Category: English

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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1 The night of my first day at the new company, the CEO called my phone by mistake. He thought I was Stella, the most beautiful girl in our batch of new interns. He added me on a messaging app, and for the next six months, we had an online relationship. It wasn’t until his birthday that he discovered he had the wrong person. Humiliated and enraged, he took all his anger out on me. When he found out my mother was sick, he threatened to have her medication cut off if I didn’t obey him. Powerless, I submitted. But he only pushed further, demanding I “sacrifice” myself to a greasy tycoon for the sake of the company. With no way out, I threw myself from the rooftop of the office building. After I died, my mother, consumed by guilt, took her own life. My father, unable to bear the successive blows, wandered into the middle of the road and was killed instantly by a truck that couldn’t stop in time. When I opened my eyes again, I was six months in the past. I was back on the night the CEO made that first, fateful phone call. My head was a chaotic fog. All I could remember was the wind howling on the rooftop. When I hit the ground, there was a searing pain, and then, nothing. Death, it seemed, wasn’t so terrible after all. But the pain vanished as quickly as it came. I opened my eyes again and found myself lying on the sofa. My father’s gentle nagging filled the air. “Don’t fall asleep on the couch, Anna. It’s getting colder; you’ll catch a cold.” “I’m heading to the hospital to be with your mother in a bit. Dinner’s on the table. Make sure you eat on time, okay?” My hand trembled uncontrollably. My father… wasn’t he dead? My mother… she was still getting her medicine? Where was I? What time was it? I scrambled up, fumbling for my phone. The large clock and date on the screen confirmed it. I had been reborn, sent back six months in time. Back to the day my boss, Leo Cooper, made that mistaken call. In my past life, Leo had dialed my number by accident. But even though it was a mistake, he was captivated by my voice. He asked to add me on a messaging app. Soon after, we began a secret relationship. For six months, he was consumed with taking his company public, flying all over the world on business trips. We never even saw each other’s faces. Then, on his birthday, he sent me an address. “It’s been long enough,” he wrote. “We should finally meet.” I arrived, my heart fluttering with excitement, only to be met with his stunned, angry face. “What are you doing here?” I was frozen. If not me, who was he expecting? “I’m sorry, I don’t date my employees. We’re breaking up.” His attitude did a complete 180. From then on, he made my life at work a living hell. I was a designer, but he sent me to a construction site to haul cement, forbidding me from leaving until I had moved five thousand pounds of it. He’d make the entire office work overtime, then send me out alone to buy dozens of meals for everyone, only to cancel the overtime at the last minute because it was “too late for everyone to get home safely.” I thought about quitting, of course. But he used my sick mother as leverage. “If you quit, I’ll have the hospital cut off her medication. You’ll have all the money in the world and still won’t be able to save her.” I knew he could do it, so I endured. But my submission only made him bolder. He demanded I sleep with a disgusting tycoon to secure a deal for the company. The man was only a few years younger than my father but weighed four times as much. Worse, he was known throughout the industry for his sadistic tendencies. The young women he targeted all ended up with severe psychological trauma, vanishing from the professional world forever. Seeing no escape, my heart finally died. My phone was buzzing nonstop with his threatening texts. “Don’t be ungrateful. It’s just money you’re after, isn’t it? What else could you possibly want?” “Keep Mr. Harrison happy, and you’ll be well compensated.” Even then, he didn’t forget to use my mother as a weapon. “You’d better think carefully. Your parents’ lives are in your hands.” Was my entire future just a choice between one form of submission and another? I stood on the rooftop of the company building, took a final leap, and ended my miserable life. But somehow, I was back. Just as the clock on my phone hit 7:13 p.m., it began to ring. Staring at the number I knew all too well, I didn’t answer. I simply rejected the call. And sent back a text. “You have the wrong number. The last digit of her number is 9.” 2 The phone rang again. Unsure of his intentions, I simply blocked the number. But moments later, a contact request popped up on my work messenger, sent from his phone number. After submitting a resume for another job, I accepted it. I was morbidly curious to see what he would say this time. The message came through instantly. “Are you psychic or something? How did you know who I was looking for?” That wasn’t what he said in my past life. Back then, it was, “Your voice is incredible, like the first day of spring.” I had thought it was the beginning of my happiness. I learned later that I was wrong. It was the beginning of my nightmare. He loved my voice but pictured someone else’s face. My profile picture was similar to hers, and the last letter of our names was the same. A series of coincidences led him to believe I was her. This time, I hadn’t let him hear my voice at all. I was sure things would be different. When I didn’t respond, another message came through. “You must know who I am. Why aren’t you saying anything?” “Are you nervous?” “Don’t worry, I’m not one of those high-and-mighty types.” He always said that. But in reality, Leo Cooper, the sole heir to the Cooper fortune and CEO of a massive corporation, looked down on people like me from the bottom of his heart. In his world, ordinary people like us were scum who would do anything to climb the social ladder. That’s why, when he discovered his mistake, his first reaction wasn’t self-reflection, but vile abuse. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you!” “Have you looked in a mirror? What makes you think I’d ever be with someone like you!” “This is disgusting. The most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me.” He had pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and thrown it in my face. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Scheming to seduce me for money! Here, take it! Now get out!” I got out. But he never let it go. The endless bullying, the constant humiliation… it drove me to my death. Now, reading his words, I didn’t believe a single one. It was almost laughable. I typed back a simple reply: Mr. Cooper, my name is Anna Shaw. I am not Stella Shaw. The chat went silent. The “…” indicating he was typing appeared and disappeared several times, but nothing came through. Just as I thought I might finally be free of this demon, a video call request popped up. My finger slipped, and I accidentally answered. On the other end, Leo was at a bar with his friends. Several handsome, smirking faces crowded the screen, staring at my side of the call. Then, they burst out laughing. It took Leo a long moment to compose himself. “Sorry about that,” he said, still trying to suppress a chuckle. “My mistake. Wrong person.” One of his friends shouted from off-screen. “Yeah, definitely not the beauty we saw last time. This one’s so plain.” “Seriously. And the acne… I thought it was a toad at first.” The insults were just as cruel as they were in my past life. And just like before, Leo did nothing to stop them. But this time, I didn’t get angry. I just smiled faintly. “I have to go. Goodbye, Mr. Cooper.” 3 Perhaps it was my calm, unflustered demeanor that piqued his interest. He didn’t let me go as I had hoped. Instead, he started sending me random, pointless messages every few days. “Have you ever been to Europe? It’s beautiful when it snows here.” “I love Portuguese red wine. What about you?” “Are the interns so busy they don’t have time to reply to the CEO? When I get back, I’ll have a word with your department head.” He even punctuated that last one with a cute emoji. If this were my past life, his persistent attention would have charmed me. I would have quickly fallen into the illusion of a romance. But this time, I was calm. I knew he wasn’t interested in me. He was driven by a need to conquer. In my past life, I had rejected him at first. I knew we were from two different worlds. But he had worn me down, starting with these same casual messages, slowly weaving himself into the fabric of my life. So many times, I truly believed I was special to him. But even before his birthday, I had started to see that he wasn’t the man I imagined. He wasn’t as innocent or as warm as he pretended to be. The moment we made our relationship “official,” his attitude toward me cooled considerably. I didn’t understand it then. I do now. Once he had conquered something, he lost interest. So this time, I didn’t reply to any of his messages. When a response was unavoidable, I kept my tone cold and professional. “You’re joking, Mr. Cooper. Our supervisor is very good to us, and the workload is perfectly reasonable.” He sent back a voice message, a chuckle in his tone. “You’re so serious. Can’t take a joke at all, can you?” After listening to it, I exchanged a look with Stella, who sat at the desk across from me. She held up her phone with a disgusted expression. On her screen was a message from Leo, full of cloying flirtation. “Why are you ignoring me? Just because you’re beautiful doesn’t mean you can ignore people.” “Talk to me, and big brother CEO will buy you candy when he gets back.” Stella made a gagging motion and sent me a private message. “If I die of cringing, is that a workplace injury? Will the company cover it?” I replied, “Talk to him. Maybe big brother CEO will consider covering it.” Stella shook her head so vigorously she looked like a bobblehead. Leo would never have guessed that a quiet, introverted person like me would approach Stella the moment I realized he was harassing her, just as he had in my past life. I had told her directly, “I know Leo Cooper is interested in you, but I’m advising you to stay far away from him.” Most people would have seen it as a golden opportunity and dismissed my warning as jealousy. But Stella was a genuinely kind and simple soul, despite her stunning looks. She was stunned by my words. I thought she didn’t believe me and was about to show her my chat history with Leo, but she grabbed my phone and turned off the screen. “I believe you,” she said firmly. “We’re the working class, he’s the capitalist. Of course I believe you.” “Just watch,” I had told her. “He won’t stop here.” And I was right. After that, Leo started sending the same flirtatious messages to both of us simultaneously. He probably thought that with his status and looks, conquering two naive interns would be child’s play. This time, however, he seemed to have miscalculated. No matter what he tried, we both remained completely indifferent.

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My ex-husband cheated. He didn’t just cheat; he had a child with the other woman. So I did the only thing I could. I was living a thousand miles from my family, all for him. When I found out, I took the house in the divorce, packed a bag for myself and my daughter, and drove right back to my parents’ place without a second glance. Ten years have passed. Now, with my daughter, Anna, accepted into Harvard, it’s time to sell that house and fund her future. To my shock, the house that should have been gathering dust was occupied by a family of strangers—who even produced a property deed. 1 The apartment building stood just as I remembered it, a monument to a life I’d left behind. A wave of nausea washed over me. I had poured my heart into a love that ended in betrayal. When Anna was eight, I discovered Kevin’s affair. The other woman was already three months pregnant. She hounded him, day and night, to divorce me. To get me to sign the papers, he offered me our only asset: the apartment, free and clear. I took the deal, the keys, and the deed, and never set foot in that city again. Ten years. It was time to finally close that chapter. I took a deep breath, pushing back the sour memories. My plan was simple: check on the place, then call a realtor. But as I stood before my old front door, apartment 1901, a knot of dread tightened in my stomach. A door untouched for a decade should be coated in a thick layer of dust, the metal tarnished. This door was clean. And hanging on it was a bright, festive wreath. My heart hammered against my ribs. Could Kevin, that piece of trash, have put it there? Unlikely. When we divorced, he couldn’t wait to be rid of me. The idea of him stopping by to hang a cheerful decoration was laughable. Whatever. I’d figure it out once I was inside. I pulled out my old key and slid it into the lock. It turned a fraction of an inch and then stopped, jamming tight. I jiggled it, pushed, and pulled, but the lock wouldn’t budge. What the hell? Could a lock seize up after ten years of disuse? It seemed impossible. After several more failed attempts, I was about to search for a local locksmith when the elevator doors hissed open. A young couple pushing a stroller emerged. I paid them no mind, assuming they were neighbors. Then the woman’s voice, sharp and accusatory, sliced through the quiet hallway. “Who are you? What are you doing at my door?” 2 I frowned, my head tilting. Her door? I glanced up at the brass numbers: 1901. This was my apartment. There was no mistake. Before I could answer, the man stomped toward me, his face a mask of aggression. “Spit it out. What are you doing, creeping around our place? Trying to break in?” I shot him a withering look. “I live here,” I said, my voice cold. “What would I need to steal?” He scoffed, turning to the woman with a smirk. “Don’t worry, honey. Just some crazy lady who thinks she can just claim an apartment.” That did it. My patience evaporated. He saw I wasn’t moving and grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my bicep. “Get the hell out of here. You pull this crap again, and you’ll regret it.” His foul language ignited a fire in me. “You don’t ask a single question, just start spewing garbage? Didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?” He puffed out his chest, ready to escalate, but the woman, at least, had a shred of composure. “Then explain yourself,” she said, her arms crossed. “Why are you at our front door?” I took a steadying breath, trying to be the reasonable one. “This is my home. I’ve been living out of state for the last ten years and only just got back into town to…” The woman shrieked, cutting me off. “What are you talking about? We’ve lived here for six years! We have the deed. Look, you haven’t been here in a decade. You must have the wrong address.” For a second, a sliver of doubt crept in. I walked back to the elevator and looked at the building directory. Tower 1, Unit B, 19th Floor. This was it. I returned to the door. “No, this is the right place. And I have a deed, too.” Their patience was clearly gone. The man—I’d later learn his name was Leo—shoved his own key into the lock. It turned with a smooth, effortless click, and the door swung open. 3 The inside of the apartment was a disaster. My meticulously chosen wallpaper, a soft cream with a subtle texture, was scarred with scuffs, stains, and what looked like crayon marks. The floor tiles were scratched and chipped, some cracked straight through. My two-thousand-dollar Italian leather sofa was a Jackson Pollock of mysterious, grimy spots. Nothing looked like the home I had so carefully created. The woman, Cindy, rushed into a bedroom and returned moments later, thrusting a document in my face. “See? A real, official property deed. Tower 1, Unit B, 1901. Owners: Leo and Cindy Miller.” My mind went blank. I fumbled in my purse and pulled out my own folder. I opened my deed, right there in front of her. Her smug expression melted into confusion. Because my document also read: Tower 1, Unit B, 1901. Owner: Sarah Jenkins. Leo snatched my deed from my hands, flipping it over and over before tossing it onto the floor. “Get out of here with that fake crap! You think you can just scam your way into an apartment? This isn’t a free-for-all, lady. It’s a million-dollar property.” Cindy chimed in with a mocking laugh. “Seriously, lady. Some people rent their whole lives and do just fine. Did you really think you could just waltz in here and steal someone’s home? We’re not idiots.” She was right about one thing. It was a million-dollar property. And there was no way in hell I was going to let someone else live in it for free. My eyes scanned the room. The layout was the same, just… desecrated. I had overseen every detail of the renovation myself. Kevin had never shown up once. Suddenly, memories of the design flooded back to me. I began to speak, my voice steady and clear. “The master bedroom closet doors are white with a hidden grain pattern. The dresser against the wall has six drawers, and the handles are shaped like little pigs.” I looked straight at them. “The handle on the second bedroom door is Peppa Pig. The master is Mommy Pig.” “The wallpaper in the master bedroom is an underwater ocean scene. The second bedroom is a starry night sky…” Before I could finish, their jaws had dropped. Cindy pointed a trembling finger at me. “You… have you been in our apartment before? While we were out? How else could you know all that?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I told you, this is my house. I designed it. I remember every single detail because I poured my soul into it.” They exchanged a nervous glance. Then, Leo grabbed his phone. “Brenda? You need to get over here. Now. We’ve got a real situation.” They didn’t offer me a seat, just left me standing awkwardly by the door. This was my home. I had lived here. Acting on instinct, I opened the shoe cabinet by the entrance. A wave of stench—stale sweat and old leather—hit me. Holding my breath, I reached up to the topmost shelf, my fingers searching the back corner. And there it was. A small, cool piece of metal. A spare key. It was an old habit of mine, always keeping a spare in the shoe cabinet. I never knew why, I just did it. And now, holding it in my hand, every last shred of doubt vanished. This was my house. 4 Soon, a heavy-set, middle-aged woman arrived, dragging a boy of about ten by the hand. He was drooling, a vacant look in his eyes. A strange sense of familiarity washed over me as I looked at the boy, but I couldn’t place it. As soon as Cindy saw the woman, she pointed at me. “Brenda, look! It’s this woman! She’s insisting this house is hers, and she even has a fake deed that looks just like ours!” Without a word, the woman, Brenda, marched right up to me and slapped me, hard, across the face. “Who the hell do you think you are? I’ve heard of people stealing wallets, but stealing a whole damn house? You’ve got some nerve.” The sting radiated across my cheek, stunning me into a moment of silence. I had lived half my life and never once been struck by another person. Who did this stranger think she was? Rage, pure and hot, surged through me. I didn’t hesitate. I slapped her right back, the crack echoing in the small entryway. Then, for good measure, I slapped her again. Her arrogant fury dissolved into shocked silence. She stared at me, a hand flying to her cheek, her eyes wide with a newfound caution. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?” “I’m the owner of this apartment,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I was gone for ten years, and it looks like you people saw an empty home and decided to squat. Did you really think I’d never come back?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t you dare! We have a legitimate deed to this property. If you’re so sure, let’s take both our deeds down to the county records office and see who’s telling the truth!” I had a better idea. “There’s no need for that.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll just call property management. I’ve been paying the HOA fees on this place every year, after all.” Brenda let out a derisive laugh. “You really won’t quit until you’re humiliated, will you? My husband pays those fees every year. Just wait. The manager’s going to come up here and laugh you out of the building.” A few minutes later, the property manager arrived. It was a young guy I didn’t recognize, not the manager from my time. Leo immediately slipped a cigarette into the man’s hand. “Hey, Rick. Sorry to bother you, but we’ve got a crazy lady up here claiming our apartment is hers. Can you believe the nerve?” Rick, the manager, seemed to be good friends with Leo, chuckling along with him. My blood began to boil. I was paying thousands of dollars a year for this? For a manager who didn’t even know who the actual homeowners were? 5 I looked at him. “Is Mr. Peterson still around? John Peterson?” He shook his head. “Don’t know him. I’m the manager now.” Fair enough. A decade was a long time. “Fine,” I said. “Then can you please look up the registered owner of this unit?” He gestured for us to follow him. “We’ll have to go down to the office. It’s all on the computer.” I started walking immediately. The others trailed behind me, grumbling. Leo was still complaining to Rick. “I’m telling you, man, the crazies are out in full force these days. Who tries to steal a whole apartment?” Down in the management office, I finally saw a familiar face. “Maria?” I said, a wave of relief washing over me. “Do you remember me? Unit 1901. I transfer you the HOA fees every year.” She peered at me, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then, her face broke into a wide smile. “Oh my goodness, Sarah! I barely recognized you! You look even better than you did ten years ago!” Finally. Someone who could vouch for me. The others exchanged uneasy glances. Rick, the new manager, looked confused. “Maria, you know her? She’s really the owner of 1901?” Maria beamed. “Of course, I do! The Jenkins were one of the first families to move into this building. I know them well. Here, look, I have her in my contacts. She sends me the payment every year like clockwork. I’ve got the records.” She started scrolling through her phone, trying to find my name among what was likely hundreds of contacts. The others started to snicker. “I think you’re mistaken, Maria,” Leo said. “My brother-in-law has been paying the fees. Not her.” Seeing her struggle, I opened my own phone, typed “Maria – HOA” into my search bar, and sent her a quick waving emoji. Her phone buzzed. “Ah, there you are!” she said, looking at me with an apologetic smile. “So many people, it’s hard to keep track.” 6 She turned her phone screen to show Rick the chat history. “See? Every January, on the dot. For the last ten years, she’s never missed a payment.” Rick’s jaw went slack. “You’re right. It’s all here.” The group behind me fell silent. Brenda was the first to break, her voice shrill with panic. “That’s impossible! My husband told me he paid the fees every single year! It has to be him!” I asked Maria to pull up the official ownership record on her computer. She typed for a moment, then turned the monitor towards us. “Here you go. Have a look for yourselves.” I didn’t need to look. But the three of them—Leo, Cindy, and Brenda—crowded around the screen. Their faces paled, one after another. Cindy was the first to snap. “No! This has to be a mistake! I have a deed! A government-issued document! Your system is wrong! It has to be!” Leo became frantic, raising his hand as if to smash the monitor. Rick grabbed his arm just in time. “Hey, calm down! Our system is directly linked to the county records. It doesn’t make mistakes. Maybe you should take a closer look at that deed of yours.” At that, both Leo and Cindy turned their furious gazes on Brenda. “Brenda, what the hell is going on?” Leo demanded. “You’re the one who gave us this apartment. You gave us the deed!” Brenda was sweating now, fumbling for her phone. “Honey? You need to get to Leo’s place. Right now. Hurry.” After hanging up, she shot a defiant glare at me and Maria. “Just you wait. When my husband gets here, he’ll set you both straight. We’ll see who’s laughing then.” My husband? I wasn’t afraid of him. What could he possibly do? Say that black was white? But half an hour later, when her “husband” finally arrived, all I could do was laugh. A bitter, ironic laugh.

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