It was the fifth year of my marriage to a beautiful, ruthlessly guarded heiress when the news crossed the Pacific: the rigid, untouchable woman who had raised me was dead.
When my executive assistant’s overseas call finally came through, it was five in the morning in Los Angeles.
“Sir, Virginia is gone. The Carlisle family is in total chaos. You’re the only one who can come back and take control…”
Virginia Carlisle. It had been a long time since I allowed myself to hear that name. I froze, the phone pressed hard against my ear.
Back when I was just the foster son of a dynasty, navigating the turbulent waters of my youth, I only ever did two things that crossed the line.
The first was the night Virginia drank too much, and I used the blur of the alcohol to cross a boundary that should have remained sacred, spending one reckless, absurd night tangled in her sheets.
The second was boarding a plane to marry another woman before she ever woke up, keeping my departure a total secret.
From that day forward, I severed an eighteen-year bond with the woman who had been my entire world since the orphanage. A clean, brutal cut.
I never imagined that my return to my homeland five years later would be to collect the body of the woman who had haunted my every waking thought.
Yet, on the day of the funeral, a little girl in a black velvet dress broke free from the grip of the surrounding relatives and threw herself directly into my legs.
Instinct took over. I bent down and scooped her up into my arms.
She scrubbed at her tear-stained, slightly scraped face, her small chest heaving with violent sobs.
“Daddy, you finally came home!”
“They’re all bad people. They just want Mommy’s money, and they won’t stop picking on me!”
Looking down at this little girl—whose face was a near-perfect mirror of Virginia’s—I was instantly violently pulled back to the very first time I met her mother.
…
1
For as long as I could remember, I had no one. No mother, no father.
I kept myself alive by running petty grifts and picking the pockets of oblivious tourists down by the pier.
That was my life until I was seven. I slipped my fingers around the cold metal of a Rolex on a wealthy woman’s wrist, only to be caught dead to rights.
The woman, draped in a custom-tailored designer dress, didn’t strike me. She didn’t scream for the police.
Instead, she crouched down to my eye level and, like a magician, produced a piece of candy, pressing it into my dirty palm. Her smile was devastatingly gentle.
“Rowan, I’m so sorry. I’m late.”
“My name is Virginia Carlisle. I was an old friend of your parents.”
“From now on, I’m going to be your legal guardian. You can call me Aunt Virginia. I’m going to take care of you for the rest of your life.”
And she kept her word.
She went to my parent-teacher conferences. She shielded me from drunken brawlers in the streets. She taught me which fork to use at a gala, and how to hold my posture at a grand piano.
She took a feral, street-corner stray covered in thorns and painstakingly molded him into a refined, respectable man.
But I was too greedy.
Being her ward, her “nephew” in name, wasn’t enough. I wanted to monopolize her. I wanted every ounce of Virginia Carlisle’s goodness to belong solely to me.
My original plan had been to wait until her birthday to confess the truth about that absurd, boundary-shattering night we shared when she was drunk.
I had it all mapped out.
If she rejected me, I was prepared to act like that wild seven-year-old again—throwing a massive, destructive tantrum until she finally caved and nodded yes.
But before I could utter a single word, she stood up at the family’s annual banquet and publicly announced her engagement to Donovan Croft, the golden boy of a rival tech empire.
The entire table went dead silent. Every member of the Carlisle family stared at me, terrified I was going to flip the dining table and tear the room apart.
But this time, I simply reached into my pocket and slid a velvet box across the linen.
The box snapped open to reveal a pair of flawless, natural blue diamonds, catching the chandelier light in a dazzling, icy display.
My foster mother, Helena—the woman who had officially signed my adoption papers on Virginia’s behalf—froze, hesitating.
“Rowan, these diamonds are worth millions. Weren’t you planning to have these set into a wedding ring…?”
I kept the smile on my face broad, immaculate, and entirely polite.
“I originally bought them for Aunt Virginia anyway. They make a perfect engagement gift for my new uncle.”
The moment the words left my mouth, a flicker of uneasy dissonance crossed Virginia’s eyes. Her tone dropped into something that was half-warning, half-reprimand.
“Rowan. When you were younger, you threw your fits and I indulged you.”
“But if you cause trouble now, I will not let it slide.”
Beneath the table, my fingernails dug into my palms until they nearly broke the skin. I tipped my chin up, keeping the smile locked in place.
“You’re absolutely right. I promise I won’t let your kindness go to waste.”
Virginia frowned. She could sense something was off, but before she could press, her phone lit up.
It was Donovan. He was waiting outside to take her to see a fireworks display.
She grabbed her coat, but paused at the doorway, looking back at me with a strange hesitation.
“Rowan, do you want to come with us…?”
I blinked, then shook my head, forcing a light, breezy tone.
“You go ahead. Have a great time with Donovan.”
Virginia stared at me for two heavy seconds. Then, she walked out without another word.
The second the heavy oak door clicked shut, the smile fell off my face like dead weight.
Helena looked at me, her eyes softening with a sudden, sharp pity.
“Rowan, it’s okay to cry if it hurts.”
Instead of crying, I suddenly dropped to my knees on the hardwood floor, bowing my head respectfully to the woman who had mothered me.
Helena gasped, rushing forward to pull me up.
“What on earth are you doing, child?”
My expression was dead serious.
“The Carlisles have housed me, fed me, and raised me for twenty years. I know what I owe this family, and I have no right to ask for more.”
“I know the board has been desperate to secure a partnership with the Laurent family overseas, but you haven’t had an in. I’m willing to marry their eldest daughter.”
Helena went pale. She gripped my forearms tight.
“Rowan, you want to marry Daphne Laurent?!”
“Do you have any idea who she is?”
“The rumors say she’s a ruthless, paranoid eccentric. You’d be throwing yourself directly into the fire!”
I didn’t pull away. I just softened my voice to calm her.
“Mom, those are just rumors. And honestly, don’t people think I’m a bit unhinged too?”
“Unhinged enough to ignore morality, act like a tyrant, and try to chase away any man who comes near Virginia.”
“The Laurents keep a notoriously low profile. A marriage alliance is the only way we get a seat at their table.”
“You and Dad have indulged me my whole life. Let me do something for the family for once.”
I laid out the strategic benefits of the marriage, my voice growing steadier, my eyes harder with every word.
Helena’s eyes rimmed with red. She looked at me for a long, agonizing moment before finally reaching out to smooth my hair.
“Alright. If your mind is truly made up. The Laurent family will send someone to collect you. The wedding will take place in Los Angeles in two weeks.”
Hearing the timeline, a bitter, hollow laugh echoed in my chest. What a coincidence.
My wedding day was scheduled for the exact same day as Virginia’s engagement party.
Helena suddenly seemed to remember something, her tone turning frantic.
“But I haven’t even prepared a dowry for you… I need to have your father transfer some of his company shares to your name immediately—”
I cut her off.
“Mom, I don’t need anything.”
“And please, keep this marriage a secret from Virginia for now.”
“I don’t want her to think I’m doing this to force her hand, or to ruin her engagement to Donovan.”
Helena couldn’t change my mind. She just let out a shattered sigh and pulled me tightly into her arms.
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Five years in the suffocating depths of the Blackwood forests, where I was sold like cattle by the girl who stole my life.
I ran ninety-nine times.
And ninety-nine times, they dragged me back, treating my body like a canvas for their cruelty. Bones that shattered and mended crookedly. A belly that swelled with forced pregnancies and then hollowed out. A tongue snipped away, piece by agonizing piece, until only a mutilated stump remained.
Before my hundredth attempt, I decided to end it all. I was going to poison every last one of them. But then, crouching in the shadows of the old barn, I overheard Hank, the local foreman, talking to one of his men.
“The ultra-wealthy really know how to amuse themselves,” Hank chuckled, spitting tobacco onto the dirt. “Setting up a whole mock-up facility out here in the middle of nowhere just to treat the fake daughter like a rabid dog.”
“The poor bitch is too stupid to realize this entire setup was just an elaborate lie to keep her out of the way while Miss Christine carried her pregnancy to term in peace,” the other man laughed.
“She can try to escape a thousand times. A fake is just a sewer rat in the end, nothing more than a stepping stone for Christine.”
Despair, cold and absolute, swallowed me whole. I didn’t hesitate. I uncapped the bottle of agricultural herbicide and drank it down, letting the burning chemical slide down my throat. My lungs caught fire, my stomach melting. I rolled in the dirt, clawing at my chest, but through the agony, a ragged, breathless laugh tore from my throat.
Free. I was finally going to be free.
…
When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed.
I curled into myself, every breath feeling like I was inhaling crushed glass.
A few minutes ago, Hank had shuffled into the room, looking pale and rubbing his hands together nervously. “Mr. Cross… I think we went too far this time. Miss Isla… she might not make it.”
Jackie Cross walked to my bedside. He looked down at me, those cold, beautiful eyes I had once loved now completely vacant.
“Isla, you left me no choice.”
“You stole Christine’s life for eighteen years. You lived in her luxury, slept in her bed. This is your penance. This is what you owe her.” He bent down, his icy fingers wiping away the dried blood at the corner of my mouth. “Now that Christine has safely delivered her baby and taken her rightful place as the heir to the Whitmore estate, your punishment is over. I’m bringing you home. You’ll work as a maid in my house, and you can still be close to me.”
He tossed a glossy shopping bag onto the bed.
“I brought you new clothes. Change, and let’s go.”
But the poison was already liquefying my lungs. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even lift a finger.
Seeing me lie there motionless, Jackie’s patience thinned.
“Get up. I’ve explained everything to you. What are you throwing a tantrum for?”
“Did eighteen years as a spoiled princess make you forget who you actually are?”
A bitter wave washed over me. A tantrum? Who was I to throw a tantrum? Who would even care? My parents—the people who looked at me with pure hatred the moment the truth came out? Or him, the man who couldn’t wait to discard me? My life had been an endless nightmare, and now, I wasn’t even allowed to die in peace.
My silence infuriates Jackie. His expression darkened, and he turned to Hank, his voice sharp.
“Is this how you’ve been managing her? She’s completely forgotten how to behave.”
Hank paled, bowing and scraping. He grabbed my hair and dragged me off the bed, slamming my head against the concrete wall.
Thud.
A sickening crack. Warm blood instantly flooded my vision, blinding me. He did it again. And again. The pain was a blinding white light, my consciousness splintering.
Suddenly, a slender figure burst into the room, throwing herself between us.
It was Christine. Tears streamed down her flawless face as she fell to her knees, clutching Jackie’s legs.
“Jackie, please! Don’t do this to her!” she sobbed, looking like a tragic angel. “Being taken by those awful people… maybe it was just my destiny. I never blamed her! She’s a victim too. Please, just let her go!”
Jackie’s expression softened instantly, his chest heaving with protective tenderness. He pulled her gently to her feet.
“This isn’t your fault, Christine. You’re too sweet. She’s just ungrateful.”
He glared at me.
“Do you hear her? You stole her life, and she still has the grace to forgive you. What more do you want?”
“Get up! Stop playing dead to get attention. If you behave, I will still let you be a maid at my estate.”
I opened my mouth, but only a wet, raspy wheeze came out. My lungs felt like lead weights. I knew my time was short. Soon, I would be free.
Hank mutters, “Mr. Cross, that herbicide… it’s deadly. Even livestock don’t survive three days after drinking it. Miss Isla… she’s really dying.”
“Shut up!” Jackie snapped.
“She’s a fraud. She spent eighteen years manipulating the Whitmores with her tears. Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to fall for it now?”
Christine clung to Jackie, whimpering, tugging his sleeve. “Jackie, don’t be so hard on Isla… even when she poisoned my baby, I forgave her…”
Jackie kissed her temple. “You’re too good for this world. If she wants to play the martyr, let’s see how long she can keep up the act.”
He gestured to his bodyguards. They grabbed me by the wrists and dragged me out like a dead animal, down the sterile hospital hallway, and tied my wrists to the trailer hitch of his SUV.
The engine roars. The car surged forward.
The rough asphalt tore through my skin, leaving a thick smear of crimson on the road. I screamed—a guttural, voiceless shriek of pure survival instinct. But the driver only accelerated.
Jackie watched from a distance, a cold smirk on his face.
“Look at that. I knew she was faking.”
As my bones cracked against the pavement and my throat closed up, my life flashed before my eyes. The girl I used to be. The parents who loved me. The boy who once bought me a star and named it after me, who filled the night sky with fireworks on my eighteenth birthday, whispering, “Isla, I will protect you forever.”
But that fairytale shattered. A single DNA test stripped me of my name, my family, my humanity. I became the parasite.
I gave up my room, my inheritance, my dignity. But I couldn’t give up Jackie. I thought he loved me, not my last name.
Until the night I caught him and Christine outside a hotel. When I demanded answers, he only frowned.
“Isla, the woman I marry must be the Whitmore heiress. Are you?”
The SUV speeds up. The physical agony was secondary to the numbness in my chest.
Then, I hallucinated. I saw the twenty-three-year-old Jackie, wearing a tailored suit, kneeling before me.
With my last ounce of strength, I murmured, “Jackie… let me go… let me die…”
The illusion shattered. The real Jackie stood over me, his face twisted in disgust.
“Stop looking at me with those filthy eyes!”
“If you hadn’t pushed Christine down the stairs and caused her miscarriage, you wouldn’t be here today! You poisoned her because you couldn’t stand that she took your place, your parents, and me.”
“Whatever you’re suffering now is not even a fraction of what she went through!”
It was always my fault. Because I was the “fake.”
When Christine threw herself down the stairs, I was the one who pushed her. When she shattered the family heirlooms, I was the culprit. She even poisoned herself to miscarry her own child, just to rid herself of me forever. A single tear from her, a soft whimper of, “I don’t think sister likes me,” was enough to seal my fate.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t even have the strength to bitter-smile.
Just as I began to drift into unconsciousness, a hand yanked me up by the collar. The pressure on my chest eased slightly, and I gasped for air.
Jackie sneered. “Kowtow to Christine three times. Promise you will serve her as her dog for the rest of your life, and I might let you live.”
A hollow laugh echoed in my mind. My legs… they put metal plates in my knees three years ago after my fiftieth escape attempt. I couldn’t even stand, let alone bend them to kneel.
“Still playing the proud princess?” Jackie growls, kicking me hard in the ribs.
Christine quickly steps in, grabbing his arm. “Jackie, don’t force her. She was raised as a Whitmore. How could she ever humble herself to bow to me? Let it go.”
Her “kindness” was the perfect fuel.
Jackie threw her hand off and laughed coldly. “Won’t bow? Then I’ll make sure she can never stand again.”
He nodded to the bodyguard. The SUV shifted into reverse, the engine revving.
Panic, cold and sharp, shot through me. Hank pinned my shoulders to the ground.
Crack.
The heavy tire rolled over my legs. The pain was absolute, white-hot, dividing my body in two.
Jackie watched me writhe in the dirt. “Ready to bow now?”
As the reverse lights flared again, I trembled. I knew what would happen if I didn’t. Using my elbows, I dragged my broken body forward, pressing my forehead into the gravel. Once. Twice. Three times. Every movement tore my lungs apart. When I finished, my arms collapsed, and I fell face-first into the blood-soaked dirt.
Suddenly, Christine rushed over and kneels, wrapping her arms around me in a mock embrace. She leaned in, her voice a poisonous whisper in my ear.
“Since you’re dying anyway, I’ll tell you a secret.”
“You actually are the real Whitmore heiress. I paid a fortune to fake that DNA test.”
My eyes widened. The blood in my veins turned to ice.
She smiled, a sickeningly sweet expression. “I was always smarter, prettier than you. Why did you get to have the perfect life while I rotted in the dark? I wanted to see the great Isla Whitmore crawl in the dirt. Look at you now. You look like a sewer rat. It’s beautiful.”
Before I could process the horror, she shoved me away, cupping her hands over her face, crying hysterically as she ran to Jackie.
“Jackie! She tried to bite me! She’s insane!”
Before I could make a sound, Jackie’s heavy boot crashed into my jaw. My teeth shattered, blood pooling in my mouth.
“You crazy, ungrateful bitch!” Jackie screamed. “Even now, you try to hurt her!”
I tried to scream the truth. But my severed tongue could only produce wet, gargling noises. No… I’m the daughter… I’m the real one…
Jackie frowned. “What? Are you still trying to claim Christine is the fake? Still trying to play the victim?”
I nodded desperately.
He backhands me across the face. “I can’t believe I ever loved you. To lie like this, even at death’s door!”
The tears that slipped down my cheeks were mixed with blood. What a farce. I was the victim, yet I was begging my torturer to believe me.
Jackie turned to the guards. “If she’s only going to use that mouth to spit poison and lies, she doesn’t need it. Tear out whatever is left of her tongue and throw her in the pool to wake her up. She needs to learn her place.”
Hands pinned me down. I watched the metal shears slide into my mouth. Then, a rush of copper, a blinding wave of agony, and absolute silence.
They dragged me to the edge of the estate’s swimming pool and threw me in.
The freezing water rushed into my nose and throat. I thrashed wildly, but a hand clamped onto the back of my neck, pushing me deeper. Over and over, until my limbs grew heavy, and the light above the water began to fade.
Through the water, I heard Jackie’s muffled, tender voice. “Don’t worry, Christine. I’ve handled her. Once she’s a maid in our house, she’ll never hurt you again.”
A bodyguard whispered, “Mr. Cross… she’s stopped moving. She’s not coming up.”
Jackie sighed impatiently. “Leave her. She’s just acting. When she’s swallowed enough water, she’ll beg for mercy.”
Acting.
They stole my parents. My love. My life. What did I have left to act with?
The dark water filled my chest. The pain faded into a quiet, cold weight.
Finally. It was over.
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I was touching up my lipstick in the bridal suite of our engagement party when Austin brought his charity-case underclassman inside.
“Sophie had a little accident with her dress,” he said, his voice casual, as if he were asking to borrow a pen. “Can she wear your dress for a bit?”
I froze, the lipstick hovering a millimeter from my lips. Before I could process the words, he added, “Everyone knows you’re the star of the night anyway, Char. It doesn’t matter what you wear.”
A young girl stood hovering by the doorframe. Her white canvas sneakers had been scrubbed so hard the fabric looked frayed at the seams. “Hi, Charlotte,” she whispered, her voice tiny and trembling.
Sam stepped right in front of me, shielding me from them. “Are you out of your mind, Austin? This is Charlotte’s engagement party. She went to thirty different boutiques before she finally found this dress!”
Austin looked at me. It was that look. For five years, every time he looked at me with that soft, pleading desperation, I gave in.
I gently patted Sam’s arm, silently asking her to step back, and clicked my lipstick shut.
“She can wear it,” I said.
Austin smiled, a look of immense relief washing over his face. He reached out to stroke my hair. “I knew you’d understand. You’re always so good to people, Char. On our actual wedding day, I’ll buy you the most beautiful gown in the world.”
Sophie changed into my silk gown. Austin knelt on the floor, carefully smoothing out the delicate train so it wouldn’t drag on the dusty tiles.
“You look beautiful, Sophie,” he murmured softly.
I watched them, a cold ache spreading in my chest. I had seen that exact gesture before. During our engagement photoshoot, the photographer had asked him to do the same thing for me. Austin had scoffed, calling it cheesy and dramatic.
I reached down and slipped my engagement ring off my finger.
Just like that.
I was done being the understanding one.
…
“Who is that lovely girl? She looks absolutely stunning in that dress.”
Austin’s aunt stood by the buffet table, holding Sophie’s hand and looking her up and down with an approving smile.
Sophie lowered her gaze, her lips curving into a shy, delicate smile. Before she could speak, Austin chimed in from behind her.
“She’s a junior from my old college department. Her family’s had a really tough time lately. Her own dress got ruined tonight, and Charlotte felt so bad for her that she insisted on lending her this one.”
His aunt nodded, her eyes shifting to me as I stood nearby in my plain knit sweater and jeans. “But why is Charlotte dressed like that? It’s her engagement party, and she looks so… plain.”
“She doesn’t care about stuff like that,” Austin answered for me, his arm wrapping around my shoulder. “Our Charlotte is the most generous girl in the world.”
As his weight pressed against me, I took a half-step to the side. His hand slipped off, falling into the empty air.
He frowned slightly. “What’s wrong?”
I kept my eyes on the floor. “Nothing.”
Sam grabbed my arm from behind and dragged me into the quiet hallway near the restrooms.
“Are you seriously just going to let this happen?” she demanded, her voice shaking.
“What else am I supposed to do, Sam?”
“Go out there and tell everyone that the dress is yours! Tell them that she isn’t his fiancé—you are!”
I looked at her eyes, which were turning red with frustrated tears. “Sam, you’re more upset than I am.”
“How can I not be?” Sam’s voice cracked. “Do you have any idea what they’re saying at his friends’ table?”
She pulled out her phone and tapped on a video clip uploaded to Instagram by one of Austin’s college buddies.
In the video, Sophie was standing to Austin’s right, wearing my silk gown. Austin’s hand was resting casually behind her waist.
Someone off-camera yelled, “The bride is gorgeous, man!”
Sophie looked down, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. She didn’t correct them.
Austin didn’t either. He just laughed and waved his hand dismissively.
Underneath the post, there was a comment: Austin’s fiancé is so pure and lovely. It had over thirty likes, and not a single soul had replied to correct it.
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, closed the video, and handed the phone back to Sam.
Laughter erupted from the banquet hall again. Sophie was being led around to toast the tables. She handled herself beautifully, tilting her glass just slightly as she leaned in.
I had taught her that.
Only last month, she had told me she was terrified of attending her first formal networking event. She asked me how to hold a glass and carry herself, and I had spent an entire afternoon practicing with her in my living room.
“Can you call me an Uber, Sam?”
“You’re not going back in?”
“There’s nothing left to go back to.”
I walked over to the reception desk in the lobby, pulled the ring out of my pocket, and set it down next to the guestbook. A thin layer of dust coated the dark wood; the ring settled with a quiet, hollow clink.
My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a notification from Austin’s Instagram.
“So grateful to everyone who came out tonight.”
He had attached three photos. One of the crowded banquet hall, one of him raising a glass with his college friends, and the last one… Sophie, wearing my silk dress, smiling warmly at the camera.
He had tagged Sophie’s account.
His caption read: Huge thanks to Sophie for helping me host tonight. You worked so hard.
There was no mention of me. Not a single photo. Not even my name.
I turned off the screen.
When I crossed the street to wait for my ride, the lights of the hotel lobby were still blazing. Even from across the asphalt, I could hear the faint, muffled hum of music and laughter.
Before getting into the car, I looked back one last time.
Austin was standing on the steps of the hotel entrance, looking down at his phone. Sophie walked out from behind him, gently draping his coat over his shoulders.
He pulled the lapels together to bundle up.
The movement was so natural, so perfectly practiced.
“Charlotte, you left your ring on the guest table.”
At two in the morning, Austin’s call came through. His voice was calm, completely unhurried.
“I know.”
“Well, I kept it safe for you. I’ll put it back on your finger tomorrow.” He paused, his tone softening into that familiar, soothing register. “I know tonight was hard on you. Sophie’s dress was a real emergency, but you letting her borrow yours… everyone saw how sweet and understanding you were.”
“Austin, let’s break up.”
The line went dead silent for three seconds. Then, he let out a low chuckle.
“Charlotte, I know you’re hurt about tonight. But breaking up? Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”
“I’m serious.”
“You say we’re breaking up every time you get upset,” he said, his voice dropping into the patient, slightly patronizing tone he used to defuse my moods. “Fine. Once you’ve slept on it and calmed down, call me. I’ll come pick you up.”
“Austin—”
“Char, be good. Tomorrow I’ll take you to that new sushi spot downtown—the one you’ve been begging to go to.”
I didn’t say anything.
After a few seconds of silence, his voice hardened.
“Charlotte, it’s been five years. When have you ever actually had the heart to leave me?”
The question was quiet, but it left me breathless. He didn’t believe me. He genuinely believed I was incapable of walking away.
I hung up.
Sam walked out of the kitchen holding a glass of water and sat down across from me on the sofa.
“What did he say?”
“He said he’s coming to pick me up tomorrow.”
“Are you going?”
“No.”
She wanted to say something, but she looked at my face and swallowed her words.
I stared at my phone screen. The top of my call log showed his contact name—a name I had saved five years ago: Austin followed by a little sun emoji.
We had just started dating back then. He had waited for me outside my dormitory in the freezing November wind, holding a paper bag of warm, cinnamon-dusted roasted almonds.
“My roommate told me you walk the long way home every day just to smell these,” he had said, his breath fogging in the cold air.
“They’re so expensive, though,” I had murmured. “Eight dollars a bag.”
He had laughed, pressing the warm paper bag into my hands. “From now on, you tell me whenever you want something. Whether it’s eight dollars or eight hundred.”
His eyes had been so bright and clear back then. They made me feel completely safe.
Sam suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence. “Do you remember when he actually started to change?”
I thought about it for a long, quiet moment.
“I don’t know.”
Maybe it was the day Sophie first showed up, crying that she couldn’t afford her tuition. Maybe it was the first time Austin looked at me and said, “Just let her have this one, Char.”
The change had been so slow, so imperceptible. A fraction of a millimeter every day, until one day I looked back and realized there was nothing left.
Sam tucked a throw blanket around my shoulders. “Don’t go back there. Just stay here with me.”
“Okay.”
At three in the morning, his name lit up my screen again.
It rang for three seconds, then went silent. He didn’t call back.
He knew my patterns. In his mind, I just needed one night to cry it out. When the sun came up, I would go home on my own.
Just like I always did.
I swiped to decline the call.
It was the first time in five years I had ever ignored him.
“Sam, let me in.”
The following evening, Austin was standing on Sam’s porch, holding a white paper pastry bag. Sam blocked the doorway, her arms crossed.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“I know she’s angry,” he said with a tight, apologetic smile. “Just let me talk to her for a second. I’ll leave right after。”
“Talk to her about what? How you couldn’t even manage to put her name in your post last night?”
Austin’s smile vanished. “Sam, this is between Charlotte and me.”
“Don’t call her Charlotte. You don’t get to use her name anymore.”
I walked over to the door and gently laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “It’s okay, Sam. Let him in. I’ll talk to him.”
Sam stepped aside, her eyes cold as she watched him walk past.
Austin kicked off his shoes and set the white bag on the coffee table. “I brought that chestnut crepe cake you love. I didn’t get a chance to give it to you yesterday.”
I didn’t touch the bag.
He sat down on the sofa opposite me. “Char, what do you want me to do?”
“I told you. I want a breakup.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re throwing away five years over a dress?”
“It was never about the dress.”
“Then what is it?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back. It was his classic posture—the patient, long-suffering partner waiting for me to finish my tantrum so we could get back to normal.
“On your birthday last year, I booked that reservation at the French bistro two months in advance. As we were walking out the door, Sophie called saying she had a stomach ache. You drove straight to her apartment.”
“She was completely alone in the city, Char. What if it had been appendicitis?”
“You got there and realized she had just eaten too much takeout. And then you stayed and watched television with her all night while I sat alone at that restaurant until closing.”
He rubbed his temples. “I apologized for that, didn’t I? I bought you that designer necklace to make up for it.”
“And then you bought her the exact same one, didn’t you?”
“She was going through a really hard time—”
“She’s always going through a hard time, Austin,” I said, my voice low and steady. “When is she ever actually happy?”
Austin fell silent.
“Last month, when I had that business trip, you told me to take an Uber to the airport because you had to help Sophie move into her new dorm.”
He opened his mouth to protest. “She had so many heavy boxes—”
“And you gave her my handmade cotton quilt. The one my mother quilted by hand and sent to me from home.”
“That quilt was getting old and frayed, Char. I told you I’d buy you a luxury down comforter to replace it.”
“It was mine! My mother sat with her reading glasses on for a week, stitching those patterns. She wrapped it in three layers of plastic just so the stitches wouldn’t get ruined in the mail!”
The living room went dead silent. Sam stood by the kitchen door, her knuckles white as she gripped the frame.
I didn’t cry.
I used to cry. I used to scream and demand to know why he was doing this to me, and then I would forgive him the second he murmured an apology.
But today, I just felt hollowed out. Tired.
“Charlotte,” Austin said, his voice dropping into a tone of quiet disappointment. “I always thought you were different from the other girls.”
“The other girls?”
“The petty ones. The ones who keep score of every little thing.” He looked at me, his eyes entirely sincere. “I thought you understood. Sophie has absolutely no one else in this city to rely on. You have me, you have a good job… you don’t lack for anything. What’s so wrong with me looking out for her a little?”
He spoke with such earnest conviction. He believed every single word.
“You have everything, Char. Can’t you just let her have this when she has nothing?”
I looked at him. Really looked at him.
He was actually waiting for me to nod. He expected me to say “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
But among all the things he claimed I had, there was one thing called Austin. And he had been slowly packing up that piece of my life and giving it to someone else, all while asking me why I felt empty.
“You’re right, Austin. I have everything.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly, a faint sigh of relief escaping his lips.
“So,” I continued, “I don’t need you anymore either.”
The relief vanished from his face.
“Charlotte.”
“You never used to be like this.”
I didn’t answer him.
He stood up, his face dark, and walked out the front door.
My gaze fell on the white pastry bag on the table.
Chestnut crepe cake.
He didn’t even remember. I had stopped liking chestnut cake a year ago.
The white silk of the wedding dress felt cool and heavy against my skin.
My mother stood behind me, gently smoothing down the delicate tulle of the veil. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened as she smiled at my reflection.
“When is Austin getting here? I feel like I haven’t seen him in six months.”
I looked down at my phone screen. Ten minutes ago, Austin had sent a text.
“Sophie’s graduation thesis data got corrupted and she’s crying in her advisor’s office. I have to go help her sort it out. Go ahead and try on the dress first. Explain to your mom—she’s always been so sweet to me, she’ll understand. I booked her favorite Italian restaurant tonight to make it up to her.”
My mother had undergone minor heart surgery just last month. I hadn’t told her a single thing about what was happening between Austin and me.
I pressed the power button, darkening the screen, and turned to face her with a smile.
“His office had an emergency meeting, Mom. He won’t be able to make it.”
My mother blinked, surprised, but quickly patted my hand reassuringly. “Work comes first. It’s good that he’s dedicated to his career. You look absolutely beautiful, sweetheart. Let me take some photos of you.”
Click.
In the photos, I stood in a gown of pure white, smiling perfectly.
But my eyes were completely dead.
After watching my mother board the train back to her small town, I went straight back to Sam’s apartment.
Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I dialed the wedding coordinator’s number.
“Hi, this is Charlotte. I have a reservation for the Lakeside Chapel for next spring. I need to cancel it.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Ma’am, that chapel has an eight-month waiting list. The twelve-thousand-dollar deposit is entirely non-refundable. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“But you came in so many times, Charlotte. You were so meticulous about every detail. Our designer said she’d never seen a bride so invested…”
“Just cancel it, please. Thank you.”
I hung up before she could say anything else.
Sam sat on the opposite end of the sofa, watching me quietly. “Are you absolutely sure about this, Char?”
“Yes.”
That chapel was located forty miles outside the city. There was no direct subway line; you had to take two different buses and walk twenty minutes down a dirt road.
I had chosen it because it sat right on the edge of a quiet, pristine lake.
Five years ago, on our very first weekend trip, Austin had taken me to that exact lake. He had spent the entire afternoon taking photos of me against the water. He told me it was our secret sanctuary.
I had designed every single detail of that wedding myself, arguing back and forth with the designer over dozens of drafts.
I chose white magnolias for the tables because Austin’s mother loved simple, clean flowers.
The processional music was the acoustic track that had been playing in the background during our very first date at that tiny coffee shop.
I had hand-drawn the seating chart with colored markers—blue for his guests, pink for mine. His college roommate was terrified of heights, so I had carefully placed him at a table near the ground-floor exit.
Austin had never asked about any of it. He had just nodded and let me do all the work.
“Charlotte, if you need to cry, just cry,” Sam said softly.
I shook my head.
I tried, but the tears wouldn’t come. I didn’t think I had any left.
Sam was in the middle of editing a marketing deck at her office when her phone rang. It was Austin.
“Charlotte’s phone is completely turned off. Can you give her a message for me?”
Sam set her pen down. “What is it?”
“Sophie is taking her graduation photos next month and wants to do something really unique.” His tone was light, as if he were asking to borrow a stapler. “I remembered that chapel Charlotte booked by the lake. The scenery is gorgeous. Can you ask Charlotte to call the venue and let Sophie use the space for a day?”
Sam gripped her phone, her knuckles turning bone-white under the office fluorescent lights.
“Austin,” she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.
“Yeah?”
“That venue has already been canceled.”
🌟 Continue the story here
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My adoptive brother, Connor, accused me of pushing him down the grand staircase.
So, I took a step back and threw myself down right in front of them—a brutal, bone-cracking slide all the way to the bottom.
My birth mother accused me of stealing Connor’s favorite cufflinks.
So, I grabbed the heavy silver shears from the entryway table, hacked off my own right pinky, and flung the severed digit right onto the polished mahogany floor at his feet.
“Is this the finger that stole from you?” I spat, the blood already pooling. “Go ahead. Keep it.”
1
I had only meant to toss it at his feet, but my aim was off. With a sickening slap, my severed pinky hit Connor square in the face, leaving a thick smear of dark red blood across his cheek.
There were no screams. Just a dead, suffocating silence.
Everyone stared. My biological mother gasped, clutching her mouth, her eyes bulging with terror.
Connor clawed frantically at his cheek, trying to wipe the blood away, but his jaw was locked, the screams trapped in his throat.
I stood there, watching them as the adrenaline began to fade. I looked down. The blood was dripping steadily, splattering against the immaculate living room rug in dark, heavy drops.
Then, the delayed screams shattered the room.
Connor pointed a trembling finger at me. “You… you… we were just talking! How could you do that to yourself?”
“I didn’t ask you to cut your finger off! All you had to do was explain!” His voice cracked, the carefully constructed facade of the golden boy completely shattered. He was on the verge of a total psychological breakdown.
I just stood in the center of the room, entirely unbothered. “Didn’t you say I took your things? Well, now you have the finger that did it.”
Normally, if I so much as breathed in Connor’s direction, my biological sister, Fiona, would throw herself in front of him like a human shield. But now? Fiona, who had spent the last two months looking at me like I was dirt beneath her shoes, was trembling so hard she could barely punch 911 into her phone.
My father—the man who usually wore a permanent mask of cold disappointment whenever he looked at me—had shaking hands. He barked orders at a housekeeper to find a Ziploc bag and ice to pack the finger.
My mother fluttered around me like a panicked bird, trying to open the first-aid kit. But the moment she saw the sheer volume of blood gushing from my hand, her face went white, and her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the floor.
She sat there, hyperventilating, her words coming out in jagged gasps. “How can you be so extreme? We just asked you a question! How could you mutilate yourself like this? Your body… your flesh and blood… it belongs to the parents who brought you into this world! How could you just cut it off?”
I looked down at her, completely numb. “Oh,” I said.
I was twenty-four, scraping by on minimum wage at a diner, when they found me. They told me I was the long-lost heir to a massive real estate fortune, switched at birth due to some bizarre administrative error at the hospital.
To be honest, the whole “switched at birth” narrative felt incredibly suspect to me. How does a working-class kid get accidentally swapped with the heir of a multi-million-dollar dynasty?
But no one would give me a straight answer. Whenever I brought it up, they looked at me like I was some ungrateful conspiracy theorist.
Fiona had dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “It was a tragic mistake, Drew. None of us wanted this to happen. Don’t overthink it.”
But how could I not? No one in this family wanted to dig into the truth because doing so might hurt their precious darling, Connor—the boy they had raised for twenty-four years.
Initially, I hadn’t planned on reacting so violently to Connor’s petty provocations. But every single move I made was treated as a personal assault on their golden boy.
If it were anyone else, they might have shrunk into themselves, drowned in insecurity, or spiraled into depression. Or maybe they would have gone completely mad, screaming at the walls.
But I don’t go mad. I don’t beg.
When Connor framed me for pushing him down the stairs, I didn’t argue. I just launched myself down the steps instead.
When they accused me of stealing, I chopped off my own finger.
In a world like this, if you aren’t ruthlessly cruel to yourself, society will swallow you whole and spit out the bones.
2
My dramatic self-mutilation was written off as a desperate cry for attention, a toxic stunt fueled by petty jealousy. Amidst my father’s roaring lectures, my mother’s hysterical weeping, and the distant, wailing sirens of the ambulance, I was strapped onto a gurney and rushed to the hospital.
The surgeon was highly skilled. They managed to sew my pinky back on, aligning the nerves and skin with meticulous precision.
A dull, throbbing ache settled into my hand, constant and heavy, like a persistent autumn drizzle. It seeped slowly into my chest.
Once the doctor confirmed my hand was stable, the sheer gravity of what had happened finally caught up with Connor. Standing in the corner of the room, his face pale as paper, he suddenly clutched his chest, gasping for air.
The next second, he collapsed.
“Thud.”
It wasn’t a soft, dramatic swoon into someone’s arms. He hit the linoleum floor hard. A genuine faint.
Fiona, who had been hovering nearby, scowled. She opened her mouth to snap at me, but the moment her eyes met mine, the words died in her throat. She looked like she had swallowed a stone.
I didn’t say a word. I just stared back at her.
Normally, if I upset Connor, Fiona would unleash a torrent of verbal abuse, sometimes physically dragging me away. But today, she just stood there, her gaze heavy and conflicted.
“Why do you have to take things so far?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Even if we haven’t been perfect to you, it’s your own body. Can’t you have some self-respect? Can’t you love yourself a little?”
“There are security cameras all over the house,” she continued, looking thoroughly baffled. “If you didn’t steal it, all you had to do was say so. We would have checked the footage. We could have called the police. Why do you have to be so psychotic?”
I looked up at my biological sister, a bitter amusement rising in my chest. “This isn’t the first time, Fiona. Remember when I asked you to call the police last time? What did you do?”
Initially, I hadn’t wanted to turn our home into a horror movie. The first time Connor accused me of stealing, I had begged them to check the cameras. I had screamed for them to call the police.
But my father had only roared at me to shut up, and Fiona had sneered.
“”The fact that you’re so eager to call the police just proves you prepared for this,”” she had said back then, her voice dripping with venom. “”If you didn’t steal it, then who did? Things only started vanishing after you moved in. You’re nothing but a common thief.””
They had forced me to my knees, making me bow and apologize to Connor.
That was my loving family.
A flicker of shame crossed Fiona’s face as the memory hit her. She looked away, her voice dropping. “That… that had nothing to do with him. I was the one who hid those cufflinks. I just wanted to teach you a lesson since you were new to this world. I wanted you to see how cruel people can be. Why are you being so petty? If you didn’t like it, you could have just explained—”
“Slap!”
Before the words could fully leave her mouth, a hand cracked across her face.
It was my mother. Having just settled Connor into a room, she had walked in just in time to hear Fiona’s confession. Her face was flushed with fury.
“Drew is your brother! How could you call that a joke?” she screamed at Fiona. “Playing games with your own flesh and blood… do you even have a conscience?”
It sounded like a defense, but I knew better. It was just a distraction to keep the peace. I closed my eyes, shutting them out.
I wanted to see exactly how much longer Connor and my dear sister could keep up this charade.
Every single person who had slandered me, gaslit me, and actively tried to destroy me—I was going to watch them burn.
Two months later, I was finally discharged from the hospital. As fate would have it, my release coincided with the lavish engagement party for Connor and his high-society fiancée.
The moment I stepped into the grand ballroom, the lively chatter died instantly. A suffocating silence draped over the crowd.
Connor, spotting me, turned deathly pale, shrinking back as if he were the victim.
Beside him stood Charlotte, his fiancée. She had never once deigned to look me in the eye. Now, her gaze swept over me, thick with disgust.
“How could someone so uncultured be a real heir of this family?” she muttered loudly enough for those around us to hear. “They must have botched the DNA test. Don’t worry, sweetie. Once we’re married, you’ll always be the son of my family. No one can ever dispute your place.”
The truth about the switched heirs had already rippled through high society, becoming the gossip of the season. Charlotte had immediately stepped up as Connor’s fierce protector, while I was paraded around in one of Connor’s old, ill-fitting hand-me-down suits.
Everyone thought I was an easy target.
And tonight, they thought the same.
3
The whispers started immediately, buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps.
“I heard when the real son came back, he threw a massive tantrum and even pushed himself down the stairs.”
“Completely unrefined. I don’t know how much longer they’ll keep him around. They’ll probably write him a small check and kick him out.”
“Worse than that. I heard he’s a kleptomaniac. Always coveting what isn’t his. Just because you share the blood doesn’t mean you belong.”
“And he’s unstable! Did you hear he mutilated his own hand just to spite his parents? Absolutely feral.”
I stood in the midst of the hushed mockery, my face blank.
Connor stepped forward, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. “Ah, Drew. You’re finally out of the hospital. I’m so glad you could make it to our special day. Please, promise me you won’t hurt yourself again to threaten Mom and Dad. It breaks their hearts.”
Then, he pulled something from his pocket.
My heart seized, blood rushing to my ears.
It was a jade pendant. A simple, worn piece of jade on a faded red string.
It had hung around my neck for as long as I could remember. Even when I was starving, with only a few dollars to my name, I had never once considered selling it. It was the only thing of value I owned, my only connection to a past before the nightmare of this family.
Connor dangled it between his fingers, letting it catch the light, before clutching it tightly in his palm and leaning back into Charlotte’s arms.
“This is our engagement heirloom, Charlotte,” he murmured. “Drew, I hope we have your blessing.”
Seeing my entire body begin to tremble with rage, Connor shot a subtle look to the side.
Instantly, Fiona grabbed my right arm, pinning it down, while my mother stepped in on my left.
“It’s just a cheap piece of jade, Drew,” my mother whispered frantically in my ear. “Don’t make a scene. I’ll buy you a hundred pendants. Better ones. Just let it go.”
Her placating words washed over me like static.
Fiona hissed in my ear, her grip tightening. “This is a high-profile event. Don’t you dare try your self-harm tricks today. If this gets out, people will think our family has no class. It’s just a trinket. Let your brother borrow it.”
I stared at them, my jaw clenched.
What they didn’t know was that the moment I walked into the ballroom, I had secretly turned on a livestream on my phone, tucked securely into my breast pocket.
The lens was clear, the audio crisp. I was recording everything. Every whisper, every smirk, every threat. I wanted irrefutable evidence.
But I had never anticipated they would sink low enough to break into my bedroom and steal my only treasure.
I had survived on the streets as a child, starving and freezing, but I had kept that pendant safe. Everyone thought it was cheap glass, but to me, it was my anchor.
“That’s mine,” I choked out, my voice rising. “Give it back. Don’t touch it. It’s the only thing I have!”
My desperate cry was cut short by a sharp, brutal crack.
Connor had dropped it.
Right before my eyes, the jade hit the marble floor, shattering into two jagged pieces.
A flash of pure, sadistic triumph flickered in Connor’s eyes. He quickly masked it, clutching his hands to his chest, his eyes welling with crocodile tears.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! My hand slipped,” he whimpered. “Drew, you’re not mad, are you?”
A raw, feral roar built in my throat. I thrashed violently, trying to break free from my mother and sister’s grip.
I wanted to tear him apart. It was the last piece of myself I had left. Even a beggar is allowed to have one thing they love.
As I opened my mouth to scream, a hand slammed over my face, muffling me.
Fiona glared at me, her brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “It’s just a piece of stone! Why are you always so dramatic? Do you really want to end up in the hospital again? Is a stupid pendant worth your life?”
Seeing me gradually go limp, Fiona slowly released her grip, her voice softening into a hollow, patronizing tone. “Look, it’s done. I’ll buy you a brand-new one tomorrow. Just calm down.”
I looked up at her, a slow, terrifying smile spreading across my lips.
Then, I bit down.
Hard.
With a sickening crunch, I severed my own tongue and let the bloody mass fall onto the white tablecloth.
4
A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air.
“Oh my god! His… his tongue! He bit his tongue off!”
An icy wave of horror instantly paralyzed the ballroom.
Guests scrambled backward, overturning chairs in their panic, as a torrent of dark crimson blood erupted from my mouth.
The wealthy socialites who had just been laughing at me moments ago were now screaming, clutching their silk dresses.
My biological family stared at me, their faces completely drained of color.
Charlotte, the proud fiancée, was hyperventilating, stumbling backward into the catering tables.
Connor, however, didn’t look afraid. A flicker of cold rage crossed his face as he glared at me.
“I knew you’d do this!” he spat. “You did this on purpose!”
He turned to our parents, his voice rising in hysterical accusation. “Mom, Dad, look at him! It was just an accident! I didn’t mean to break his stupid pendant, and he mutilates himself at my engagement party! He’s a psychopath! He’s a monster!”
Even as I choked on my own blood, Connor showed no remorse. Instead, he grabbed Charlotte’s hand, his expression instantly shifting into one of fragile, victimized innocence.
“He did this just to ruin my wedding,” Connor sobbed, playing to the crowd. “Someone call 911! Even if he wants to destroy my life, he’s still my brother. Please, save him!”
He stepped closer to me, his voice dripping with faux concern. “Why would you do this over a stupid piece of jade? Are you insane? Do you have a mental illness? How could you do this to us?”
Under the watchful eyes of the horrified guests, Connor nudged the severed piece of my tongue off the table.
He stepped on it.
Under the guise of his hysterical pacing, his expensive leather dress shoe ground the bloody flesh into the floor, twisting his heel with deliberate, vicious force.
I knew what I was doing when I bit down.
Without a tongue, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t defend myself.
And the moment the family realized I was mute, they began to weave their narrative. As they half-heartedly tried to stem the bleeding, the murmurs of the crowd turned toxic.
“He’s clearly deranged. You can’t keep someone like that in polite society.”
“Exactly. He needs to be locked away in an asylum. If he can do this to himself, who knows what he’ll do to the family?”
The venomous remarks echoed from every corner of the room.
Even my mother, who had been holding a napkin to my mouth, began to weep, her words laced with resentment.
“How could you be so unstable, Drew? Your brother made a mistake, but to mutilate yourself like this… how could you do this to me?”
“What am I supposed to do with you now? You can’t even speak!”
Though she claimed to be helping, her hands were shaking so violently that the blood continued to spill unchecked, flooding my airway and sending me into violent, silent coughing fits.
Fiona stood by, her face pale but her voice hardening with blame. “How could you do this to Mom and Dad? Do you have any idea how much pain you’re causing them? You’re incredibly selfish!”
“I can’t defend you anymore. Once the doctors patch you up, you’re going straight to a psychiatric facility. You need professional help to fix whatever is broken inside you.”
They spoke of “help,” but their hands dragged me brutally toward the exit.
The paramedics, who had mysteriously appeared far too quickly, rushed into the hall. It was a coordinated trap. No one was here to protect me; they were here to dispose of me.
From the crowd, a few snide remarks drifted over.
“Did the gutter rat really think a little self-harm would make them love him?”
“Hilarious. All he did was guarantee himself a one-way ticket to a psych ward. Not a penny of the inheritance for him.”
“The family has been far too patient. If he were my son, I would have had him committed months ago.”
Connor leaned down close to my ear, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Look at you. You bit your own tongue off. Every time you hurt yourself, Mom and Dad just hate you a little more. Pain won’t get you what you want.”
He shed a single, perfect crocodile tear, his eyes mocking me.
“By the way… I heard that stray cat you kept in the alley? The one you cared so much about?”
“It got run over by a car a few days ago.”
A cold dread seized me.
Connor smirked, his lips practically brushing my ear. “You couldn’t even protect yourself, did you really think you could protect a worthless cat? I had my driver run it over. Twice.”
“A piece of trash like you deserves to rot in silence, just like that cat. And as for your tongue? Don’t worry. They won’t be sewing it back on this time.”
Connor stood up, turning back to the crowd with a look of pure sorrow. “I know Drew has been struggling to adjust since he came home, but I never imagined he would go this far—”
Suddenly, his voice cut off. His eyes widened in sheer terror.
“What… what is that on your jacket?” he gasped.
I looked down at my lapel. Nestled inside the fabric of the cheap suit, a tiny pinhole camera gleamed with a faint, blinking blue light.
With my left hand, I pulled out my phone and held the screen up for everyone to see.
Four words flashed in bold, black letters on the screen: [LIVESTREAMING IN PROGRESS.]
Rich families often used signal scramblers at private events to prevent leaks, but they had forgotten to turn them on today. It was a fatal mistake.
I opened my mouth, blood pouring over my chin, and smiled.
My thumb swiped the screen, showing the chat feed. The comments were flying by so fast they were a blur of white light, sending a shiver through every person in the room.
“User202: Holy shit, is this real? Rich people are literally evil.”
“Watcher99: They broke his pendant and then pinned him down while he choked?!”
“CatLover: Did that psychopath just admit to killing a cat? Call the cops!”
“Anon: This is sick. He bit his tongue off because they wouldn’t let him speak.”
🌟 Continue the story here
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It was past midnight when my phone buzzed on the cluttered desk. I was in the middle of a grueling overtime shift, the harsh fluorescent lights of the office humming a low, irritating tune.
The text was from Jerry, my boyfriend of five years.
I ended the lease on our apartment. Sent you the new address.
I stared at the screen, a familiar, cold weight settling in my chest. I didn’t need to look up the zip code to know what this meant.
Is this about Melanie again? I typed back, my fingers trembling slightly.
Melanie. The fragile, self-made, fiercely independent girl Jerry couldn’t stop talking about.
This would be our third move in six months.
We had started in a gorgeous, high-rise loft in the Gold Coast, close to everything. Then we downgraded to a noisy mid-rise, and now, according to the map, we were heading to a cramped, sketchy neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.
All to be closer to Melanie.
Predictably, my text struck a nerve. His reply came back almost instantly, sharp and defensive.
Don’t start with the jealousy, Regina. Someone followed her home from work last night. She was terrified.
You’re both women. Where is your empathy?
I looked out the window. The Chicago skyline was dark, swallowed by the freezing winter night. A sudden, deep exhaustion washed over me.
I couldn’t even count how many times Jerry and I had fought over Melanie. It was an exhausting loop: first came my anger and hurt, then his accusations, and finally, this hollow silence.
I don’t have time for this, his next text read. I’m going to pick her up from her shift.
Before I could type a response, he hung up—metaphorically speaking, cutting off the conversation with the finality of a locked screen.
Not once during this entire process had Jerry asked if I wanted to move.
Not once did he ask if I wanted him to pick me up, even though it was freezing and past 1 a.m.
So, I didn’t ask for his opinion either.
I opened my desk drawer and pulled out the corporate relocation agreement that had been sitting there for a week.
With a steady hand, I signed my name at the bottom: Regina Davies.
01
Before packing up, I knocked on my manager’s door. Sandra was still at her desk. I handed her the signed contract for the London transfer.
She looked up, startled. “Regina? I thought you said you wanted to stay in Chicago because of your boyfriend. You didn’t want the long-distance.”
Most of the senior team had families tying them down, so Sandra had practically begged me to take the post. It was a massive promotion—a career-defining opportunity. But back then, the thought of leaving Jerry had made me reject it without a second thought.
I offered her a tight, polite smile. “I wasn’t thinking clearly back then. I used to believe love could fix everything.”
Sandra looked at me, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes. She didn’t press. She just took the paperwork and patted my shoulder gently. “We’re lucky to have you, Regina.”
Getting a cab at 1:30 a.m. in the freezing cold was a nightmare. I stood on the curb, the biting winter wind cutting right through my coat.
I watched my coworkers get picked up one by one. Greg, who lived in my old neighborhood, noticed me shivering.
“Hey, Regina! No ride tonight? Is Jerry out of town? Come on, hop in, I’ll drop you off. Just tell him he owes me a beer!”
I forced a smile and shook my head. “Thanks, Greg, but I actually moved. I’m not on your route anymore.”
He thought I was just being polite, but when I told him the new neighborhood, his eyes widened slightly.
“Oh. That’s… a bit of a trek.”
“Yeah. My ride is almost here anyway. Don’t worry about me.”
I waited in the freezing wind for another forty minutes before a rideshare finally pulled up.
Our old high-rise apartment had been a ten-minute walk from my office, in a highly secure building. Back then, Jerry used to worry if I stayed late. He would wait downstairs in his car, heater blasting, just to make sure I walked the short distance safely.
Now, we were living in a place that was a ninety-minute drive in traffic. And Jerry hadn’t even asked how I was getting home.
By the time I unlocked my phone in the back of the cab, it was 2:30 a.m. My fingers were stiff and numb. There were several texts from coworkers making sure I got home safe.
I replied to each of them. But Jerry’s chat, pinned at the very top of my messages, was a blank slate.
A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I opened Instagram.
The very first post on my feed was from Melanie.
Thanks to my favorite guy for picking me up. Best boyfriend in the world.
It was a photo of Jerry’s profile as he drove, his jawline sharp in the dim dashboard light.
She was sitting in the passenger seat. My seat. The one Jerry had always insisted was exclusively mine.
The comments were flooded with heart emojis and “Are you guys finally official?” comments.
Melanie had replied to almost all of them: Omg guys, it was a typo! Don’t make it weird! We’re just really close friends!
And there, right at the top of the likes, was Jerry’s profile picture.
I tapped the heart icon, adding my own like to the post. Then I closed the app, opened my messages, and unpinned Jerry’s contact.
02
When the Uber finally pulled up to the brick building, it was past three in the morning.
I dragged my suitcase up the dimly lit stairs of the pre-war apartment building. I reached the door and stared at the keypad lock. I instinctively punched in my birthday.
Error.
I tried our anniversary.
Error.
Before I could try a third time, the door swung open.
Melanie stood there, wearing a pastel pink apron, holding a spatula, a warm, bright smile plastered on her face.
“Regina! You’re finally home! Jerry and I are making late-night snacks.”
She noticed me staring at the keypad and flushed with mock embarrassment. “Oh, sorry! The code is my birthday. I’m so forgetful, and Jerry was worried I’d lock myself out while helping you guys unpack.”
I looked past her into the kitchen. Jerry—a man who absolutely detested cooking and had never once made me dinner in five years—was standing over the stove wearing a matching apron.
Hearing our voices, he looked up and smiled warmly at Melanie. But when his gaze landed on me, the warmth vanished, replaced by a cool, defensive shield.
“You’re late,” he said, turning back to the stove. “Go wash your hands. Melanie went out of her way to make a welcome-home dinner for us. She’s been unpacking all day, and she still insisted on cooking for you.”
Melanie played the modest angel. “Oh, stop it, Jerry. We’re family now. Your family is my family. Regina, don’t listen to him, I was happy to do it.”
The apartment was heated, yet I felt a chill deep in my bones.
I didn’t say a word. I kicked off my boots and looked around the cramped entryway for my slippers. They weren’t there.
Melanie tapped her temple. “Oh! Silly me. I saw those old, ratty wool slippers of yours and assumed you were throwing them out, so I tossed them. I haven’t had a chance to buy you new ones yet.”
I stared at the cheap, plastic slide-ons she had set out for me. Something inside me snapped. I kicked them aside.
“Who gave you permission to touch my things?”
Melanie froze. Her lower lip began to tremble, and her eyes welled up with tears. “Regina… I’m so sorry. I was just trying to help…”
Jerry immediately abandoned the stove, rushing over to shove himself between us, shielding Melanie.
“Regina, what the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled. “It’s a pair of cheap slippers! Do you have to be so incredibly dramatic?”
Melanie tugged gently at his sleeve, her voice soft and trembling. “Jerry, please, don’t. It’s my fault. Don’t fight with Regina because of me…”
Jerry’s chest heaved with anger. “She spent the whole day helping us move, Regina! She cooked for you! Is this how you show your appreciation? By screaming at her?”
I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The physical pain was the only thing keeping me from breaking down right in front of them.
“Those weren’t ‘cheap slippers,’” I whispered, my voice shaking. “My mother hand-knit them for me while she was dying in the hospital. They were the last thing she ever made. Melanie, what right did you have to throw them away?”
Jerry froze. The anger died in his eyes, replaced by a flicker of guilt. He rubbed his temples, his tone softening slightly. “Look… you still shouldn’t have yelled at Melanie. She didn’t know. It was an accident. I forgot to tell her, okay? It’s on me.”
I looked at Jerry, utterly hollowed out.
I used to get terribly cold feet in the winter. My mother, weak and bedridden with terminal cancer, had spent her final weeks knitting those slippers for me. On her deathbed, she had placed my hand in Jerry’s, begging him in her softest, weakest voice to cherish me.
And Jerry had promised. He had held me through the worst nights of my life.
And now, he had simply “forgotten.”
“Just eat,” Jerry said, his voice flat. “After we eat, I’ll go down to the dumpster with you and help you look for them. Just stop making a scene, alright?”
I didn’t answer. I turned around and walked out the door, down the dark, narrow hallway.
The old building had no working lights in the stairwell. I was walking fast, my eyes blurred with tears.
My foot caught on the edge of a broken step.
I fell.
It was a brutal, tumbling fall down the concrete stairs. A sharp, agonizing pain flared in my abdomen, so intense it stole the breath from my lungs.
I couldn’t stand up. When I reached down, my hands came away wet and warm with blood.
“Jerry!” I cried out, my voice echoing in the empty, freezing stairwell. “Jerry, please!”
I called his name over and over. But no one came.
The metallic scent of blood filled the cold air. In the semi-darkness, my mind began to slip. I thought I saw him—not the cold, distant twenty-seven-year-old Jerry standing in the apartment upstairs, but the twenty-two-year-old boy who used to love me more than life itself.
03
Jerry and I had met in college.
He was the campus golden boy; I was the popular, slightly spoiled girl everyone wanted to be friends with. People tried to set us up, but we initially couldn’t stand each other. I thought he was arrogant and performative; he thought I was entitled.
But everything changed during a student council hiking trip. I got a severe cramp from my period and fell behind, eventually getting separated from the group.
I ended up lost, alone, and terrified in a dense, signal-less forest as night fell. I huddled under a tree, listening to the rustling of wild animals, waiting in absolute despair.
And then, Jerry appeared like a miracle.
He had noticed I was missing and came back for me. He carried me on his back, whispering words of comfort, all the way down the mountain.
After that night, our pride crumbled. We started talking, really talking, and our hearts gravitated toward each other. By graduation, we were the couple everyone envied.
Those were the happiest days of my life. But the happiness didn’t last.
Shortly after graduation, my mother was diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer. My father had passed away when I was a child; she was my entire world.
That year was a descent into darkness.
Jerry would work his entry-level job all day and spend every night at the hospital, sitting by my mother’s bed, holding my hand while I cried. He survived on hospital cafeteria coffee and vending machine snacks for six months, pulling me back from the brink of collapse.
When she finally passed, I shut down. I became silent, hollow, refusing to speak for days.
But Jerry never gave up. He ignored my coldness, pushed past my walls, and patiently coaxed me back to the land of the living. He slept lightly every night, terrified that if he closed his eyes, I would find a way to follow my mother.
I had lost my mother, but he was the one who lost weight faster than I did.
It was his devotion that saved me.
I used to think I was the luckiest woman in the world to have him. Under his gentle guidance, I slowly put my life back together, went to interviews, and got my career back on track.
Until a year ago.
Until Melanie.
She was just a girl working at a local florist. Jerry had bought a bouquet from her once to congratulate me on a promotion.
At first, her name only came up in passing. Jerry told me she had lost her mother too, and her father was a raging alcoholic. She had dropped out of high school to support herself. I felt deeply sorry for her.
But gradually, Jerry became obsessed.
Melanie’s kitchen light broke; he took a midnight Uber to fix it. Melanie had cramps; he took a sick day to brew her soup and deliver it to her apartment.
He always claimed she was just a poor, helpless girl who had no one else.
On our anniversary—which happened to fall on her birthday—he canceled our dinner reservation because she “couldn’t bear to be alone on her birthday.”
He even agreed to relocate to this rundown, inconvenient neighborhood just because Melanie mentioned she hated the noise of the city center.
We fought about it constantly. I asked him, point-blank, if he was in love with her.
And every time, he would defensively claim they were just friends, that he had never crossed any physical boundaries.
But emotional betrayal is a slow, agonizing poison. His body was there, but his soul had checked out long ago.
Eventually, we stopped communicating. A simple conversation became a minefield. Jerry turned me into a paranoid, screaming version of myself, and then had the audacity to ask why I was acting so crazy.
We fought, we went cold, we broke up, we got back together. I hated myself for being so weak, for not being able to walk away.
But every time I resolved to leave, I would remember the boy who sat by my mother’s hospital bed for six months.
We survived the absolute worst year of my life. How could we fall apart over something like this?
I had no answer.
So, I became quiet. I stopped fighting. I grew used to him missing our milestones, used to him giving Melanie the devotion that belonged to me. I grew used to the crowded space in our relationship.
04
When I woke up, the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant filled my nose.
Jerry was sitting by my bedside. Seeing my eyes open, he immediately pressed the call button for the nurse.
The doctor arrived quickly, performing a brief examination before turning to Jerry with a solemn expression.
“The patient has suffered a miscarriage due to the fall. She’s lost a lot of blood and her body is extremely weak. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and iron-rich foods.”
I stared at the ceiling, my hand trembling as I placed it over my empty stomach.
The ghost of that sharp, tearing pain was still there.
I had been pregnant. And now, the baby was gone.
Once the doctor left, Jerry stepped closer. His face was pale, his eyes rimmed with red. He reached out to tuck the blanket around me, his voice raw.
“Regina… I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let you walk out alone. But we’re young. We can try again.”
He reached to stroke my hair, but I flinched, pulling away from his touch.
I forced myself to sit up, but the pain in my abdomen flared instantly. Jerry tried to push me back down.
“What are you doing? The doctor said you need to stay overnight for observation.”
“Get away from me!” I screamed, struggling against his grip. “Let me go! I need to find my mother’s slippers!”
I had lost my baby. I couldn’t lose the last piece of my mother.
Jerry knelt by the bed, forcing my shoes onto my feet and wrapping his coat around my shoulders.
“Stop screaming, Regina. I had Melanie go look for them. She called me earlier—she found them. They’re at the apartment. You’ll see them when we get back.”
He discharged me against medical advice because I refused to stay. I was in too much pain to walk, biting my lip until it bled to keep from crying out. I refused to let him see an ounce of my weakness.
Seeing my stubbornness, Jerry sighed and scooped me into his arms, ignoring my weak attempts to push him away.
His chest used to be my safe haven. But now, as I breathed in the heavy, cloying scent of sweet vanilla hair oil—the exact brand Melanie always wore—I felt violently ill.
Thirty minutes later, we reached the apartment.
I watched Jerry punch a sequence of numbers into the keypad. It was my birthday.
Error.
He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
“The code is Melanie’s birthday,” I said, my voice dead and flat.
The door opened, and Melanie was standing in the hall holding a thermos.
“Jerry! You’re back! I was just about to bring this to the hospital.” She looked at me, her eyes wide with fear and performative guilt. “Regina… please don’t be mad at Jerry. It’s all my fault. I am so, so sorry.”
She took a step closer, unscrewing the thermos. “I heard about the… the baby. I made this chicken soup for you to help you heal.”
She pushed the greasy, steaming liquid toward my face, pretending she wanted to feed me.
I raised my hand to push the container away. I didn’t even touch her.
But Melanie stumbled backward, losing her balance.
The scalding soup spilled all over her chest and arms. She let out a piercing, dramatic shriek.
Jerry instantly let go of me.
I crashed heavily onto the hard hardwood floor. The impact sent a jolt of pure agony through my abdomen, and the metallic taste of blood pooled in my throat. I began to cough violently, curling into a ball.
But Jerry didn’t look at me. Not once.
He was on his knees, cradling Melanie in his arms, his face contorted with panic and tenderness.
“Melanie! Oh my god, are you okay? I’m calling an ambulance!”
Melanie clutched his shirt, tears streaming down her face. “Jerry, I’m okay… don’t be mad at Regina… she didn’t mean to…”
Jerry turned to look at me, his eyes filled with a cold, burning disgust.
“Regina, when did you become such a monster? I can’t believe I ever loved you.”
A weak, bitter laugh escaped my lips.
There it was. The ugly truth, finally laid bare.
I can’t believe I ever loved you.
Past tense.
His love for me was a relic of the past; his love for Melanie was his present.
Jerry stared at me, genuinely bewildered by my laughter. Melanie’s whimpers cut off whatever he was about to say. He shook his head, his voice dripping with utter disdain.
“You are beyond saving, Regina. Honestly? Maybe it’s a blessing that baby died. I’d hate to see what kind of twisted, malicious mother you would have been.”
He scooped Melanie up and rushed out the door, leaving me alone on the floor.
A fresh wave of blood escaped my lips as I coughed.
But in a strange, agonizing way, I agreed with him. I was glad my baby wouldn’t have to grow up in the wreckage of our lives.
As the front door slammed shut, the memory of the sweet, protective boy from college faded forever. In his place was a stranger who had just handed me my execution sentence.
Goodbye, Jerry.
🌟 Continue the story here
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On their fifth wedding anniversary, Ethan Hawthorne’s gift to Stella was a hundred shots of strong liquor and a stand-in who looked just like her.
To save that stand-in, Ethan forcibly took one of Stella’s kidneys.
In despair, Stella fell into the deep blue water beneath Harbor Bridge.
When she woke again, she had become Iris Haven, the gentle owner of a flower shop.
A warm, gentle doctor stayed by her side, and her days were steady and quiet.
Until the day a broken man, ragged and paralyzed in both legs, knelt outside Iris’s flower shop.
Their fifth wedding anniversary.
The gift Ethan Hawthorne prepared for Stella was a hundred shots of high-proof liquor.
The lights in the club private room were dim and the air was oppressive and suffocating.
Stella was pinned down on the sofa by two bodyguards in black suits.
On the long coffee table in front of her, a hundred shot glasses were stacked into a glittering little tower.
“Drink.”
Ethan sat across from her with his legs crossed, his voice as cold as something dragged out of an ice cellar.
Stella’s stomach was churning and cramping—she had a severe stomach ulcer that had gotten worse over the past two years.
“Ethan, I really can’t drink anymore…”
Her voice was hoarse, with a plea as humble as dust.
Ethan sneered, leaned forward and pinched her chin, so hard that he almost crushed her mandible.
“Your parents loved drinking so much that they drove drunk and killed my whole family.
As their daughter, what do these hundred cups mean? ”
Stella’s eyes were red, tears hitting the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry…”
She had said those three words for five years, until they became instinct.
“My parents have already paid for it with their lives. Isn’t this… enough?”
“If they die ten thousand times, can they bring my parents and sister back!”
Ethan swung his hand away, his eyes filled with frightening hatred.
“Stella, this is only the fifth year, and you already can’t take it?”
He stood up straight and took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands, as if he had touched something dirty.
Then he winked at the bodyguard behind him.
“Force it down.”
The two men stepped forward. One pried her mouth open, and the other poured the liquor in.
The burning liquid rushed down her throat like a red-hot blade.
Stella coughed violently, her face was smeared with wine and tears, her stomach was on fire, and she was convulsing.
She fell down on the dark carpet, as embarrassed as an abandoned dog.
When will this endless torture end?
She doesn’t know.
A soft female voice suddenly broke the dead silence.
Stella looked through blurry teary eyes.
There was a girl standing at the door, in a white dress with long hair and a bright smile.
Stella’s breath hitched, and her heart seemed to be clenched.
Alina Locke.
This girl looks so much like her twenty-two-year-old self.
No wonder Ethan kept her close to him.
Seeing Alina, the ice in Ethan’s eyes immediately turned into spring water.
He stood and went to her, his voice soft enough to drip honey. “Lina, wait a minute.
Today is Stella’s and my wedding anniversary. I am giving her a gift.”
Alina looked past him and glanced disdainfully at Stella on the ground.
Then she took his arm and shook it gently.
“Don’t waste your time on irrelevant people, okay?”
Ethan was silent for a moment.
He really couldn’t ignore Stella completely.
But he quickly changed the subject: “Okay, it’s up to you.
Are you hungry? I’ll take you for a supper. ”
With that said, he took Alina’s hand and walked out.
When passing by Stella, Alina swept the hem of her skirt and deliberately kicked the edge of the coffee table with her toes.
Crash—
The tower of glasses collapsed, and shards of glass rained down on Stella.
She instinctively protected her head and face, and there were more than a dozen bloody cuts on her arms and calves. The blood gushed out and stained her shirt red.
“Ah!” Alina covered her mouth, “I didn’t mean it!
Ethan, she’s bleeding, should she be sent to the hospital? ”
Without looking at Stella, Ethan nervously grabbed Alina’s hand, frowning.
There was a light red mark on Alina’s index finger, and the skin was not even broken, but Ethan lowered his head and kissed it gently, as if he were treating a peerless treasure.
“Does it hurt?”
Alina hooked her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him. “It won’t hurt if you kiss it.”
Ethan grabbed the back of her head and deepened the kiss.
Stella lay among broken glass and spilled liquor, blood running down her arms. Their kiss sounded in her ears, and her heart felt as if it were being torn apart.
“Lina…”
Ethan murmured softly in his confusion.
Lina. Lena.
Exactly the same pronunciation, what an ironic overlap.
After the kiss ended, Ethan hugged Alina sideways and walked out without looking back.
Walking to the door, he coldly said:
“Clean her up. Do not let her die.
That body is still worth keeping around for a little more torture.”
The door to the private room is closed.
Stella closed her eyes, tears falling silently into her ears.
Everything had changed.
The boy who once cherished her like a treasure had died in that car accident five years ago.
Now Ethan Hawthorne is an evil spirit crawling out of hell.
—
Five years ago today was the day Stella looked forward to the most.
She put on the most beautiful wedding dress and waited to marry the person she loved most in her life.
Ethan held her, kissed her forehead and said, “Lena, I finally got to marry you.”
They grew up together.
Everyone knows how much Ethan loves Stella.
She casually said that she wanted to eat lemon desserts from the small bakery near the old campus. He could drive two hours to buy it in a rainstorm.
She had stomachaches during her period, so he stayed up all night, using his warm palms to warm her stomach.
On the day of the proposal, he knelt down on one knee, with red eyes, and vowed to pamper her for the rest of his life.
But all the good things were ruined in that car accident.
Stella’s parents drove drunk after their wedding reception and crashed into Ethan’s parents’ car at the intersection.
The Hawthorne couple died at the scene, and Ethan’s sister in the back seat later died from her injuries.
His grandfather, far away in his rural hometown, died of a sudden cerebral hemorrhage after hearing the news.
Overnight, the Hawthorne family was destroyed.
The wedding turned into a funeral.
Lovers turn into enemies.
Ethan went mad.
He used all means to send Stella’s parents to state prison, and specially arranged for them to be “taken good care of” inside.
During her last visit, Stella looked through the glass at her parents, who were so thin that they were only a handful of bones and covered with scars.
The elderly couple had suffered a serious accident in prison. After emergency treatment, they were left with only their final breath.
They looked at her weakly. “Lena, Mom and Dad did something wrong, and we should bear the consequences.
But you are innocent and should live well. ”
“Ethan hates you, but he also loves you to the death.
Please, no matter how difficult it is, just hold on for five years. ”
“If you still can’t find hope of living after five years, you…come to us.”
That night, her parents removed their own breathing tubes and died together.
Stella became the only person in the Fallon family who lived to repay the debt.
In order to fulfill her parents’ last wishes, she stayed with Ethan and began to bear the punishment of these five years.
Five years.
More than 1,800 days and nights.
Ethan tortured her in every possible way.
In the cold winter, she was forced to kneel in the snow wearing single clothes. In the hot summer, she was locked up in an attic without air conditioning and exposed to the sun. She was forced to eat mangoes that she was allergic to. She had red rashes all over her body and could not breathe.
She wanted to escape from it all countless times.
But that five-year agreement was like an invisible shackle, nailing her to the world.
Until three months ago.
Alina appears.
Similar faces. Names with the same pronunciation.
Ethan gave all his tenderness to this stand-in, and left all his violence to her.
But Stella still feels pain when she hears him calling someone else “Lina” and pampering another woman like he pampered her before. The pain is so painful that she can’t breathe.
Now, there are only seven days left before the five-year agreement expires.
On the cold floor, Stella took out the family photo from her pocket.
The edges of the photo were yellowed and curled, and blood seeped into the fingers, staining the parents’ smiles red.
“Dad, Mom…”
She curled up and her voice was as light as a wisp of smoke.
“I will hold on for the last seven days.”
“I will go find you in seven days.”
When I woke up it was early the next morning.
Stella was lying on the bed in the guest room, her wounds hastily bandaged.
She took out the photo of her heart, and there were still six days left.
A glance at the bedside calendar—it’s Ethan’s birthday.
He hasn’t had a birthday in five years.
Stella climbed up with her weak body.
Give it one last try.
She walked into the kitchen and beat the dough and eggs. The cut on her finger was soaked with rhinestones and felt painful. She gritted her teeth and endured it.
The cake burned twice, but the third time it was finally successful.
She dug out the old photos she had saved back then and made a handmade photo album.
evening.
She sent Ethan a text.
[Ethan, see you at the same place. I have something very important to tell you.]
She took the cake and photo album she baked by herself and went to the French bistro.
After waiting for a full two hours, Ethan opened the door and came in.
He is wearing a black suit and has cold and stern features.
When he saw the cake, his face suddenly darkened.
“After my parents died, I couldn’t celebrate my birthday.”
He raised his hand, the cake smashed to the ground, and the cream splashed on Stella’s skirt.
She didn’t hide.
“I know…” she said shakily, “Ethan, five years.
My parents have already paid for it with their lives. I’ve had enough too. ”
She looked up, tears filling her eyes.
“Let’s let each other go.”
“dream!”
Ethan leaned forward, his eyes fierce.
“Stella, your torture is not even one ten thousandth of what I was.”
“Your parents drove drunk, and my whole family was ruined overnight!”
He grabbed her neck and pulled her close.
“Let me put it down?
Why! ”
Stella burst into tears. “I’m sorry…”
“Ethan!”
Alina pushed the door open and walked in, her white dress floating in the air, holding a glass jar filled with paper cranes.
“Happy birthday!
I folded a thousand of them with my own hands, each with a wish. ”
Ethan froze and let go of Stella.
Stella fell down, her face pale.
This scene was too familiar — when she was eighteen years old, she had also given him a can of paper cranes and said the same thing.
“Lina…” Ethan took the jar, his eyes dazed.
He hugged Alina suddenly. “I love so much.”
Alina glanced triumphantly at Stella and hugged him back.
Stella dug her fingers into the photo album, and her nails cracked and bled, but she didn’t feel any pain.
The heart seemed to be cut with a dull knife.
The one who defeated her was her former self.
Ethan hates the present, but deeply loves the girl named “Lena” in his memory.
Seeing the two embracing each other, Stella grabbed her bag and rushed out of the tavern.
The night was cool and she was driving around, her eyes blurred with tears.
She had thought the pain had numbed her, but her heart was still bleeding.
A white shadow suddenly appeared.
Squeak — the brakes screeched, and with a bang, the person was knocked away.
Stella got out of the car, and there was Alina on the ground in a pool of blood.
“Lina!
! ”
Ethan’s Maybach stopped, and he rushed over and pushed Stella away, scratching his palm.
He picked up Alina and glared at Stella with a glare like a poisonous blade.
“You want to kill her too?
! ”
“It wasn’t me…she rushed out on her own…”
“Shut up!”
He ordered his bodyguards to escort Stella to the hospital and knelt at the door of the emergency room.
The hospital’s red light was dazzling, and Ethan’s back was tense.
Stella was forced to kneel on the tiles, her knees ached from the old injury, she lowered her head and said nothing.
“If something happens to her,” Ethan came over and said coldly, “Stella, you will be buried with her.”
Every word stabbed into her heart.
Three hours later, the light went out. The doctor said, “Her kidney has ruptured. She needs an immediate transplant to survive.”
“Make a match immediately, no matter the cost!”
“But she’s RH negative, type B blood, and has no backup kidney donor.”
Ethan zeroes in on Stella—she also has the same blood type.
“Draw her blood and match her blood type.”
Stella struggled, “No…” but was held down.
Ethan pinched her chin, “You don’t have the right to say no.”
“Ethan…do you really want to do this?”
He had no trouble and ordered the doctor to execute it.
The result matches exactly. Stella was strapped onto the gurney and pushed into the operating room. Ethan signed the consent form in his husband’s name.
Under anesthesia, she recalled when she was fifteen: when he had a high fever, he ran with her on his back; when she was eighteen, he swore to protect her.
Now, he personally sent her to the office to have her kidney cut off.
Tears fell and fell into darkness.
After the operation was over and pushed back to the general ward, Stella curled up in pain.
The family next door chatted with the nurse: “The VIP’s wife is undergoing surgery, and the CEO is watching over her every step of the way.”
“Good luck to her.”
Stella cried silently and whispered weakly: “I am his wife…”
No one heard.
She was thirsty and wanted to pour water. She fell to the ground and suffered severe pain from the incision.
Ethan was outside the door, saw this scene, and was about to step in, but stopped, turned around and left.
Charles was confused: “You are obviously worried…”
Ethan said, “This is her punishment.”
“But Mrs. Hawthorne was also innocent in the car accident that year.
Her parents have already paid for it with their lives. You tortured her for five years and even kidney forced her to donate. Not enough? ”
The corridor was deathly silent.
After a long time, Ethan asked in a low voice: “If I let her go, who will let me go?”
He strode away with a determined look from behind.
Stella lay on the ground for a long time before gathering enough strength to climb back into bed.
For the next few days, Ethan was never seen again. Only the nurse comes to change the dressing on time.
At noon that day, Stella was woken up by the vibrating sound of her cell phone.
A multimedia message was sent from an unknown number.
[Your kidney, I’m very used to it. From now on, not only your kidney, but everything you have — including Ethan — will be mine.]
A photo is attached below.
On Alina’s slender wrist, she wore the antique gold locket.
Stella’s pupils shrank suddenly, and her blood instantly became cold.
It was the last relic left by her mother to her, and inside was the only photo of her and her mother.
How did it get into Alina’s hands when it had been locked in the safe in the master bedroom of Hawthorne Manor?!
She suddenly pulled out the infusion needle on the back of her hand, not caring about the blood splattering.
Holding the wound on his abdomen, he stumbled out of the ward.
VIP ward area.
Stella knocks open Alina’s door.
Alina was leaning on the bedside eating cherries, and when she saw her, a proud smile appeared on her lips.
“Hey, isn’t this our great contributor to kidney donation?
What, came to see your kidney? ”
Stella stared at the locket on her wrist, her voice trembling.
“Give it back to me.”
Alina raised her wrist and twirled the locket nonchalantly.
“Why should I pay you back?
Ethan said it looked good on me, so he gave it to me. ”
“You lied!”
Stella rushed to grab it.
Alina ducked back and screamed.
“ah!
Help! She wants to kill me! ”
The ward door was kicked open.
Ethan strode in and pushed Stella away.
Stella hit the wall, the knife edge tore open, and she gasped in pain.
“Ethan, she’s trying to steal my locket…” Alina shrank into Ethan’s arms, trembling.
Ethan’s face looked horribly gloomy.
“Stella, why are you crazy!”
Stella leaned against the wall, her eyes red.
“That’s a relic left to me by my mother.
Give it back to me…”
She put down all dignity and her voice was hoarse.
“Alina, as long as you give it back to me, I will agree to anything.
You want Mrs. Hawthorne’s place, I’ll give it to you. Please, give it back to me…”
Ethan stiffened suddenly, his eyes filled with overwhelming anger.
“Stella!” He gritted his teeth, “In your heart, my wife’s status is not as good as that of a dead person?
! ”
Stella looked at him with despair in her eyes.
“That’s my mother…”
“Your mother is a murderer!”
Ethan growled.
He grabbed Alina’s wrist and forced the locket off. The gold chain made red marks, and Alina shrank back in fear.
“Everything related to your parents should be destroyed.”
After saying that, he turned around, walked to the window, and pushed open the window.
The cold wind from the eighteenth floor rushed in, and he raised his hand to throw the locket down.
“don’t want–!”
Stella let out a shrill scream.
She didn’t know where the strength came from, and she pounced on Ethan the moment he let go, knocked his arm away, and leaned half of her body out of the window to grab the locket.
His fingertips touched the cold metal, and his body lost its balance.
“Stella!”
Ethan’s pupils shrank suddenly and his heart stopped for a beat.
He reached out like crazy and only caught a piece of clothing.
Stab. The fabric is torn.
Stella fell straight down like a kite with its string broken.
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In her previous life, Erin loved Keller so blindly that she threw away her dignity. In the end, he and Sophia joined hands to drag her into hell.
Lynn Medical Group collapsed. She was tortured to death by kidnappers, while Keller stepped over its ruins and married the woman he had always wanted.
Reborn on the day of the business marriage arrangement, she pushed Keller away and announced in public that she would marry Landon, the senior power behind his family.
No one believed Erin could win Landon over until he appeared in the private room himself, draped his coat over her shoulders, and calmly declared, “She is my fiancée.”
After the wedding, he gave Erin a level of indulgence others could only envy. For a while, she almost believed her second life had finally turned around.
But when the truth came out, Erin realized she had only fallen from one trap into another.
The first second after her rebirth, Erin looked at the luxurious villa living room in front of her and knelt before her parents without hesitation.
“Dad, Mom, I want to change the person in the business marriage arrangement with Reid Holdings.” Erin’s voice trembled, but every word landed steady. “I will not marry Keller. I want to marry Landon.”
The parents’ hands holding the coffee cups shook suddenly, their faces full of astonishment.
“Are you crazy? Weren’t you so in love with Keller that you lost all sense? Landon is the senior Reid family member actually running Reid Holdings. No one can read him. Why would he agree to marry you?”
Erin closed her eyes, and the brutal scenes of her previous life flashed through her mind like a film reel.
In her previous life, she had married Keller as she wished, only to receive endless emotional neglect.
Keller only had eyes for fragile, pitiful Sophia. For Sophia, he watched Erin get tortured by kidnappers. After Erin died, he even turned the ruins of Lynn Medical Group into Sophia’s stepping stone.
Now that she had been given another life, even one glance at Keller made her sick.
“Just because I know the consequences of loving him, I will never marry him.”
“Because I know what loving him costs, I would rather die than marry him.” Erin opened her eyes, cold and clear. “Dad, Mom, Lynn Medical Group needs Reid Holdings’ funding, and Reid Holdings needs our medical resources. It is a deal. Does it matter who we make the deal with? Landon has more power than Keller, doesn’t he?”
My father was silent for a long time and sighed: “Landon is in a high position, so he may not agree. Let’s go test it out, but don’t have high hopes.”
As soon as her parents’ car drove out of the yard, Erin’s phone vibrated.
It was a text from Keller: [The bar downtown. Come here now.]
Erin looked at the words on the screen, sneered, took the car keys and went out. She was worried that she wouldn’t have a chance to speak clearly.
The moment she pushed open the door to the private room, a glass of iced whiskey splashed into her face.
Cold liquid ran down her cheeks, and mocking laughter burst through the private room.
“Well, Miss Erin really does come when called. Even a dog has more backbone than you.”
“You can come if Keller asks you to come. Why, you can’t bear not being around him for a day?”
Keller sat in the middle of the sofa, holding Sophia with red eyes in his arms. He looked down at the embarrassed Erin, his eyes full of disgust.
“What game are you playing now? Spreading rumors that you want to break off our engagement so I will come coax you?” Keller sneered. “Let me make this clear. Even if this is a business marriage arrangement, all you deserve is an empty marriage. I love Sophia. Stop disgusting us.”
Erin took out a tissue and slowly wiped the wine from her face.
Unlike in her previous life, she did not go mad with jealousy. Her gaze was calm, as if she were looking at trash.
“You misunderstood.” She threw the tissue into the trash. “The engagement is ending. The business marriage arrangement is still happening.”
Keller frowned: “What do you mean?”
“It means I am marrying into Reid Holdings, but the groom is not you.” Erin looked at him and smiled coldly. “Keller, the next time you see me, remember to call me Mrs. Reid.”
The private room went dead silent.
Keller was stunned for two seconds, and then burst into laughter, as if he had heard a big joke:
“Have you lost your mind? You want to marry Landon? You think you deserve him? He will not even spare you a second look!”
Sophia spoke timidly as well. “Erin, do not say things like that just to make Keller angry. A man like Landon would never…”
“Whether it’s possible or not, it’s not your turn to worry about it.” She didn’t want to waste any more words, so she turned around and left.
“Stop!” Keller was irritated by Erin’s ignoring attitude and stood up suddenly to grab her wrist.
Just then, the private room door was pushed open from outside.
A man in a black couture suit and gold-rimmed glasses stood in the doorway. He was tall and lean, with a cold, restrained elegance. Behind the lenses, his eyes were deep as an abyss and heavy with pressure.
The air in the private room solidified instantly.
Keller’s hand froze in midair. His face went white, and even his voice shook. “M-Mr. Reid.”
Landon did not look at him. His gaze passed over everyone and went straight to Erin. He stepped forward, took off his coat, and naturally draped it over her soaked shoulders.
“Erin.” Landon’s voice was low and pleasant, yet distant in a businesslike way. “Your father called me just now. I accept your proposal.”
There was silence in the private room, and everyone seemed to be strangled.
“Mr. Reid, are you insane? You want to marry her? She is…”
“She is someone you will have to respect from now on.” Landon cut him off calmly, his eyes indifferent. “Keller, mind your manners.”
Keller was frozen in place by that look and couldn’t say a word.
Landon turned to her and gathered the coat around her shoulders with long fingers. “Let’s go, fiancée. It is too noisy here.”
Erin followed Landon out of the bar and got into the black Maybach.
The car was filled with the faint smell of agarwood, and Erin turned her head to look at the man beside her.
Landon’s profile was impeccable, but his aloofness made people shudder.
“Why did you agree?” Erin asked directly.
She didn’t believe in love at first sight, and she didn’t believe that people like Landon would do business at a loss.
Landon took off his glasses and rubbed his brow. “Lynn Medical Group’s research institute has something I need. And you need a backer strong enough to crush Keller. We each get what we need.”
“Is it that simple?”
“That simple.” Landon put his glasses back on and looked at her. His gaze was honest, but cold. “Erin, I can give you the status of a legal spouse, absolute freedom, and protection. Keller will never be able to touch you again.”
Erin’s heart moved slightly, this was exactly what she wanted.
“But I have conditions,” Landon said calmly. “First, do not interfere with my private life. Second, do not fall in love with me.”
Erin froze for a moment, then laughed. “Do not worry, Landon. I know my place.”
She was scarred by love in her previous life. In this life, she just wants to build a career and keep the Lynn Medical Group.
She gave up on the luxury of love.
Over the next half month, Landon showed her what textbook indulgence looked like.
If Erin casually mentioned that she liked a restaurant, its head chef appeared at the house the next day. If she glanced twice at a dress from a couture show, the entire collection arrived in her closet the following morning.
Landon solves all her troubles with force and resoluteness. Keller tried to cause trouble with her, but was immediately stopped by Landon and sent to a remote overseas branch for training.
He protected her so completely it was almost airtight, as if he were worshiping an expensive porcelain doll.
But Erin gradually realized that his indulgence was cold.
Landon never had any physical contact with her.
When walking side by side, he always kept a distance of ten centimeters from her; occasionally when handing something over, his fingers would deftly avoid Erin’s skin.
He was like a perfectly programmed husband. No flaw could be found, except that he lacked the warmth of a living person.
Until a week before the wedding, Erin went to Reid Holdings to deliver documents to Landon.
There was no one in the CEO’s office. Erin pushed open the door to the break room and saw an upside-down photo on Landon’s desk.
Instinctively, she opened the photo.
The photo shows two young men.
One was a younger Landon. The other was an extraordinarily handsome young man with a sickly pallor in his brows. They stood very close, and the way Landon looked at him held a tenderness and obsession Erin had never seen before.
Written on the back of the photo were two words: Noah.
“What are you doing?”
A cold and biting voice came from behind.
Erin’s hand shook and the photo fell on the table.
She turned around and saw Landon standing at the door, his face terrifyingly gloomy.
He strode over, grabbed the photo, carefully wiped away the non-existent dust, and then looked at her coldly.
“Erin, I remember telling you not to interfere with my private life.”
That was the first time Erin saw Landon lose control, because he was touched by the reverse scale.
Erin suddenly understood something.
“Who is he?” Erin heard her voice wavering.
Landon locked the photos in the drawer and returned to his aloof and indifferent look.
“An old friend.” His tone was very faint. “Erin, play the role you are supposed to play. Do not ask questions you should not ask.”
That photo became a thorn in Erin’s heart.
Erin used Reid Holdings’ contacts to investigate, but the result left her feeling trapped in an ice cave.
Noah had once been a brilliant young painter in New York. He was also the old love Landon kept hidden in his heart.
Five years earlier, Noah had been in a serious car accident and was left in a vegetative state. He still lay in a top care facility in Seattle, and the core medical technology behind that facility came from Lynn Medical Group’s research institute.
Erin was sitting in an empty room, looking at the investigation report in her hand, and suddenly felt extremely ridiculous.
No wonder Landon agreed so readily, no wonder he wanted the medical resources of Lynn Medical Group.
He was not bisexual. He was gay, completely and without question.
He married Erin only so he could use Lynn Medical Group’s technology to save the person he loved. At the same time, a conventional marriage would hide his unacceptable orientation from his family and give them an explanation.
She had escaped Keller’s trap, only to plunge headfirst into Landon’s abyss.
“Knock knock.”
There was a knock on the door, and Landon’s assistant walked in pushing a row of wedding dresses.
“Mrs. Reid, these are all Paris couture. Please see which one you like,” the assistant said respectfully.
Erin looked at those priceless white gauze and felt dazzled.
“Where’s Landon?”
“Landon went to Seattle on a business trip and said he would be back the day before the wedding.”
Go to Seattle… to see Noah.
Erin twitched her lips: “I know, let it go.”
The wedding took place as scheduled.
The wedding of the century shook all of New York. Landon gave Erin the ultimate public respect: Bulgarian roses everywhere, a pink diamond ring worth over a hundred million, and an official place in the Reid family’s inner circle.
At the wedding scene, Keller was escorted back from the remote overseas branch.
He was tanned and thin, and his eyes were full of unwillingness and regret when he looked at Erin who was so radiant on the stage.
He tried to rush onto the stage, but was held down by Landon’s bodyguard.
Holding Erin’s hand, Landon looked down at Keller. His voice was not loud, but it carried through the room. “Call her Mrs. Reid.”
Keller bit his lip in humiliation and squeezed out a few words through his teeth: “Mrs. Reid.”
Erin looked at Keller’s humiliation, but she felt no pleasure from revenge. The large hand holding hers was warm, yet stiff as wood.
Landon was enduring physical contact with a woman.
The moment the toast was over, Landon released her hand and wiped his palm with a handkerchief.
That tiny movement was like a loud slap across Erin’s face.
Wedding night.
The wedding room was decorated festively and luxuriously. Erin sat on the edge of the bed wearing red silk pajamas and watched Landon walk out of the bathroom.
He was wearing neat dark pajamas, buttoned to the top button, and was ascetic to the extreme.
He walked to the bed, did not get on the bed, but took out a spare quilt from the cabinet and walked to the sofa in the distance.
“You sleep on the bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Landon said in a calm voice with his back to Erin.
Erin tightened her grip on the sheets: “Landon, we’re getting married.”
“I know.” Landon turned around, his eyes clear and empty of desire. “Erin, I promised you that aside from love and physical intimacy, I can give you anything. If you feel wronged, my supplementary card has no limit. Buy anything you like.”
Erin laughed angrily.
“You think money can solve everything?”
“At least it solves most troubles.” Landon walked over, bent slightly, and placed a kiss on her forehead as light as a feather.
There was no warmth or emotion in it. It felt like a bedtime ritual.
“Good night, Erin.”
Erin looked at his back walking towards the sofa, her eyes sore.
She had thought she could keep this as a transaction and leave feelings out of it. But the heart was made of flesh. In the past half month, Landon had shielded her from storms and backed her up when she needed it. How could she not feel anything?
Yet that feeling looked ridiculous in the face of Landon’s absolute reason and the gender line she could never cross.
Landon is the perfect husband.
He remembered Erin’s period and had brown sugar ginger tea prepared in advance. He knew she was allergic to mangoes, so no yellow fruit appeared in the house. When she attended charity dinners, he even chose her jewelry himself.
He took good care of her, but he was very distinct.
Erin tries to break the deadlock.
One weekend, Landon was working overtime in the study. Erin cooked herself, made his favorite scallop and seafood porridge, and brought it to the study.
“Landon, take a rest and drink some porridge.” She put the bowl next to his hand, and her fingers inadvertently touched the back of his hand.
His hand jerked back as if it had been burned.
Although he tried his best to hide it, the physical rejection at that moment still stung Erin.
He looked at the bowl of porridge and frowned slightly, but he still picked it up and took a sip.
“It’s delicious, thank you.” He said in a gentle tone.
Before Erin could be happy, she heard him press the intercom and call the housekeeper in.
“Do not let Mrs. Reid go into the kitchen again.” Landon pulled out a wet wipe and cleaned his hands. “Smoke and oil are bad for her skin. We hired Michelin chefs. They are not here for decoration.”
The butler nodded repeatedly.
Erin froze. He was not cherishing her. He was maintaining a beautiful ornament and refusing to let it touch ordinary life.
“Landon, I just want to do something for you.” Erin bit her lip.
“You do not need to do anything. Just be Mrs. Reid.” Landon looked at her like a disobedient child. “Erin, do not cross the line.”
Crossing the line again.
Erin suddenly felt very tired.
This soft-knife torture was more hopeless than Keller’s open cruelty.
Keller would at least argue with her and get angry. Landon, on the other hand, was even stingy about getting angry at her.
Half a month later, it’s Erin’s birthday.
Landon booked New York’s top revolving restaurant early and prepared fireworks and a private jet as gifts.
Erin wore a haute couture dress and sat at a dining table covered with roses, waiting for him.
At 8 p.m., Landon didn’t show up.
Nine o’clock in the evening, still nothing.
Erin called his phone, but no one answered.
It wasn’t until ten o’clock in the evening that the assistant rushed over, sweating profusely: “Mrs. Reid, I’m sorry, Landon can’t come.”
“Something happened to the company?” Erin suppressed the panic in her heart.
The assistant avoided her eyes. “No… Seattle called. They said Noah’s vitals suddenly dropped, and the hospital issued a critical condition notice. Landon took a private jet there overnight.”
Erin’s blood instantly ran cold.
She looked out the window at the sky full of fireworks that bloomed on time. They were gorgeous and dazzling, but they couldn’t warm her cold heart.
“Did he leave anything before he left?” Erin heard her dry voice.
The assistant handed her a black card and a velvet box. “Landon said happy birthday. The card has no PIN. The necklace is the Heart of the Ocean, the one he won at auction. He said he was sorry and would make it up to you when he came back.”
Erin looked at the priceless necklace and suddenly smiled. Laughing till tears came out.
compensate? What compensation will be given?
On her birthday, her husband had left without even saying happy birthday to her face, all because of another man.
What was she? A professional stand-in with a high salary and premium benefits? Or a shield that could be dropped at any time?
Erin didn’t take the card or the necklace.
She took off her high heels and walked out of the luxurious restaurant barefoot.
The night wind blew on me, biting the bones.
She finally understood that Landon’s indulgence had never been love. It was charity from above, a compensation mechanism for a business partner.
His heart had died with the man named Noah in that car accident five years ago.
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I once thought relationships worked like the strictest double-entry books: every debit had a credit, and the two always balanced.
Every sacrifice and every demand could be made to balance perfectly on the ledger of life.
Then I met Ian Vale.
To save my father, who had been left in a vegetative state, I signed a five-year contract with Ian.
He was my creditor. I was his clearly priced “Mrs. Vale.”
We agreed on three rules: accounts only, no love;
We would act the part, but we would not fall for each other.
I thought that once I cleaned up his messy books and cleared the debt, I could walk away intact.
Then I was cornered in an alley, and he charged in like a madman, holding me with bloodshot eyes.
“Nora, who gave you permission to reduce us to a line item?”
0I stood in the corner of the banquet hall, holding a glass of champagne.
The crystal chandeliers caught on the jewels of socialites and wealthy wives until my eyes ached.
Not far away, Ian Vale was surrounded by a group of business leaders.
He wore a perfectly tailored black couture suit. His posture was straight, and his eyes carried a cold sharpness beneath their careless calm.
He was always like this. Even when he did nothing, every eye in the room found him.
I lowered my head and glanced at the brown paper portfolio in my hand.
Inside was not the brochure for tonight’s charity auction, but a Final Financial Audit Report and a signed Divorce Agreement.
I took a deep breath, set my champagne on a passing waiter’s tray, and walked straight toward him.
The crowd parted on its own as I approached.
Their eyes held curiosity, contempt, and polished fake courtesy.
They all knew I was Mrs. Vale. They also knew I was little more than the senior financial auditor Ian kept at his side.
I stopped in front of him.
He arched an eyebrow. His deep gaze settled on my face, waiting for me to speak.
I said nothing. I only handed him the portfolio calmly.
“What is this?” He did not take it. His voice was low, edged with displeasure at being interrupted.
“I have balanced the books for the past five years.” I looked into his eyes and said each word clearly. “Mr. Vale, we are even.” As his pupils tightened, I pushed the portfolio into his hand, turned, and walked out of the banquet hall without looking back.
I pushed open the heavy carved doors, and the cold night wind rushed into my face.
I pulled my trench coat tighter around me, but my thoughts drifted back to five years ago.
To a rainy night just as cold, the night I lost everything.
Five years earlier.
I dragged a heavy suitcase and stood in front of the black iron gate of Ridge Manor.
The rain was falling heavily, hitting my umbrella with a dull sound.
I was soaked, as if I had just been fished out of the water.
The iron door slowly slid open to both sides.
An old man wearing a gray suit, gray hair but energetic, walked out holding a black umbrella.
He looked me up and down, there was no contempt in his eyes, only a businesslike look.
“You must be Ms. Nora Shaw.” He stepped aside slightly. “I’m Martin, the butler here. Mr. Vale is waiting inside.” I nodded. My throat was too dry to make a sound.
The luxury inside the manor was beyond my imagination.
The high dome, the huge crystal lamp, the Persian carpet that makes no sound when stepped on.
There is a faint smell of cedar in the air, which is so oppressive that it makes people breathless.
Ian Vale is sitting on the huge leather sofa in the living room.
He was wearing a black shirt with a slightly open collar and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms.
He was playing with a silver lighter in his hand, and the sound of “click, click” was particularly clear in the empty living room.
That was the first time I really looked directly at this man.
The youngest and most ruthless tycoon in the city.
And, after my father’s company collapsed and his failed suicide attempt left him in a vegetative state, the only “good man” willing to pour enough money into that bottomless pit.
Of course, his good intentions come with a hefty price tag.
“Sit.” He didn’t raise his head, but nodded his chin towards the sofa opposite.
I walked over and stood up straight instead of sitting down.
“Mr. Vale, I’m here.” My voice was trembling, but I tried to make it sound calm.
He finally raised his head and stared at me with his sharp eyes like an eagle, as if he was assessing the value of a commodity.
He picked up a document from the coffee table in front of him and threw it in front of me.
“Take a look and sign if there’s no problem.” I picked up the document.
Debt Settlement Agreement.
There are not many terms, but every one of them coldly reveals the calculations of the capitalists.
1. The term is five years.
During that time, I had to live at the manor as “Mrs. Vale” and appear with him whenever he needed me in public.
2. I will serve as the chief financial auditor of his private and core industries and be responsible for cleaning up all bad accounts.
3. The massive debt my father owed would be offset by five years of my labor, my time, and my “identity.”
At the end of the five-year period, both debts will be paid off.
4. Non-interference in each other’s private lives.
He lives in the main building and I live in the annex building.
I looked at the neatly printed fonts and felt a little funny.
My father is an old-school accountant. He taught me abacus, double-entry accounting, and professional ethics.
But the only thing he never taught me was how to do accounting when a person regards himself as an asset to pay off debts.
I turned to the last page and looked at the figure that would take me even an ordinary person working for ten lifetimes to pay off.
I took out an old pen from my bag.
That was a gift from my father when I passed the CPA exam.
I took off the cap of my pen and signed the words “Nora Shaw” in the place of Party B.
The force penetrated the back of the paper, as if signing a life and death certificate.
After signing, I pushed the contract back.
“Mr. Vale, I’ve signed it.” He glanced at the signature, put the contract away in the drawer, and threw a bunch of keys on the table.
“The room in the annex building, the access card for the study, and the code for the safe.” His tone was unimpressive. “My accounts are very messy, and I don’t like others to lie to me. If the accounts are done wrong or leaked, you can’t afford the consequences.”
“Understood.” I lowered my eyes.
“Martin, take her to the room.” He stood up and turned upstairs without hesitation.
Martin came over and picked up my suitcase.
“Nora, please come with me.” The room in the annex building is very spacious, but the decoration is minimal and gives off a deserted feel.
A bed, a set of wardrobes, and a large desk.
Martin put down the box, explained a few rules, and then left.
The moment the door closed, all the strength in my body seemed to be drained away.
I slumped down on the chair in front of my desk, took out my phone, and pulled up the calculator.
That huge total debt, divided by 1825 days.
A number accurate to two decimal places pops up on the screen.
That was the daily “depreciation cost” of my next five years.
I looked at that number and my eyes were hot, but I bit my lip to prevent tears from falling.
This is a deal.
Since it is a transaction, as long as the accounts are clear, it will be settled one day.
I placed the old pen squarely on the table.
From today on, I am no longer Nora Shaw, the up-and-coming auditor.
I am Ian Vale’s debtor.
A tool that is clearly priced.
0
The rules of the Vale household are engraved in their bones, and even their daily routine is like clockwork.
At six o’clock in the morning the next day, I opened my eyes on time.
After doing financial audits for so many years, my body has long been accustomed to this rhythm and does not need an alarm clock.
After washing up and going downstairs, Martin had already set breakfast in the dining room.
Typical continental fare: toast, fried eggs, bacon, and a pot of black coffee.
“Ms. Shaw, morning.” Martin nodded slightly.
“Good morning, Martin.” I pulled out a chair and sat down. “Where is Mr. Vale?”
“Mr. Vale goes for a morning run. He should be on the forest path behind the manor right now. He usually has breakfast at 7:30 and leaves for the company at 8:00.” Martin answered crisply.
I gave a short reply and lowered my head, eating faster.
Share breakfast with him on day one?
I couldn’t swallow that meal.
At ten minutes past seven, I put down my knife and fork, picked up the access card Martin gave me, and walked to the study at the end of the first floor of the main building.
Swipe your card and push the door open.
A smell of old paper mixed with a hint of cigar came to my face.
Even though I had done some mental preparation in advance, the moment I saw the whole view of the study, I couldn’t help but take a breath.
This was not a study.
It was clearly an abandoned archive warehouse.
In a space of hundreds of square meters, oak bookshelves are filled with various folders, and mountains of ledgers, vouchers and reports are piled on the floor, sofas, and even on the large oak desk.
Some documents were scattered on the floor, with half a dusty shoe print still printed on them.
Ian Vale, a man famous in business for being cold and precise, had let his financial command center fall into this state.
I even doubt how he managed Vale Holdings to this day.
But I was shocked, and the auditor’s professional obsessive-compulsive disorder in my bones began to surge wildly.
I didn’t back down.
Roll up your shirt sleeves, find a few large cardboard boxes, and get started.
The first step is coarse screening.
I picked up all the documents on the floor and made preliminary classifications by year and project.
The dust was flying in the early morning sunshine, making me sneeze several times, but I didn’t stop.
The brain is like a high-speed processor that quickly archives messy information.
The whole morning, I didn’t even take a sip of water.
Martin brought his lunch to the door of the study at noon. When he saw the scene inside, he opened his mouth in surprise.
“Ms. Shaw, you…”
“Martin, please find me a few shredders, enough archive boxes, and label paper.” I did not even look up. I was still flipping through a purchasing ledger from three years ago.
In the afternoon, I started segmenting.
Vouchers, invoices, contracts, bank statements, each category must be in perfect harmony.
It was not until evening that the entire study finally returned to its proper tidiness.
All ledgers and documents are put into unified filing boxes, clearly labeled, and neatly stacked on the bookshelf in chronological order and project category.
I wiped the desk spotless, with only a computer on it and a copy of the “Financial Current Situation Assessment and Rectification Plan” that I just drove out.
In this plan, I bluntly pointed out the chaos of his current financial management, as well as possible tax risks and funding loopholes, and listed a detailed digital transformation plan.
Looking at the brand new study, I rubbed my sore lower back and let out a long sigh of relief.
This is my value.
At seven o’clock in the evening, the sound of a car engine came from outside.
Ian is back.
I didn’t go out to greet him, but stayed in my annex room.
It is written in the contract that they will not interfere with each other.
About ten minutes later, I heard a loud bang from the main building.
It sounded like a heavy folder being slammed against the wall.
My heart sank.
It seemed that my plan or my unauthorized arrangement of his study had offended him.
This kind of big boss usually has a strong sense of territoriality and doesn’t like others touching his things.
But I don’t care.
I’m here to settle the accounts, not be a babysitter.
If he did not accept my professional advice, the bad accounts of the past five years would not be able to be sorted out.
At dinner time, Martin knocked on the door and asked me to go to the main restaurant.
When I walked in, Ian was already sitting in the main seat.
He changed into dark gray home clothes, but his face was so gloomy that it seemed like it could drip water.
The air pressure in the restaurant is so low that it makes you breathless.
I pulled up the chair farthest from him and sat down, lowering my head to eat without saying a word.
“Who told you to touch my study?” He suddenly spoke, his voice as cold as ice.
“Me.” I put down my knife and fork, raised my head and looked directly at him, “Mr. Vale, I am your chief financial auditor. If I cannot classify even the most basic original documents, I cannot carry out my work.”
“I’ll keep those things for use!” His eyes were sharp.
“Useful does not mean it should be piled up like trash.” I did not give an inch. “I have already labeled and indexed everything. If you need any document from any year, I can find it for you in ten seconds. Also, have you read my proposal?”
He narrowed his eyes, seeming to look at me again.
Probably few people would dare to speak to him in this tone.
The air was stagnant for half a minute.
Suddenly, he picked up the communal dinner tong, picked up a piece of the tenderest belly meat of grilled salmon, and threw it directly into the bone plate in front of me.
“Eat more.” His tone was stiff. “You are so thin you make me look bad when I take you out.”
I was stunned.
Looking at the piece of fish on the plate, I frowned.
A slap followed by a sweet date?
As management tactics went, this was painfully clumsy.
I didn’t touch the piece of fish, but picked up my knife and fork again and picked up a piece of asparagus.
“Thank you Mr. Vale for your concern, but I’m allergic to seafood.” I lied expressionlessly.
His movements paused, his eyes became deeper, but he said nothing more.
After the meal, I went straight back to the annex.
When Martin was clearing the table, he followed me and stopped me in the corridor.
“Ms. Shaw.” Martin lowered his voice. “Mr. Vale has a bad temper, but he is not a bad man.”
I sneered. “Martin, good or bad does not matter in a ledger. There are only debits and credits.”
Martin sighed, his eyes a little complicated.
“For the past three years, even the cleaning servants have not been allowed to enter Mr.’s study. His accounts are even more untouchable.”
He looked at me, his tone meaningful.
“You are the first person who not only went in, but also turned it inside out, and finally came out safe and sound.”
My heart moved slightly.
The first one?
What is this?
Special treatment for me, the “debtor”?
Or is there some ulterior secret hidden in his pile of bad accounts, and now he finally decided to find someone to reveal it?
I went back to the room and looked at the old pen on the table.
No matter what his purpose is, I have only one mission: to investigate every account and survive these five years.
Others are outside the scope of my calculation.
0
In the next few days, I locked myself in my study, like a human scanner, and inserted page after page of Ian Vale’s old ledgers into my newly created electronic database.
The work was smelly and long.
Vale’s business empire was sprawling: real estate and financial investment at the core, with logistics, building materials, and even a few fringe entertainment companies hanging beneath them.
The flow of funds is like a tangled web, causing headaches.
I spend more than ten hours in the study every day and rarely go out except for eating and sleeping.
Ian rarely shows up either.
He leaves early and comes home late. Although we live in the same house, we can count on one hand the number of times we have met.
This is best.
Do not disturb each other, the highest efficiency.
Until late at night on the fourth day.
I am checking the annual report of a subsidiary called “East Bay Logistics”.
After staring at the numbers for several hours, my eyes were as dry as sandpaper.
I put on two drops of eye drops, closed my eyes for a few seconds, and then opened them again.
At this moment, professional intuition sounded the alarm.
Something is wrong.
I quickly pulled up East Bay Logistics’ monthly shipping details for the past three years.
At first glance, the accounts look good — revenue is growing steadily, costs are within a reasonable range, and profit margins are in line with industry standards.
But I set my sights on a specific line: the dedicated line from Nancheng to the northern suburbs storage center.
The single transportation cost of this line will rise slightly every month.
Five thousandths, or even three thousandths.
This kind of fluctuation is like a drop of water in the ocean in the huge total cost.
If you don’t draw three years of data into a curve, you won’t be able to find it at all.
I grabbed the scratch paper, quickly listed the key data, and used the calculator to deduce it.
In three years, all the “tiny increases” on this line add up…
The calculator showed one number: 1.2 million.
This is not a market move.
Someone was using that dedicated line like a leech, quietly bleeding Vale Holdings dry.
The technique is very clever — knowledgeable and extremely cautious.
If I hadn’t re-entered all the original documents and cross-referenced them, this bad account would always be buried under the beautiful reports.
I stared at that number and felt a chill go down my spine.
This is no longer a financial mess.
This is embezzlement and a crime.
Just when I was about to dig deeper into the final flow of the funds, there was a knock on the study door.
In the silence of the night, the sound was particularly harsh.
I was startled and almost dropped the pen in my hand to the ground.
“Who?” I asked warily.
“Nora, it’s me.” Martin’s voice came from outside the door.
I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up to open the door.
Martin was carrying a tray with a glass of warm milk and a sandwich.
“Mr. Vale just came back and saw the study light was still on, so he asked me to bring you something to eat,” Martin said with a smile. “He said staying up late wears you down, and you should not push yourself so hard.”
I looked at the glass of milk and felt irritated.
What does Ian want to do?
It was as cold as ice during the day, and late at night snacks were served.
This sudden “concern” is more dangerous than losing your temper.
“Thank you Martin, I’m not hungry.” I refused coldly, “And I don’t have the habit of eating at night.”
“Nora, please don’t embarrass me.” Martin sighed and brought the tray directly into the study and placed it on the coffee table. “Don’t you know Mr.’s temper? If you don’t drink this milk, I will have to pack up and leave tomorrow.”
I know Martin is exaggerating, but I’m too lazy to dwell on this trivial matter.
“Put it there, I’ll drink it later.”
Martin nodded and backed out.
I didn’t touch the glass of milk and sat back in front of the computer.
Just then, the phone vibrated.
The word “Mom” flashed on the screen.
My heart suddenly rose to my throat.
Calling me so late, something must have happened at the hospital.
I got through immediately.
“Hello, Mom? Is it dad…”
“Nora…” On the other end of the phone, my mother’s voice was full of exhaustion and suppressed crying, “Your dad is not doing well today. The doctor said he had a lung infection and he just rescued him…”
I held the phone tightly, digging my nails into my palm.
“How much does it cost? I’ll transfer it right away.”
“There is still plenty of money in the hospital account…” Mom choked out. “I am just… scared. Nora, are you being treated well at Mr. Vale’s home? Mr. Vale… he is not making things hard for you, is he?”
“No, Mom, I’m fine.” I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady, “Mr. Vale is a serious businessman, I’m just helping him with his accounts, don’t think too much about it.”
“That’s good, that’s good. You have to take care of yourself and don’t be too tired…”
When I hung up the phone, I felt like all my strength had been drained from my body.
I walked to the window, opened it, and wanted to get some air.
The night breeze is very cold.
I lowered my head and looked through the landscape trees in the yard to the terrace outside the main building.
Ian stood there.
He held a cigarette between his fingers, the scarlet butt flickering in the darkness.
He seemed to have just taken a shower and was only wearing a black bathrobe with the collar open.
He was looking up and looking straight at the window where I was.
I couldn’t see his expression clearly from a distance of dozens of meters, but I could feel the weight in his eyes.
Like a net, covering it silently.
I subconsciously took a step back and yanked the curtains shut.
I hate this feeling of being spied on.
What I hate even more is that he appeared in my sight when I was at my most vulnerable.
I returned to my desk and forced myself to refocus on the numbers.
I have to find the vampire.
Only by proving my worth can I stand firmer in this cage.
Just when I was about to follow the clues to investigate, the study door was pushed open again.
This time, there was no knock.
Ian strode in with a faint smell of tobacco and the cold fragrance of shower gel.
0
Ian’s sudden intrusion made the air in the study freeze instantly.
He was tall and his broad shoulders almost blocked the light from the doorway.
He didn’t look at the glass of cold milk on the coffee table, but walked straight to my desk.
His eyes fell on the scratch paper spread across my desk and the dense shipping details on the computer screen.
“What are you checking?” His voice was low, with an undeniable sense of oppression.
I quickly turned over the scratch paper, trying to cover up the data I was deducing.
“Some daily account checking.” I replied calmly, “Mr. Vale, it’s one o’clock in the morning. You coming in without knocking on the door doesn’t seem to be in compliance with the ‘non-interference’ clause in our contract.”
He sneered and ignored my protest.
He suddenly leaned down, put his hands on the edge of the desk, and approached me aggressively with his tall body.
The distance was so close that I could even feel the warm air from his breath.
I subconsciously leaned back in my chair.
He reached out his hand and unceremoniously pulled out the scratch paper I had just turned over.
He glanced at the slightly fluctuating numbers I circled above and the final summary of “1.2 million.”
His eyes instantly became dark, like a bottomless pool of black water.
“East Bay Logistics?” He read the name, and there was no emotion or anger in his tone.
“Yes.” Now that I had been discovered, I simply stopped hiding it. “There are traces of man-made manipulation in the transportation costs of this dedicated line. In three years, someone used this subtle adjustment to siphon 1.2 million from the company’s account.”
I looked into his eyes, trying to catch something in his reaction.
anger?
shock?
Or the embarrassment and anger after being exposed?
None.
He just looked at the piece of paper calmly, as if what I said was just a trivial matter.
“Do you understand the unspoken rules of the logistics industry?” He suddenly spoke, with a hint of mockery in his tone.
“I don’t understand the hidden rules.” I met his gaze without giving in. “I only understand mathematics. Mathematics doesn’t lie. This money is flat on the books, but in fact it is lost profits.”
He straightened up and looked at me condescendingly.
“Nora, do you know some accounts are not meant to be examined too closely?” His voice carried a warning. “When the water is too clear, there are no fish. Did your father never teach you that?”
When I mentioned my father, the fire in my heart suddenly started to burn.
“My father taught me that books are like people. One wrong entry can hide a hole no one can fill.” My voice was cold. “If you think I am overstepping, you can fire me right now. But while I am in this position, I will not pretend I cannot see a parasite this blatant.”
The study fell into a deathly silence.
We were like two beasts confronting each other, neither of us willing to look away first.
I thought he was going to get mad and tear up the scrap paper and smash it in my face.
But he didn’t.
He suddenly smiled.
It was an extremely dangerous, predatory smile.
“Okay.” He slapped the scrap paper on the table, “Since you have such a professional ethics, I will give you this opportunity.”
He leaned down, put his hands on the table again, and locked his eyes with me.
“Keep checking.”
“Dig out all the interest chains, capital flows, and handlers behind this line.”
“I want to see a complete investigation report at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
I was stunned.
Not only did he not stop me, but he asked me to investigate thoroughly?
“What?” He raised his eyebrows, “Didn’t you speak righteously just now? Now you don’t dare?”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I immediately replied, “As long as you don’t regret it.”
“I, Ian Vale, don’t have the word regret in my dictionary.”
He straightened up, turned and walked towards the door.
When he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at the coffee table.
“Drink that glass of milk.”
This is an order.
After saying that, he left the study without looking back.
The door is closed.
My tense nerves finally relaxed, and a layer of cold sweat broke out on my back.
This man is too dangerous and too difficult to see through.
He clearly knew that East Bay Logistics had a problem, why didn’t he deal with it?
Why wait for me to lift the lid?
I don’t have time to think too much.
It’s less than seven hours until eight in the morning.
I picked up the glass of cold milk and drank it in one gulp.
The cold liquid slid down my throat and into my stomach, clearing up my chaotic brain.
I sat back in front of the computer and tapped my fingers quickly on the keyboard.
I want to follow this line and drag out the big rat hiding in the dark.
I pulled up all the financial data of East Bay Logistics and started cross-referencing it.
I reviewed every payment receipt and checked every collection account.
As the investigation deepens, a secret financial chain gradually emerges.
The money that was withdrawn did not go directly into the individual’s pockets, but was carried out through a series of complex money laundering operations through several seemingly unrelated shell companies.
In the end, all the money flowed into an offshore account called “Kingsley Capital.”
The actual controller of Kingsley Capital is a man named “Victor Kingsley”.
Victor Kingsley.
I did not see this name in the list of Vale Holdings executives.
who is he?
Time passes minute by minute.
The night outside the window gradually faded, and a fish-belly white color appeared in the east.
I rubbed my sore eyes, organized the last piece of evidence, saved it, and printed it.
7:50 in the morning.
I took a thick investigation report and walked out of the study.
This night of fighting made me feel exhausted, but more importantly, I felt the pleasure of uprooting the cancer.
I want to see what else Ian will say in the face of this irrefutable evidence.
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Everyone in Manhattan’s high society used to say that Ethan, the billionaire heir of the prestigious Vance family, broke ties with his own empire just to marry me. They said he kept every other woman at a distance just to keep me safe.
But on my twenty-fourth birthday, he showed up with another woman.
Throughout the night, Ethan attended to me with his usual gentleness. That was until Chloe placed a bowl of blueberries right in front of my face.
“I imported these specifically from France for your birthday, Stella,” Chloe said, her voice dripping with sweet innocence. “Have a taste.”
When I didn’t move, Ethan’s brows furrowed. “Eat them, Stella. Don’t ruin Chloe’s sweet gesture.”
I still didn’t move. Ethan’s patience snapped instantly. “Don’t act like I don’t know your allergy cured years ago. Do you really have to humiliate Chloe on your own birthday?”
In that moment, Ethan looked like a complete stranger. He seemed to have completely forgotten that I once almost died in an ICU because of a single blueberry.
Before I could even speak, Ethan’s best friend, Mason, grabbed my jaw. Along with a few others, they pried my mouth open and forced the blueberries down my throat.
“Don’t think you can act like a spoiled brat just because Ethan loves you,” Mason sneered in my ear. “If Chloe tells you to eat, you eat.”
Chloe instantly put on a victimized face, tears welling in her eyes. “I just wanted to bring her something nice. How could she…”
She ran out of the venue sobbing. Ethan’s face darkened instantly. “Stella, you are so incredibly toxic. You ruined your own birthday. Are you happy now?”
Without even looking at my distress, Ethan turned on his heel and chased after Chloe.
His friends stayed behind, throwing every disgusting insult they could think of at me.
By the next morning, I was trending all over Snapchat and TikTok.
The headline read: *#GoldDiggerExposed: Did Stella Drug Manhattan’s Golden Boy to Force a Marriage?*
When reporters caught up with Ethan at his office, he simply looked at the camera and said, “It is exactly what it looks like.”
With those words, my reputation as a scheming, manipulative gold digger was sealed.
And as my eyes slowly closed from the agonizing pain in my chest, I couldn’t understand. He used to love me so much. How did we get here?
1
When I woke up, I was already in a hospital bed. Ethan was sitting by my side, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink.
“Sweetheart, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He grabbed my hand eagerly. “You’re pregnant, Stella. Why didn’t you tell me? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
Looking into his eyes, he seemed like the old Ethan again.
My heart softened just a tiny bit. But before I could speak, his phone buzzed.
Ethan glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted subtly. “I need to take this.”
Without waiting for my reply, he walked out of the room.
The hospital door wasn’t fully closed. His warm, gentle tone drifted inside, striking a cold chord in my heart. “Yeah, don’t worry, she’s fine. It was all her own doing. She passed out because she was pregnant and didn’t tell anyone, not because of the blueberries. Don’t blame yourself, Chloe.”
“Alright, get some rest. I’ll come over to see you later.”
Ethan hung up and turned around, only to meet my tear-stained eyes.
Panic flashed across his face, and he rushed to explain, “Chloe just wanted to apologize to you. But honestly, Stella, this is on you. You’re not even allergic to blueberries anymore, yet you had to make a scene. You fainted because of pregnancy hormones, but you wanted to blame it on Chloe just to make her feel guilty, didn’t you?”
I didn’t say a single word. I just let him ramble.
When he finally ran out of excuses, I looked at him with dead eyes. “Ethan, who is Chloe? And who am I to you?”
“Chloe is my childhood friend. You are my wife. Those two things don’t clash, Stella.”
*They don’t clash?*
I let out a bitter laugh.
Years ago, when Ethan’s assistant looked at him with a bit too much admiration, he fired her on the spot. He had told me: *“I won’t allow any woman with hidden intentions to stay near me. My wife is a jealous little kitten, and I intend to keep her happy.”*
And now?
Seeing my silence, Ethan’s face hardened. “Stella, enough. I already apologized, didn’t I? You can’t keep acting this toxic just because you’re pregnant.”
Toxic. That was all I was to him now.
Oh, Ethan. When exactly did you change?
You used to hold me like I was your entire world. Now, you throw me to the ground and trample over me.
I took a deep breath. “Ethan, do you still love me?”
“Of course I do. If I didn’t love you, why would I have married you? Haven’t I sacrificed enough for you over the last ten years?”
He began listing every single sacrifice he had ever made for me, one by one.
He remembered them so clearly.
It was only at this moment that I realized being with me had made him feel so incredibly suffocated and resentful.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I get it. I’m fine now. You should go check on Chloe. She must have been really shaken up.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded.
I had nothing left to say. When love is dead, what is the point of dragging things out?
Ethan looked pleased with my “maturity.” He kissed my forehead and left me with one last sentence: “Chloe just got back to the city. I can’t let her lose face. Once she calms down, I’ll have my team take down those trending articles about you.”
“Okay.”
I watched him leave, and then I signed my own discharge papers.
The doctor warned me that my pregnancy was highly unstable and that I needed to stay bedridden. But deep down, I knew this baby had come at the worst possible time.
When I finally dragged myself back to my apartment, my keycard wouldn’t work.
Just as I was wondering if I had entered the wrong code, the door swung open from the inside.
It was Chloe.
She was wearing my silk nightstand robe, leaning against the doorframe provocatively. “Oh, aren’t you supposed to be hospitalized? Why are you back? Couldn’t trust Ethan alone with me for even a second?”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You wives are always so insecure. The bond between Ethan and me isn’t something a girl like you could ever understand.”
2
Before Chloe could finish her sentence, Ethan’s voice echoed from behind her. “Who is it, babe?”
“Who else? Your dear wife. Looks like she’s here to interrogate us.”
Ethan walked up to the door.
Seeing me, there was no concern in his eyes—only pure annoyance. “What are you doing here?”
His question left me completely stunned.
This was *my* apartment. Why shouldn’t I be here?
Ethan seemed to realize his slip of tongue under my icy stare. He quickly tried to patch it up. “I mean… shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
“Am I interrupting something?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Stella! Are you seriously doing this again? Chloe’s apartment had a plumbing emergency, so she just came over to use my shower. Is your mind always filled with such disgusting thoughts?”
Honestly, if I hadn’t received a video five minutes ago, I might have actually started questioning my own sanity.
On my way back from the hospital, I was thinking about whether my marriage was truly over. Then, a random account requested to add me on Snapchat. Instinct told me it was Chloe.
The moment I accepted, she sent a video.
In the video, Ethan was desperately pulling Chloe into his arms, kissing her passionately. *“Chloe, you’re finally back. I missed you so much,”* his voice murmured in the clip.
I didn’t need to watch what happened next. I knew Ethan too well. I knew exactly what that look in his eyes meant.
Even though I knew we were over, seeing it still felt like a physical blow to my chest.
And now, watching him lie straight to my face while turning me into the villain made me want to laugh out loud.
“Just get inside,” Ethan grumbled, trying to pull me in. “Don’t embarrass us in the hallway.”
“Why did you change the door code, Ethan?” I asked, staying rooted to the spot.
“Oh, that. I couldn’t remember the old one. I’m going to be staying here for a few days.”
“No. This is my apartment.” I glared at him.
Seeing me refuse to back down, his patience wore thin. “Stella, have you forgotten? Everything in your life belongs to me. I pay for your lifestyle.”
“Yes, you do. But not this apartment.”
This apartment was located right next to Ethan’s corporate office. My parents had spent their entire life savings to buy it for me before they passed.
They had told me, *“Sweetheart, our family isn’t as wealthy as the Vance family. We can’t give you a grand dowry, but we can give you this little sanctuary. It’s yours, forever.”*
When Ethan found out back then, he was incredibly moved. He had hugged me and said, *“Your parents are amazing. They knew I was struggling with my start-up and didn’t have money for a house. I will cherish them and you for the rest of my life.”*
Back then, the Vance family had cut Ethan off, and his company was barely surviving. We lived in this tiny apartment for years.
It was only in the last few years, when his business took off, that we moved into a mansion in the suburbs. But I still came back here whenever I needed peace.
“Wow, Stella,” Chloe chimed in, a nasty smirk on her face. “You live off Ethan’s money, and now you’re claiming this place isn’t his?”
“This is between my husband and me. Get the hell out of my apartment,” I snapped, showing her no mercy.
Ethan’s face darkened, but he didn’t say anything to defend Chloe. He probably remembered the deed was indeed in my name.
“Fine,” Ethan said, grabbing Chloe’s hand. “We’re going to the mansion. You stay here and think about what you’ve done, Stella.”
But Chloe yanked her hand back. “Why should I leave? Is this tiny place really not his?”
“Yes, it’s mine,” I answered for him.
Before Chloe could spit out another insult, I walked past them, grabbed the deed from my safe, and shoved it in her face. “See this? My name. Now, get the fuck out of my house.”
3
I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
A mistress parading around my home, trying to claim the only thing my deceased parents left me? I would have to be brain-dead to tolerate this.
I shoved Chloe toward the door.
Ethan’s eyes flared with rage. He violently pushed me away to protect her.
I wasn’t prepared for the force of it. I stumbled backward and crashed hard onto the hardwood floor. Instantly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen.
When I looked down and saw the pool of blood blooming through my pants, panic seized me.
“Ethan… please… help me,” I whimpered, reaching out to him.
“Stella, you’ve gone too far!” Ethan barked, completely ignoring my pale face. “So what if this apartment is in your name? We bought it during our marriage. It’s marital property!”
He glared at me with pure disgust, then scooped Chloe into his arms. “If anything happens to Chloe because of your temper, I will make you pay.”
He walked out, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t even glance back to see the blood pooling beneath me.
With the last of my strength, I dragged myself to my phone and dialed 91
By the time I woke up, the sterile smell of the hospital greeted me once again.
The young nurse standing by my bed sighed softly, pity in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. The baby is gone.”
I saw the sadness in her eyes, but strangely, I felt nothing. My heart had gone completely numb.
Shortly after the nurse left, my phone rang. It was Ethan’s assistant, Luke.
When I answered, Luke’s cold, professional voice came through. “Mrs. Vance, regarding your downtown apartment… Mr. Vance has instructed me to begin the property division process. According to the law—”
He went on and on with legal jargon, but the message was clear: *Ethan was going to sue me for my parents’ apartment.*
I never thought the man who once swore to protect me would go to court against me for a mistress.
I didn’t argue. “Come to my ward, Luke.”
When Luke arrived, he looked extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t waste time and handed him a document. “I know you’re just doing your job, Luke. Tell Ethan I agree to everything. He just needs to sign this.”
Luke looked down at the paper, his eyes widening in shock. “Mrs. Vance… this is… a divorce petition?”
“You’ve seen the news, Luke. Everyone online thinks I’m the villain who ruined Ethan and Chloe’s true love. He wants to take my parents’ apartment. If he really loved me, would he do this?”
Luke remained silent.
“Tell him if he signs this, he can have whatever he wants. Even the apartment.”
Luke stared at me for a long time before taking the papers.
Before he left, I whispered, “If you’re worried he won’t sign it, give it to Chloe. She will find a way to make him put his pen to paper.”
Luke looked at me, a complicated expression on his face. “Are you really letting him go, Stella?”
I didn’t answer.
Did I still love him? I didn’t even know anymore.
But too much had happened. Long before Chloe returned, Ethan had already changed. He stayed out all night. He forgot our anniversary.
He used to tell me, *“I hate perfume. I only want to smell your natural scent.”* But lately, he always came home smelling of heavy jasmine—Chloe’s favorite scent.
When I questioned him, he just said I was being paranoid.
The signs were always there. My heart had just died in slow motion.
An hour later, Luke returned with the divorce papers. Ethan’s signature was sharp and clear at the bottom.
I checked myself out of the hospital immediately.
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“Mom, today is a private VIP birthday bash hosted by my socialite friends for Leo. You’re sitting at the head table wearing those thrift store rags—are you trying to embarrass me on purpose? Just go eat at the corner table with the nanny.”
My daughter-in-law, Tiffany, shoved me aside with pure disgust in the VIP suite of the five-star InterContinental Hotel.
I watched as the handcrafted custom gold baby bracelet I had personally made for my grandson fell to the floor. My heart went completely cold.
This thirty-thousand-dollar birthday banquet was charged to my authorized user card.
The five-million-dollar luxury penthouse they lived in was bought by me, cash in full.
And now, I didn’t even have the right to sit at the table?
Without saying a word, I picked up the gold bracelet, turned around, and walked out. As I did, I dialed the exclusive customer service line for my Amex Centurion Black Card.
“Freeze all authorized user cards under Marcus’s name. Right now.”
**Chapter 1**
“Mom, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? Get back here and pay the bill!”
I had just walked out of the InterContinental when my son, Marcus, called, his voice booming with anxiety and anger.
The early autumn wind was chilly. I wrapped my knit cardigan tighter around myself, my voice calmer than I expected.
“I wasn’t even allowed to sit at the table. Why on earth should I pay for your dinner?”
On the other end of the line, Marcus let out an irritated sigh. His tone was full of impatience and entitlement.
“Mom! Tiffany’s guests today are all high-society people. Their purses cost tens of thousands of dollars. If you sit there in your pilled, cheap clothes, how is Tiffany supposed to face her circle ever again?”
“She just asked you to eat at the side table. Is it really that big of a deal? Just come back. The waiter is waiting for the payment. It’s thirty-two thousand dollars!”
Listening to the son I carried for nine months speak to me in such a condescending, demanding tone all for the sake of a vanity-obsessed woman, I found it utterly ridiculous.
“Thirty-two thousand dollars? Figure it out yourselves. My card has been frozen.”
“You froze the card?!” Marcus’s voice instantly jumped an octave, sounding like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Mom, have you lost your mind?! How are we supposed to pay if you froze the card? Are you trying to humiliate Tiffany on purpose?”
I let out a cold laugh.
“Whether she is humiliated or not is none of my business. Don’t you guys love the luxury lifestyle? A luxury lifestyle is paid for with your own money, not by sucking your mother dry to show off.”
Before he could utter another word, I hung up.
Thirty years.
Ever since my husband passed away in an accident, I had fought my way through the business world alone, eventually founding a multi-billion-dollar restaurant conglomerate.
To prevent Marcus from turning into a spoiled, useless rich kid, I had always hidden my true wealth. I told him we only had some modest savings.
I bought him a house, got him a car, and gave him eight thousand dollars a month as an “allowance.” I only hoped he would live a stable life and learn to be a responsible man.
But what did I get in return?
He married Tiffany, a woman whose brain was filled with nothing but designer logos and vanity, and turned into a completely spineless, ungrateful leech.
Just as I locked my phone, my SnapChat family group began blowing up.
Tiffany had posted a sixty-second voice note. In the background, I could hear the whispering of her so-called “socialite” friends.
“Everyone, come look at this! This is my wonderful mother-in-law! Today is Leo’s birthday, and I kindly invited her to a five-star hotel for dinner. But she threw a tantrum because she didn’t like the food and walked out in front of all my friends!”
“And to make it worse, she froze Marcus’s credit card on purpose! Now the restaurant manager has blocked us in the private room demanding payment! She just hates seeing us happy. She’s trying to ruin our lives!”
Aunt Clara was the first to jump in, pretending to be the voice of reason:
“Evelyn, this is really wrong of you. The kids need to save face. What’s wrong with swallowing a little pride as an elder? How could you embarrass them in front of outsiders?”
Uncle Charles followed up with a text:
“Exactly, Evelyn. Tiffany is a stay-at-home mom, and Marcus is under so much pressure supporting the family alone. What’s the point of clutching onto your little retirement fund? Just go back, pay the bill, and apologize to Tiffany. We’re family, after all.”
Looking at these relatives who loved to give advice from their moral high grounds, a cold smirk played on my lips.
Tiffany immediately replied with a crying emoji:
“Uncle Charles, Aunt Clara, you have no idea how she treats me at home! I bought some organic baby food for Leo, and she nagged me for days. If she doesn’t pay us eighty thousand dollars for emotional distress today, I am done with this marriage!”
Eighty thousand dollars? Emotional distress?
I typed directly into the group chat:
“Yesterday afternoon, who took the fifteen hundred dollars meant for Leo’s preschool tuition behind my back and used it to buy a pair of Chanel shoes?”
The group chat instantly went dead silent.
After a full minute, Tiffany’s screeching voice note blasted through the chat again:
“Evelyn! Stop throwing wild accusations! What’s wrong with me buying a pair of shoes? I have to look presentable for Marcus’s sake! Unfreeze the card right now, or I’m taking Leo to a hotel tomorrow and you will never see your grandson again!”
Marcus quickly followed up:
“Mom, just transfer the money! Tiffany’s friends are laughing at us! Are you really going to force my family apart before you’re satisfied?!”
Looking at this absurd couple, I didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore.
I left the SnapChat group and sent a message to my private attorney, Arthur.
“Put the penthouse at Royal Oak up for sale tomorrow. Price it three hundred thousand below market value. Cash buyers only. It must be sold within three days.”
After sending the message, I hailed a cab and headed back to my private penthouse in the city center.
Since you think I’m poor and embarrassing…
Let’s see how many days your “luxury lifestyle” lasts without this “poor” old woman.
**Chapter 2**
The next morning, just as I finished a cup of black coffee on my spacious terrace, Chris, my real estate agent, called.
“Ms. Evelyn, because the price on the Royal Oak penthouse is so competitive, we already have three all-cash buyers wanting a viewing. But…”
Chris’s voice was hesitant.
“But what?” I asked calmly.
“But the tenants, Marcus and Tiffany, are refusing to let anyone in. Tiffany actually chased our agents out with a broom, claiming the apartment belongs to her and she’ll fight anyone who tries to buy it.”
I let out a cold laugh.
“Put me on speakerphone.”
Instantly, Tiffany’s screaming voice echoed through the line like a street thug:
“Get out! All of you, get the hell away from here! This place is registered in my husband’s name! You’re trespassing! I will call the police and have you arrested!”
I spoke into the phone, my voice quiet but crystal clear:
“Tiffany, go ahead and call the police. Let them see how a squatter behaves when they refuse to leave someone else’s property.”
Hearing my voice, Tiffany froze for a second before screeching even louder:
“Evelyn! You old hag! Don’t try to scare me! I’m telling you, I’ve lived in this house, so it’s mine! What right do you have to sell it?”
“The deed is in Marcus’s name, what does that have to do with you? You better tell the agents to leave and transfer me a hundred and fifty thousand dollars right now, and I’ll pretend yesterday never happened!”
I was almost amused by her sheer shamelessness.
“A hundred and fifty thousand? You’re still dreaming.”
At that moment, Marcus grabbed the phone, his voice dripping with frantic threats:
“Mom! What are you trying to do?! Are you really going to push us to the edge? If you sell this place, where are Tiffany and Leo supposed to live? Where am I supposed to put my face?!”
“So what if you bought it? I’m your only son! Everything you own will be mine sooner or later anyway! You’re only doing this to force Tiffany to bow down to you, aren’t you? Let me tell you, it’s not going to happen!”
“If you let anyone in to view this place, I will cut all ties with you! When you’re old and sick in a nursing home, don’t expect me to visit you even once!”
Using my retirement to threaten me?
This was his favorite trick since he was a kid.
In the past, to keep our relationship intact, I always let it slide.
But now, I was done playing.
“Suit yourself,” I said, my voice completely flat. “The house is being sold. Keep blocking the door if you think you can do it forever.”
I hung up, opened SnapChat, and sent Marcus a high-definition scan of a document.
It was the *Nominee Agreement* I had forced Marcus to sign when I bought the property.
In black and white, it clearly stated: The purchase price of the property was paid in full by Evelyn. Marcus was merely a nominee holder, and Evelyn retained absolute ownership and the right to dispose of the property.
Attached to it was the bank statement showing the full wire transfer of 5.2 million dollars.
In less than thirty seconds, Marcus started spamming my phone with calls.
I blocked his number instantly.
If we were cutting ties, we were doing it cleanly.
For the next two days, I ignored the outside world.
I let Arthur handle the sale of the penthouse while I went to our corporate headquarters to deal with some backlogged executive contracts.
On the afternoon of the third day, I suddenly received a call from Leo’s preschool teacher.
“Leo’s grandmother, could you come to the school? Leo fainted in the cafeteria during lunch today. He’s in the nurse’s office right now.”
My heart squeezed. My gold pen dropped onto the desk with a sharp clack.
“I’ll be right there!”
Without even grabbing my coat, I rushed downstairs, got into my car, and had my driver speed to the elite private bilingual preschool that cost forty thousand dollars a year in tuition.
When I burst into the nurse’s office, Leo was lying on a small cot, his face pale and his forehead covered in cold sweat.
Seeing me, the poor little guy’s lips trembled, and tears began rolling down his cheeks.
“Grandma… my tummy hurts… I’m so hungry…”
My heart ached so badly that tears nearly welled up in my eyes. I rushed over and held him tight.
“Oh, baby, Grandma is here. Grandma is going to get you some delicious food.”
The school nurse walked over, her brows furrowed with disapproval.
“Ma’am, how are you guys taking care of this child? He has severe malnutrition and fainted due to hypoglycemia. And…”
The nurse paused, lowering her voice.
“The clothes he’s wearing today—though they are designer brands—don’t have any thermal layers underneath. It’s late autumn. Of course he’s going to get sick.”
I froze.
Malnutrition? Hypoglycemia?
I gave Marcus eight thousand dollars a month. Tiffany was constantly posting photos of high-end restaurants and organic foods on her Instagram. How on earth was my grandson malnourished?!
Suppressing my boiling rage, I turned to Leo’s homeroom teacher.
“Did Leo not have lunch at school today?”
The teacher sighed, looking conflicted.
“Leo’s grandmother, here’s the situation. Last month, Leo’s mom downgraded his meal plan from the premium organic menu to the lowest tier basic option, saying she wanted to build his character.”
“But the basic plan doesn’t provide enough nutrition for a growing boy. On top of that, his mother has been constantly late paying the meal fees. We’ve sent several reminders, but she always says she forgot…”
I was shaking with rage.
Building character?
Forgetting meal fees?
That wretched woman, Tiffany, was actually starving her own son just to fund her vanity!
**Chapter 3**
I immediately scooped Leo up in my arms and walked out.
“Teacher, I’m taking Leo with me. I will clear all outstanding balances today, and from now on, send all bills directly to me.”
Just as we reached the school gates, a brand-new Porsche Panamera screeched to a halt by the curb.
The door swung open, and Tiffany stepped out, wearing four-inch Louboutins and clutching the latest Hermès Birkin bag.
Her makeup was flawless, her hair freshly blown out, and she smelled of expensive perfume.
Seeing me holding Leo, her expression darkened, and she marched over aggressively.
“Evelyn! What do you think you’re doing?! Who gave you permission to take my son!”
She grabbed Leo’s arm, trying to yank him out of my arms.
Terrified, Leo burst into tears, wrapping his little arms tightly around my neck.
“You’re hurting him!” I slapped her hand away, shielding Leo behind me as I glared at her with freezing eyes.
“Tiffany, you drive a hundred-thousand-dollar Porsche and carry a twenty-thousand-dollar bag, yet you make your own son eat trash at school until he faints from hunger? Do you even deserve to be a mother?!”
The surrounding parents picking up their kids stopped to stare and whisper.
Feeling humiliated, Tiffany’s face flushed bright red, and she shrieked:
“Stop lying! How am I not a good mom? Boys need to be raised tough! I’m building his character!”
“Besides, what’s wrong with me investing in myself? If I don’t look beautiful, how am I supposed to support Marcus’s image? How am I supposed to fit into high society?”
Her self-righteous attitude made my stomach churn.
“Support his image? High society?” I laughed coldly. “Starving your three-year-old son to fit into a socialite circle? Your ‘high society’ is pathetic.”
“Shut up!” Tiffany pointed a finger at my face, her voice trembling with rage. “What do you know, you old peasant? Transfer the Royal Oak deed to Leo right now and unfreeze the Black Card! Otherwise, I’m calling the cops on you for kidnapping!”
At that moment, the driver-side door of the Porsche opened, and Marcus stepped out, frowning.
He didn’t even glance at the crying Leo. Instead, he yelled at me with irritation:
“Mom! Have you had enough? Do you have to make a scene in public?”
“Tiffany is already exhausted from raising the kid, and instead of helping, you just cause trouble! Put Leo down and go back to your rental!”
Looking at the son I had poured my life’s work into raising, the last shred of maternal affection in my heart vanished completely.
“Marcus, your son fainted from hunger at school, and you don’t even ask how he is? All you care about is defending this superficial woman?”
Marcus scoffed, completely indifferent.
“So what if he missed a meal? Tiffany is right, boys shouldn’t be coddled. Mom, your control issues are getting out of hand. You want to micromanage everything.”
“I’m warning you, I’m still mad about the penthouse! Stop the sale immediately, or I’ll really cut you off!”
I took a deep breath and held Leo closer.
“Cut me off? Fine.”
I looked at them both, pronouncing every word clearly:
“As of today, Marcus, you no longer have a mother. I am taking Leo. And as for your penthouse, the eviction notice will be served tomorrow. Good luck.”
With that, I turned around and walked toward my waiting car with Leo.
Behind us, Tiffany was throwing a tantrum, her shrill voice echoing down the street:
“Evelyn! You crazy old psycho! Don’t you dare take my son! I will destroy you!”
Marcus joined in, screaming:
“If you walk away today, don’t ever call me your son! I won’t even show up at your funeral!”
I shut the car door, locking out their toxic venom.
Show up at my funeral?
I don’t need a parasite like you there anyway.
🌟 Continue the story here
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