back at me. “Don’t worry. Nora is crazy about me. She does whatever I say. We’ll get married, no problem.” Seven years, and his shamelessness had only grown more profound. Before I could even respond, he glared at me, his voice low and threatening. “You’ve enjoyed the title of Mrs. Ashworth for seven years. It’s time to let Jade have her turn. She’s suffered too much, and I won’t let you bully her.” A bitter, mocking smile touched my lips. “I haven’t done a single thing. Don’t you dare try to pin your drama on me.” Tony’s face darkened at my words. He studied me, his expression turning cold. “You think you’re so important? If it weren’t for the fact that you waited seven years for me, I would’ve kicked you out of this house without a second thought instead of wasting my breath on you.” Kick me out? He wouldn’t get the chance. And what on earth made him think I’d waited for him for seven years? The day he abandoned me at the altar was the day I gave up on him entirely. Seven years ago, I was sitting on my bed in a cloud of white tulle and silk, waiting for Tony to pick me up for our wedding. He never came. He ran. The car he was supposed to be in went off a cliff on the way. Only the driver survived. For seven long years, everyone thought he was dead. I picked out his gravesite myself. Marrying into the Ashworth family was a future my father had fought tooth and nail to secure for me. Tony could spit on the honor of my family, the Logans, but I could not. Besides, he wasn’t the only man in the Ashworth dynasty. In these past seven years, I’ve been a wife and a mother. If he hadn’t reappeared like a ghost, I would have forgotten he ever existed. So, seeing him now, my heart was a placid lake, without a single ripple of emotion. “Tony, let me be perfectly clear one more time. You and I are not husband and wife,” I stated, enunciating each word. “Legally, you are a deceased person. Who you choose to marry is none of my concern.” 2 Tony let out a dismissive snort. “Took you long enough to get the picture. If you hadn’t been so obsessed with marrying me back then, I never would have had to run off to another country and hide out for seven years.” So that was it. The driver had managed to jump from the car, and I’d always wondered how Tony, in the same vehicle, couldn’t have. It wasn’t a tragic accident. It was a disappearing act. He hadn’t changed one bit—still selfish, arrogant, and utterly devoid of responsibility. When the news of his “death” had arrived, his mother had fainted on the spot, falling into a sickness so deep she nearly followed him to the grave. His cruel words were overheard by the family butler, Mr. Harrison, who had just rushed in. “Young Master Tony, you mustn’t say such things.” He turned to Tony, his face pale. “She is now the wife of the President of Ashworth Corporation.” “The President’s wife?” Beside him, Jade’s eyes darted back and forth. “Tony, darling,” she asked, feigning innocence, “didn’t you say your grandfather would only ever pass the presidency to you?” Tony froze for a second, then stared at me blankly. “My father only has one son. Who else is qualified to inherit the company besides me?” I watched him, my expression unmoving. Did he leave his brain overseas? Did he have any idea how foolish he sounded? Mr. Harrison was sweating, wiping his brow with a trembling hand. “Young Master, what are you saying? The Madam is married to the Third Master. The Third Master is the President now. Don’t you remember? Your uncle, Sebastian.” After Tony had left me stranded, I had stood on the street in a daze, surrounded by the pointing fingers and pitying stares of strangers. That’s when Sebastian Ashworth had appeared. He said he would marry me. At that moment, I was lost, helpless. Everyone knew it was my wedding day, and my groom had died on the way to the church. Jinx. Black widow. Bad luck. Those words were nails pinning me to a cross of public shame. And then, a man offered to marry me, to prove to the world I was none of those things. He would save my family from disgrace and pull me out of the mire. Why wouldn’t I have said yes? Sebastian had never planned on attending his nephew’s wedding; he had only returned to the country at the behest of the old patriarch. Yet, fate had twisted our paths together. Tony looked at me with a mocking laugh. “Everyone in New York knows my uncle Sebastian is practically allergic to women. All he cares about is business. He wouldn’t give a desperate fangirl like Nora the time of day.” Sebastian was a legend in the business world, a true prodigy who had personally built half of the Ashworth empire. Within the family, he was treated with the reverence of a king. To this day, I still didn’t fully understand why he’d chosen me. There were so many women more beautiful and gentle than I was. The butler was still trying to reason with him. “Young Master, it’s the truth. You can check the news online, or ask anyone in the family if you don’t believe me.” Tony just scoffed. He pointed to a random gardener, then to a maid. They both gave him the same answer. His composure finally cracked. His face hardened as he glared at me. “Well, well, Nora. You work fast, don’t you? I’m gone a few years, and you’ve already got the entire household wrapped around your little finger, all of them lying for you.” I remained calm, refusing to get drawn into his delusions. My marriage to Sebastian was a fact, set in stone. Whether Tony believed it or not was irrelevant. He’d been spoiled rotten his entire life. Fearing he’d cause more trouble, the butler quickly had someone call Sebastian’s office. “Get the Third Master’s secretary on the phone, now! Tell him he needs to come home.” Sebastian was supposed to be in a major meeting about an aerospace project. The family patriarch and Tony’s mother were also out. Otherwise, Tony never would have had the chance to act so outrageously toward me. In the middle of the standoff, my son Leo suddenly ran into the room. “Mommy, why didn’t you come back to play with me?” 3 The moment Tony saw Leo, his face twisted into a mask of pure fury. It was undeniable. Leo was a miniature, masculine version of me. Tony’s gaze shot back and forth between me and the child. Finally, he raised a trembling hand and pointed at me. “You… you dared to betray me? You even have a… a bastard.” “Who is he?” he snarled. “Tell me whose bastard this is!” Leo, having inherited Sebastian’s temperament, didn’t quite grasp the meaning of the word, but he knew it wasn’t a compliment. He propped a hand on his hip, looking like a tiny, serious adult. “Who are you calling a bastard? My daddy says people with dirty mouths need a good spanking.” Leo was six. Everyone in the family knew him, but he’d never met Tony. “You little bastard, you dare talk back to me?” Tony spat. That was it. I saw red. The precious child I had carried for nine months, and this man dared to call him that, over and over. “Tony, you watch your damn mouth,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “or you’ll regret it.” Jade, however, looked positively gleeful. “This child looks like he’s in elementary school, doesn’t he? Don’t tell me you were pregnant before you and Tony were even supposed to get married?” The accusation was meant to be a dagger to the heart. Tony’s eyes, when they locked on mine, were murderous. There is nothing a man despises more than his wife’s infidelity. Especially from a woman who had once claimed to love him and only him. “He’s six,” I said calmly. “Nora, you tramp!” he exploded. “I’m gone for seven years, and you not only find another man but have his child? Have you no shame?” Only seven years? We had only known each other for a few years before he took off for seven. And he was the one who abandoned me. Mr. Harrison rushed to explain. “Young Master, that is the Third Master’s son!” Tony’s anger boiled over. “You shut up! You traitor! Where are my parents? Who let her get away with this? Cheating on me and acting like she’s the one who’s been wronged!” “The entire Ashworth family, from top to bottom, knows about this,” the butler pleaded. At the time, Tony’s parents, wracked with guilt over his disappearance, hadn’t objected to Sebastian marrying me. This sent Tony into a full-blown rage. His eyes, like daggers, scanned the room. “Who’s the bastard’s father? Who dared to cuckold an Ashworth? Does he have a death wish?” No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find a single plausible suspect among the staff. I let out a cold, ironic laugh. Jade put on a concerned facade. “Nora, you should just confess. If you push Tony too far, even I won’t be able to help you.” I shot her a withering look. “We’re all vipers in this pit. Drop the act.” Before I could react, the world tilted. A sharp sting exploded across my cheek. Tony had slapped me. “Shut your mouth,” he hissed. “You have no right to talk to Jade like that, you shameless adulterer.” I hadn’t seen it coming. My cheek instantly began to throb and swell. Seeing me hit, Leo charged at Tony like a little bull. “You hit my mommy! I’ll kill you!” “Leo!” 4 Tony snatched him up by the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Tony, put him down! Put the child down!” The other servants rushed forward. “Young Master, please, put the boy down!” “The Third Master will not forgive this!” Everyone in the house knew Leo was the apple of Sebastian’s eye, his absolute treasure. But Tony just sneered. “Get lost if you don’t want to get fired. Today, I’m going to teach this pair a lesson they won’t forget.” My stomach clenched. “Tony, what are you doing?” His face was a mask of ice, his aura suddenly frigid and terrifying. “According to the law, you committed adultery during our marriage and even had a child. I can demand you leave with nothing and compensate me for my emotional damages.” But we were never married. My hands began to shake with rage. “Tony, we were never married! How could I have cheated?” “Put my son down!” Leo’s little legs dangled and kicked in the air, but he wasn’t crying. He wasn’t afraid. The surrounding staff, intimidated by Tony’s threats, hesitated, only offering weak, useless pleas. Tony ignored them all. He shot me a dark, meaningful glance. “After I’m done with this bastard, I’ll deal with you personally.” With that, he started walking toward the door, still holding Leo. The staff exchanged helpless looks, but no one dared to intervene. Finally, Mr. Harrison, the butler, threw himself in Tony’s path. Tony’s face went black. “What? You dare to block me?” The butler, sweating profusely, bowed his head respectfully. “Young Master, let’s talk this through. Please, don’t be rash. Put the young master down.” Seizing the opportunity, I lunged for my son, but Jade grabbed me, holding me back. She was smiling, a look of pure triumph on her face. “Nora, what are you doing? Please don’t do anything foolish.” I spun around and slapped her so hard the sound echoed in the hall. “If anything happens to my son, I will make you both regret the day you were born.” Jade stumbled back dramatically, crashing into a nearby vase and cutting her head. The sight of her blood sent Tony over the edge. He directed all his fury at Leo. “You dare touch Jade? I’ll beat this little bastard to death!” He lifted Leo higher, poised to slam him onto the marble floor. For a split second, my heart stopped beating. I flew forward on pure instinct. “Leo!” Seeing his father’s madness, Leo, finally overwhelmed, burst into tears. “Get away from me!” Tony roared at me. “I’ll deal with you later!” I wrapped my arms around my son, clinging to him for dear life, refusing to let go no matter how hard Tony tried to pull me away. Finally, his patience snapped. He drew back his foot and kicked me squarely in the chest. The air rushed out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Mr. Harrison and the others finally rushed in, trying to pull him off, but he threw them aside. “Young Master, stop! That’s your uncle’s wife!” one of them cried, clinging to his leg. Even with a man wrapped around his leg, Tony was trying to kick me again. And then, a voice from the doorway—cool, indifferent, and dripping with ice. “What, exactly, is going on here?” “You will all give me a reasonable explanation. Now.”

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The moment he saw me, the word escaped his lips: “Mom!” But he was still just as eager to learn. My husband, Jason, is one of the nation’s leading pharmaceutical magnates. The day he perfected his new drug, “Lethe Water,” my son, Damian, smiled for the first time in years. “If we give this to Mom, will she finally stop loving us?” My husband nodded, his decision absolute. And so, my son brought the potion to me, tricking me into drinking it. I laughed at the bitter irony and drained the glass. Father and son breathed a sigh of relief. At last, they could be with their idealized first love, Layla, without guilt or consequence. But later, why did they come to me, crying, over and over again? “Do you really not love us at all anymore?” 1 When my son, Damian, held the cup of dark green liquid out to me, I knew. It was time. He and his father were making their move. I didn’t take it. I just watched him, my gaze silent and heavy. For fifteen years, I had never looked at him with such dead stillness. I knew what was in that cup. It was the latest creation from the labs of Vance Pharmaceuticals, my husband Jason’s company. Its name: “Lethe.” A simple, eloquent name for a potion that would sever the drinker’s emotional ties to their most beloved. And I, without a doubt, loved Jason. I loved my son. A fortune teller once told me my heart was a finely-tuned instrument, so sensitive and full of feeling that it would eventually shatter from the vibrations of love and loss. She was right. I walked with Jason for eighteen years, from a cramped basement lab to the gleaming corporate office. Along the way, we had our son, Damian. I walked with him for fifteen years, from a helpless, wailing infant to the sharp, brilliant young man he was today. They were my entire world. My love for them was instinctual, a force that flowed from the very core of my being. But then, when Damian was eight, Jason’s unforgettable first love returned. Layla. She stood there, her dark hair coiled in an elegant bun, a pure white dress draping her slender frame. Her eyes smiled, her lips curved, and she gave a small, gentle wave. “Jules, you silly goose,” she’d said. “You’re not as handsome as you used to be.” And just like that, Jason, a man who had already conquered his world, was conquered himself, undone by a sliver of moonlight from his past. He had once told me he hated her, that she had chosen a future abroad over a future with him. It was I who had pulled him back from the edge of a bridge, I who had stood by him as he clawed his way out of that basement and took his seat at the head of his empire. My son, Damian, fell for her too. He had always been a cold child—brilliant, calm, a perfect reflection of his father. But when Layla ruffled his hair, a blush crept up his cheeks, and he shyly called her “Aunt Layla.” His “Aunt Layla” had stolen both their hearts with effortless grace. They became an inseparable family of three, and I became the outsider, a ghost in my own home. I fought. I screamed. I cried through entire nights, my sanity fraying at the edges. But all they said was, “Stop acting like a madwoman. It’s embarrassing.” Layla never called me a madwoman. Instead, she left a letter, saying she was returning my family to me. A letter she made sure to give directly to Jason. Then, she vanished without a trace. Her departure didn’t save my family. It shattered it completely. Jason clutched that letter, his eyes bloodshot with rage, and called me an unreasonable harpy who had driven Layla away. Damian, his teeth clenched, threw his school backpack at my head and swore he would never call me “Mom” again. From that day on, the life bled out of our home. Jason moved into an apartment at his company headquarters. For seven years, we did not share a bed. For seven years, Damian never spoke a word to me willingly. The word “Mom” never again passed his lips. Until now. Now, he was serving me tea. His face was a mask of eager anticipation, waiting for me to drink the Lethe. 2 The dark green liquid swirled like a miniature vortex in the cup. Damian’s hands weren’t steady. At fifteen, he was still just a boy. A self-mocking smile touched my lips. “What kind of tea is this?” I knew it wasn’t tea. But a part of me, the part with that damned, finely-tuned heart, still clung to a sliver of hope. I was born to torture myself. “It’s just normal tea. Drink it,” Damian mumbled, his eyes darting away, lashes hiding his gaze. He had learned to lie. I looked away, struggling to keep my voice even. “Where’s your father? It’s my birthday. If you’re serving me tea, the least he could do is bring me a cake.” My tone was thick with a sarcasm born from seven birthdays spent in silence. “It’s your birthday today? Oh, right. It is. That’s why I came home early.” Damian glanced up. “Dad will be back soon. He had to take care of something first.” As if on cue, the front door opened. Jason strode in, immaculate in his suit. His usually stern, cold face held a flicker of the same barely concealed anticipation as his son’s. They were both waiting. Waiting for me to drink. Once I did, my so-called “finely-tuned heart” would no longer feel a thing. I wouldn’t be a hysterical harpy anymore. I wouldn’t embarrass them. Jason and Damian could finally stand by Layla’s side, openly, and welcome her as the true matriarch of the family. As for me? I wouldn’t love them anymore, so why would I ever cause a scene again? That was their logic. Their perfect, cold solution. I let out a short, bitter laugh and took the cup. Jason, still by the door, pressed his lips together. He took two steps forward and then stopped. Seeing his empty hands, I asked pointedly, “Did you forget to bring my present?” “What?” His brow furrowed into a familiar frown. It had become his habit when speaking to me, a clear signal of his impatience. “Dad, it’s her birthday,” Damian chimed in, covering for him. “You said you bought a gift, remember?” Jason feigned a moment of realization. “Right, of course. I know it’s your birthday. I bought you that grand piano you always wanted. It’s at the office. I forgot to have it delivered. I’ll bring it tomorrow.” He was a much better liar than his son, his expression a perfect mask of sincerity. I nodded slowly, my gaze dropping to the liquid in the cup. Father and son fell silent. A strange, heavy quiet descended upon the house. They were waiting. 3 But I wouldn’t drink. Not yet. Eighteen years of devotion had finally curdled into a bitter, stubborn resentment. How could I just let it all go? They were still lying to me, right to my face, pretending they remembered my birthday. I would tear down their facade. Glancing from one to the other, I slammed the cup down on the table. “Thanks, but I’m not thirsty.” “You have to drink it, even if you’re not thirsty! It’s from your son!” Jason’s composure finally cracked. He strode over, picked up the cup, and thrust it at me. “Drink it. You’ll break his heart.” Damian nodded eagerly beside him. I wanted to laugh. To throw my head back and howl with derisive laughter. My voice dripped with scorn. “Don’t be in such a rush. I won’t keep you from your precious Layla. She’s waiting for you, isn’t she?” I had known for a while that Layla was back. Why else would Jason have been living at the lab, working day and night to perfect his little potion? The color drained from Jason’s face. His fingers tightened around the cup. He finally understood. I was toying with them. I knew exactly what this was. Damian’s young face went pale, his eyes filled with guilt. I sneered. “Don’t panic. I just want to know one thing. Was this your plan with Layla all along?” This potion had been in development for years. I had been a part of their calculations for a long, long time. They had certainly worked hard to get rid of me. “You… Fine. Since you already know, there’s no point in hiding it.” Jason’s expression shifted in an instant, his emotions locked back down. He was always a man of cold control. Now, it was time to lay the cards on the table. “We started thinking about this seven years ago,” he said, his voice laced with resentment. “You have only yourself to blame. You were unreasonable, a complete harpy!” “And I,” he continued, a martyr, “refuse to abandon the wife of my youth. Our son cannot sever the blood that ties him to you. So, using Lethe to make you… normal… is the best solution for everyone.” Normal? So, loving you was abnormal. “Hahaha! Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!” I gave him a thumbs-up. Jason had never seen me like this, so brazenly defiant. His composure shattered into rage. “What’s with the sarcasm? It’s come to this. I have nothing more to say. Drink it!” He pointed at the cup, delivering his final ultimatum. Damian, emboldened, echoed him. “Just drink it! Drink it, and I’ll still acknowledge you as my mother. If you don’t, we’re done!” Well, that sounded fantastic. And you know what? I was suddenly a little thirsty. “Down the hatch, then.” I let out one last, derisive chuckle and raised the cup. I had no more questions. I had no more love. It was time. Father and son tensed, their eyes wide, fixed on me, burning with a desperate, hopeful light. I would not disappoint them. I drank it all in one go. Let this water tear my heart to shreds. I… am finally letting you go.

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At my uncle’s funeral, my little sister addressed the mourners, her voice trembling for all to hear. “Mom was having an affair with Uncle Ben,” she sobbed. “My sister Sharon isn’t Dad’s real daughter. I wanted to keep this secret forever, but Mom, what you’ve done… it’s gone too far.” I’m Sharon. And it’s true; I’ve always been the spitting image of my uncle. My mother, her face a mask of agony, denied everything. But with Uncle Ben dead, there was no way to prove it. My father, in front of everyone, humiliated my mother. He was going to throw us out. I quietly took out my phone and started a live stream. The truth is always so much more brutal, and so much more entertaining, than a lie. 1 My mom stared at my sister, Mandy, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mandy, why would you say that?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m your mother. How could you do this to me?” If I’m being honest, of the three of us kids, Mom always loved Mandy the most. It was a constant refrain in our house: “She’s the youngest. You’re the big brother and sister, you have to let her have her way.” So Mandy grew up as the family princess, spoiled rotten. Now, she cowered behind our father, tears streaming down her face. “Mom, I know you love me, and I love you, too! But you and Uncle Ben… you shouldn’t have done those things. And then you had Sharon.” She glanced at Dad. “Daddy loves me so much. I just couldn’t lie for you anymore.” “Every time Uncle Ben came over, you two would sneak off together. I was always too scared to say anything. But this time… you got him killed. I have to speak up now.” My aunt, Uncle Ben’s widow, lunged at my mother, screaming, held back by a crowd of relatives. My father’s hand cracked across my mother’s face. “You whore,” he snarled, his face contorted with rage. “How could you do this to me? You’re no better than an animal.” I rushed to shield my mom, and he kicked me so hard I crumpled to the floor. He pointed a shaking finger at my face. “You bastard!” Every eye in the room was on me. My uncle’s funeral portrait was right behind my head. The resemblance was uncanny. We looked like we were cast from the same mold. So no matter how vehemently my mother swore her innocence, no one believed her. Especially when the one accusing her was the daughter she had cherished for twenty years. Everyone believed Mandy. 2 “I wasted my life raising you,” my mother cried, pointing a trembling finger at Mandy. “I wasted all my love on you. I lost my son because of you, and this is how you repay me!” She collapsed onto the floor, shaking uncontrollably. To be betrayed by the child you treasure most… there is no greater pain. Ten years ago, Mandy fell into the river. My older brother, Leo, jumped in to save her. Mom jumped in, too. But Leo couldn’t swim. Soon, both he and Mandy were on the verge of drowning. As Mom hesitated, unsure who to save first, Leo, ever the little hero, sputtered, “Mom, save Mandy first! I’m a big boy, I can hold on.” Mom listened to him. She chose to save Mandy. But by the time she dragged Mandy to the shore, Leo was gone, swallowed by the river. His body surfaced two days later. The guilt nearly destroyed my mother. She’s suffered from insomnia ever since. She was on antidepressants and sleeping pills for eight years, only stopping in the last two. After that, with just the two of us girls left, a heavy cloud settled over our house. My father, busy with work, cried his eyes out for a week after Leo died, and then he threw himself back into his career. I never saw that grief in his eyes again. He even tried to comfort my mom. “It was an accident. Nobody wanted it to happen. But it did, and the living have to go on living. We still have two daughters. You can’t let this destroy your health.” My mom was a small business owner. She ran a chain of ten successful bakeries. After Leo’s death, she shut them all down. On the surface, she seemed to recover, but I knew she was still trapped on that riverbank. Her pillow was always dry at night and soaked by morning. For the last ten years, we’ve bought pillowcases by the dozen. But even in her deepest pain, she never once blamed Mandy. 3 She treated her just as she always had. At dinner, the best piece of chicken always went to Mandy first, and I got the smaller one. Eventually, because Mandy loved chicken wings so much, I didn’t even get the small ones anymore. One time, Mom secretly saved one for me. When Mandy found out, she cried for a day and a night, throwing a tantrum and accusing Mom of playing favorites. That evening, when Dad got home from work, he had to take her, and only her, out for McDonald’s to calm her down. Mom pulled me aside later. “Your sister’s young, she doesn’t know any better,” she whispered. “Just let her have her way. I’ll take you out for McDonald’s tomorrow, just us. I won’t let you feel left out.” Because of how I was raised, I grew up always giving in to her. But I’m only one year older than she is. “Mom, I’ve been a good daughter to you, too!” Mandy wailed now, her voice rising. “How can you blame me for what happened to Leo? You were the one who told us the river was shallow enough to play in! If you hadn’t said that, Leo wouldn’t have died, and I wouldn’t have almost died! You made me the scapegoat when I was little, and I let you. But I’m educated now. I know right from wrong. I have to tell the truth!” She grew more and more agitated, her performance for the crowd becoming more theatrical. “For all these years, I’ve had to walk on eggshells in this house! After what happened, Mom never loved me the same. Whenever her depression got bad, she’d either hit me or scream at me. One time, she even tried to push me down the stairs! I put up with it all. I told myself she still loved me. But there are two daughters in this house.” She shot me a venomous look. “And the way Mom treats Sharon is completely different. Sharon gets the lean meat, I get the fat. Sharon wears designer clothes, and I have to wear stuff from Shein! I don’t want to complain about it, but I’m your daughter, too! Why are you so biased?” And just like that, I understood why Mandy was dressed so… shabbily today. 4 A few days ago, she’d bought a $9.99 t-shirt, $15.99 black pants, and $19.99 canvas sneakers online. I’d asked her, “Why the sudden change in style? Buying such cheap clothes?” She just smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m doing some volunteer work in a few days, sis. I don’t want to look too flashy.” Normally, nothing she wore cost less than five hundred dollars. Our family was well-off. My dad believed in raising his daughters to have the best, so he gave us each a $5,000 monthly clothing allowance. I usually saved most of mine, but Mandy blew through hers every single month. Last year, she transferred sixty thousand dollars from my account without my permission, all to buy clothes and shoes. That’s when I discovered that my dad was actually giving Mandy ten thousand a month, while I only got five. And that’s when I finally realized, with a sickening lurch, that my father treated us differently, too. My mom was devastated, unable to defend herself. The solution was simple: a DNA test would clear everything up instantly. I suggested it. But my father was resolute. “You’re the spitting image of your uncle. We don’t need a test. Your face is all the proof I need!” Mandy continued her tearful performance. “My aunt can’t have children. Uncle Ben wanted a child of his own, so he targeted Mom.” And because it was true that my uncle was childless, almost everyone believed her story. Under a barrage of dagger-like stares, I asked my father, “Are you sure you want to throw this family away?” 5 Dad’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head with rage. If people hadn’t been holding him back, he would have beaten me to a pulp. “Sharon is not my child. From now on, she has nothing to do with me. The house, the cars, the company—I built all of that myself. You two can get the hell out with nothing but the clothes on your backs.” His decision was final. I tried one last time. “Uncle Ben and Mom are siblings. Genetically, it’s normal for nieces and nephews to resemble their uncles. You can’t just listen to one side of the story and forget that Mom has been by your side through thick and thin. You know better than anyone how devoted she’s been to you and this family.” My mom once told me that when she and Dad were dating, my grandparents were dead set against it. He was an orphan. Marrying him meant no dowry, no big wedding, and no grandparents to help with the kids. I’ve seen pictures of my mom when she was young. She was beautiful. She could have had any man she wanted. When I was little, we were poor. Dad worked odd jobs while Mom woke up before dawn to make and sell tofu and bean sprouts. With her hard work, they saved up their first bit of money, and she gave it all to him to start his business. She said he was a brilliant man who just needed a chance. All these years later, her judgment was both spot-on and dead wrong. She thought she was happy. Her husband was still the same loving man, and they were financially secure. Just yesterday, my dad was washing her feet, calling her his “darling wife.” So this sudden, absolute betrayal from him left her more confused than anything. She just kept staring at him, her eyes blurring with tears that she stubbornly wiped away, again and again. Finally, her voice was a broken whisper. “David… I don’t even know who you are anymore.” My dad’s eyes were red with fury and disgust. “No, you’re the one who’s been fooling me for twenty years! You are the most vile, shameless woman I have ever known! There’s nothing more to say. I never want to see you again!” My grandparents rushed forward, pleading with my dad to calm down, to at least get through the funeral for my uncle’s sake, to not make such an ugly scene. My dad had a great reputation. He was known as an honest, hardworking, doting husband. He was always good to my grandparents. Everyone always said my mom had hit the jackpot. Today was the first time he’d ever lost his temper and hit his wife and child in public. So when this bomb dropped, everyone instinctively sided with him. “Fine,” my dad said magnanimously. “For the sake of the family we once were, I won’t make a scene here. But the divorce is happening.” He took Mandy’s hand and started to leave. I stopped him. “Since we’re airing our dirty laundry, we might as well get it all out.” I looked him straight in the eye. “You’re the one choosing to disown me. So from this moment on, you’re no longer my father. You’ve been waiting a long time for this day, haven’t you?” He glared at me, a look that said he wanted to kill me. I had already contacted a lawyer, hoping to handle this quietly, to minimize the damage. But now? Now I was ready to go to war with my own father. 6 My grandma immediately grabbed my arm. “Sharon, honey, don’t be rash. This isn’t the time or place. Please, no more fighting.” She almost stumbled, leaning on me heavily, her voice a desperate whisper. “Sharon, just apologize. You can’t let this family fall apart.” My grandpa chimed in. “Your father’s furious right now. You’re the child, you can’t be so stubborn.” They both assumed that even if he wasn’t my biological father, after twenty years of calling him Dad, there had to be some bond between us. My dad’s face was a cold, hard mask. “I am not her father! From this moment on, all ties are severed. She was never mine to begin with. I’m done being the fool!” I stared at his merciless face and said, word by word, “You’re right. You have been a fool for twenty years. And you have raised a child that isn’t yours. But that child isn’t me.” My aunt rushed forward to cover my mouth. “Silly girl, stop talking! Isn’t this embarrassing enough? This isn’t the right time. No matter what you’re going through, you need to bury your… your uncle first.” Even she believed my dad and Mandy. Her voice was thin and unconvincing. She tried to pull me away, but I wrenched my arm free. “Someone is going to be embarrassed today, but it’s not going to be me or my mother!” My aunt whispered urgently, “Stop being so stubborn! I know this is hard to accept, but you have to think about your mother! She’s seriously ill, her medical bills are going to be huge! You can’t let her divorce your father!” The relatives were split into two camps, one trying to calm my dad, the other trying to reason with me. But we’re both cut from the same stubborn cloth. Neither of us would back down. This had to be settled, right here, right now. Even my mom, heartbroken, tried to stop me. “Sharon, let it go. It’s no use. Your father won’t believe us. From now on, it will just be the two of us.” My mother is a kind soul. Even after Mandy had stabbed her in the heart, she couldn’t bear for me to expose Mandy’s true identity in front of everyone. 7 But I’m not my mother. I believe in an eye for an eye. I ignored her and pointed directly at Mandy. “You’re the bastard,” I spat. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong in this family. Did you really think I didn’t know?” My father was stunned. He never imagined I could possibly know the truth about Mandy. But he recovered quickly. “Your mother knows about Mandy,” he said, his voice full of self-righteousness. “Even if she’s not my biological child, she’s better than you! Your birth was a product of deceit and filth. Mandy is a victim of circumstance! You are nothing like her!” He was right. I wasn’t like her. She was the product of a love affair. I was the product of a conspiracy. My grandmother was frantic. “What is going on?!” My dad, with an air of noble sacrifice, addressed the crowd. “Mandy… my wife and I found her on the side of the road. We felt sorry for the poor child and took her in. We told everyone she was ours because we didn’t want her to be treated differently by family and friends. My conscience is clear on this matter!” Everyone looked at my mom, who was silent. They took her silence as confirmation. My grandmother stumbled over to my dad, grabbing his arm. “David, my dear boy, please, calm down. All these years, I’ve loved you like my own son. Let’s not even talk about whether this is true or not. You two have been married for so long, you’ve been a father to Sharon… please don’t say things you’ll regret.” My dad, ever the good guy, let his eyes redden. “Mom, I can tolerate anything else. But this… this humiliation, I can’t. She could have cheated with anyone! But with her own family—” He broke off, too ashamed to finish. He wasn’t the broke kid from years ago. He was a successful man with a reputation. Now that the secret was out, he wasn’t about to swallow his pride. His sister, my “aunt,” tried to mediate. “David, you were able to accept Mandy, who has no blood relation to you at all. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive Sharon, too?” Meanwhile, other relatives were swarming my mom. “Catherine, stop crying! Go apologize to David! You’re family, there’s nothing you can’t get through.” “Catherine, you were in the wrong here. You need to be honest with him, beg for his forgiveness.” “Think about Sharon, if not yourself! You can’t let this family fall apart!” “Exactly! How will Sharon face the world after this? Catherine, don’t be stubborn. You’re not well. Now is the time to be humble.” Just then, the view count on my live stream shot past ten thousand. The comments were a torrent of abuse aimed at my mother. “This is insane. Worse than any soap opera.” “Look at how her own family is siding with the husband. That tells you everything you need to know about his character. What a thankless woman.” “Back in the day, women like her would have been run out of town on a rail.” “That poor girl, Sharon. Having a mother like that is the worst kind of luck.” My mother looked at my father and Mandy, her face a mask of bitter disappointment. “I have never done anything to betray you. The biggest regret of my life was picking Mandy up off the street and bringing her into our home.” Mandy just kept her head down, crying. “I know I shouldn’t have done this. I just didn’t want to see Dad get hurt anymore.” My father’s patience snapped. “Enough of this useless chatter. I’m having my assistant draft the divorce papers right now.”

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